Oct 292009
 

For some reason, the scar on my cheek is burning burning burning today. Perhaps I am developing mutant powers at last? Here's hoping. (Dear mutating genes: I don't need invisibility — I've pretty much already perfected the art of not being noticed as it is. And mind-reading is right out, I really don't want to know what anyone else is thinking, it's quite noisy enough in my head as it is. Flying, on the other hand, would be awesome. Or maybe some sort of camouflage/chameleon schtick? Or even just telekinesis.)

Consequently (the logic of this thought progression makes no sense, even to me), I have decided it's time I shared with you my position on a few matters that are utterly trivial and can make no lick of difference to anyone, even me. Ready?

  1. Beards: In general, I don't like them. But this is because the vast majority of beards are dreadful. A good beard looks great — but a good beard is a lot of work, and it involves more finicky shaving than just shaving your face clean can ever involve. A good beard, as far as I'm concerned, is kept trimmed short, and doesn't grow up to your eyeballs and down to your shirt collar. A beard is for outlining your jaw, not for attempting to pass as some kind of human version of a woolly mammoth.
     
  2. Romantic Comedies: Constitute cruel and unusual punishment under the terms of the Geneva Convention, and should be outlawed. Misogynistic, patronising, and actively involved in setting up unhealthy role models of what a relationship should be. Give me giant exploding robots any day.
     
  3. HAN SHOT FIRST.
     
  4. This amused me. Mainly because any chart that puts me at the position of "least geekiest" is (apart from obviously leaving out a large portion of society) alright by me.
     
  5. I want piano stairs! Okay, not in my apartment block, because that corridor is plenty noisy enough already, but there needs to be more whimsy in urban design.
Oct 272009
 

The ironing of bedsheets, followed by silence on the blog? You guessed right, I had house guests this weekend. I'll spare you the details, except to say 3 year olds, even when sick, have enough energy to power the turning of the world.1

Today started with a visit to the post office to pick up a package which turned out to be from Allen & Unwin, and to have the size, shape and heft of a manuscript. Edits on Pledged, I thought, and dutifully lugged the package in to work so I could lug it to the library after work and get started this very night. I'm smack in the middle of a persnickety, detailed, involved and quite frankly annoying report at the dayjob, and between trying to sort that out in time and the distracting thought of the edits lurking unstarted on my desk, the inside of my head today has been a bit of a warzone. Concentration and focus were the first bystanders caught in the crossfire; coherence has been mortally wounded, and cogency currently thinks it's a duck.

Luckily for the sake of my sanity, when I knocked off work and opened the package I found, not the edits, but the edited manuscript for Shadow Queen, coming home to roost.2 So glad I carried that halfway around Melbourne and back today.

  1. In fact, have scientists investigated this? It's not the vestiges of the Big Bang, or gravitational forces, or the great battery that is the sun pouring energy through the world that keeps us spinning — it's all those blasted 3 year olds. With their running and dancing and gasping and jumping and squealing and singing and just the sheer, impossible wide-opened-ness of their eyes. []
  2. Er, what do you do with these things? So far I've abandoned it on the living room floor. This should remain the status quo for, oh, at least a week. []
Oct 222009
 

I have spent the past two evenings washing my bedsheets (not because there's a huge quantity of unwashed bedsheets that have been quietly attempting to achieve sentience in a corner of my laundry, but because I have so little hanging space to my name I have to wash the few sheets I have in batches) and last night I even caught myself — you may want to sit down — ironing them.

Now there's a facet of my personality I wasn't aware existed.

I'm afraid (cover your ears eyes, children) I had to have a wee drink to cushion the blow of that revelation.

Next thing you know I'll be thinking activities like vacuumming regularly and dusting are worthwhile ways to spend my time, and I might even start thinking of cooking as a fun pastime AND IT'LL ALL END IN TEARS BEFORE BEDTIME. No, wait, that's not how that morality tale goes, is it? Oh, close enough.

This follows on from my electronic spring-cleaning spree last weekend, which saw me upgrade to Snow Leopard. I opted for the wipe and fresh install option, and am still finding bits and bobs I could have sworn I had backed up but, uh, apparently not. (Note to self: there's a reason why the upgrade option is easier.) Still, my hard-drive has been restored to zingy and error-free status, and it's all just decluttering, right? Right?

 Posted by at 7:25 pm
Oct 202009
 

Today at work I pointed out a tagline that was aiming for — and singularly failing to use — the plural possessive. Worse, I did it with frustrated hand gestures and even (oh dear lord) finished up with a wordless cry.

You know what this means, don't you? That's right: I've cemented my reputation.

In TV-land, girls cement their reputation by doing dreadfully uninhibited things at office christmas parties. Me? I point out apostrophe atrocities.

Oh yeah. I live on the edge.

Oct 192009
 

Since the move to Melbourne, I have been living sort of sans TV. I say sort of because these days most of the TV channels put some or all of their shows up on the net, so I've been watching the odd show via broadband. I also have a TV itself (the problem is not ownership so much as lack of reception compounded by a deep-seated apathy which prevents me from bothering to find even a simple solution to said lack of reception)1, so I do watch some TV via DVD.

Lately, hip and alert-to-the-pulse-of-the-now creature that I am, I've been watching Buffy The Vampire Slayer.

There's a lot I like about the show — a female superhero not least among them — although there is also a lot of moaning talking about the liking of boys in between the slaying of vampires. So far there's enough sharp characterisation and humour — and vampire slaying — that the talking about boys hasn't overly worn me out, at least.

Normally I watch TV shows and movies just for a break, a chance to enjoy a story without worrying about editing it, or analysing it, but watching Buffy has got me thinking about transitions and the balance of information between writer and character and audience. Nothing coherent at this point, so I won't treat you to my muddled, confused ramblings just yet.

One thought I did have, however, which is utterly inane and therefore clearly worth sharing: do all American shows feature at least one christmas miracle episode?

I'm trying to think of Australian series which go in for the christmas miracle episode malarky, and I'm sure there are examples out there, but they're not coming to mind. Maybe it's because christmas falls in our summer, which is reruns season; or maybe it's because our TV channels are mostly chock-full of American and British series; or maybe it's because I'm absent-minded.

  1. This last fascinates pretty much everyone. How can you live without TV? I hear pretty much on a daily basis. The answer is, er, I don't, really, and also, there's a whole lotta crap on the air waves. Watching TV via the net filters out so much in the way of advertising, and also in the way of shows that I have no interest in, but would have watched simply because the TV was on in the background. Frankly, there is not that much incentive to concoct a coat-hanger antenna just to bombard myself with yet more advertising. []
 Posted by at 6:20 pm
Oct 152009
 

Last night, just as I'd switched off all the lights to hit the sack, the phone rings. (My family have impeccable timing — it's genetic.) So out I trudge to the living room to silence the thing.

"Hello?"

I am answered only by the sound of heavy breathing.

Luckily, I recognise that breathing, so I do not immediately panic and assume I am marked for a gruesome and grisly end.1

Instead, I adopt that crooning, cajoling tone popular the world over among those who have ever been treated to phone conversations with the vocally challenged children. "Hello…..?"

Giggling from the other end, and then a SQUEAL TO BURST THE EARDRUMS. While I am still reeling, the story starts. I am not sure of the particulars because, well, did I mention the kid isn't so much with the talking yet? I caught "I makkit, makkit, mak…" and then it was interrupted by an angry yell and the bellow, "NAN! NAN! UGH! ARGH! NAN!"

Ah, I think. Nanna has rescued the phone, and soon I will be treated to rational conversation. She may even be able to act as interpreter, and tell me to what the makkit story pertained. Because I have to admit, now I'm a bit curious.

Instead…Nanna promptly hangs up on me.2

  1. Although the breathing, if I am right, belongs to Brutus — whose namesake was rather into meting out grisly ends, now that I think of it. []
  2. Having since spoken to my mother, I learned that in the space of 90 seconds, Brutus managed to find her iPhone and make no less than 3 phone calls. Well, more actually, but those were the three that connected. We're all three of us suffering ruptured eardrums. That boy can squeal, I tell you. Sadly, I am still unenlightened as to the makkit story. []
Oct 122009
 

For the past couple of days, prompted by the fact that Glenda Larke is racing to write 30,000 words in 15 days, and finding it inspiring, I've been pondering all the ways we trick ourselves into writing, and staying focussed thereon.

And I've come to the conclusion that lately, my bag o'tricks is empty and my focus is shot entirely to hell.

So, tell me: how do you keep at it? What lies do you tell yourself, what rewards do you promise yourself?

Oct 112009
 

I don't talk about my writing process overly much, or with a great deal of specificity when I do — mainly because every time I contemplate the topic, I always trip over the "what (barely, if at all) works for me won't necessarily work for anyone else" hurdle; and if I manage to make it past that one there's always the "I'm hardly an expert!"

But it occurs to me I should, mainly because I like hearing about how other writers work. So, you know, share and share about and all that.

So, given I've been whinging so much lately about the plot (or apparent lack thereof) of the faerie novel, I thought perhaps I should share how I currently1 approach outlining.

My first novel2 I wrote out of order, and without any outline at all. Literally scattershot. I wrote 350,000 words worth of novel, and then wrote a summary of each scene on an index card, and only then did I put the scenes in order. It was inefficient, and messy, and led to a whole lot of continuity errors. But that's okay: at the time, I was writing solely for myself, without any guidance or practice, to see if I could not only start a novel but finish one.

I'm not quite that inefficient any more — although I've not progressed far along the spectrum yet.

Shadow Queen I wrote without an outline, and without any planning in advance, but at least this time I wrote the story linearly, meaning I started at Chapter One and plugged right on through to Chapter Eleven.3 With Pledged, thanks to it being a continuation of the story, I had an idea of the turning points that needed to happen4 to get the story to the end I had envisioned back when I started writing The Binding books — which gave me some leeway to write not-entirely-linearly without messing up the continuity too much. (Heh. Two distinct skills, having an outline and writing in order. I can't do either one particularly thoroughly on its own; I definitely don't like to do both together, apparently.)

I've tried outlining up-front, using various approaches, from loose character sketches and a few key plot points, to the uber-detailed snowflake method. Ultimately, though, none of those tricks work for me unless I've written at least some of the alpha draft already. And by some I mean at least a good third of the draft.

At that point I know the world and the characters well enough to know where the story I started is heading.

To assess that, I use the four-act structure. It's a narrative structure I picked up from the Crusie Mayer blog (which no longer appears to be available online, so this is from the notes I made at the time and may have skewed from the original that Jenny Crusie presented):

  1. Inciting Event: the first conflict, which starts Act I
  2. Turning Point 1: the protagonist makes a decision they wouldn't have at the start of the story, thus ending Act I and kicking Act II into gear
  3. Turning Point 2: at the midpoint, the protagonist makes a decision which demonstrates how utterly they've changed from the story's outset, thus ending Act II and ushering in Act III
  4. Turning Point 3: the dark moment, at the end of Act III, when the protagonist is all but defeated
  5. Climax: the end of Act IV, and only one of the combatants is coming out a winner

Jenny Crusie had approximate wordcounts by which each of these turning points should occur, but I forget them. For my purposes, I find a "not quite quarters" approach works nicely for me: the fourth act needs to be shorter, for pacing reasons, whereas the second and third acts can stand to carry a little more weight.

It's all arbitrary, anyway — I for one have seen plenty of other-act structures out there, from the 3-act5 to the 9-act. I find 4 works for my brain because there's enough turning points to hang the story on, but not so many that I get lost and frustrated in the agonising process of trying to figure out the story without writing it first.

Usually, because I've written about a third of the draft, I've either written the first turning point, or I'm not far off it — so it's simply a matter of figuring out two more turning points and the climax to resolve everything. And because my characters are invariably capable of having an argument in white space which lasts a good 10,000 words, having from 20-50,000 words between turning points isn't too daunting and in fact can sometimes feel a bit rushed.

I'll also sometimes write a blurb or (usually incomplete) synopsis at this point, because that captures the mood of the story better than turning points, and knowing the mood I want to evoke is just as important as knowing what happens. One of my friends makes word-lists (brine in preference to salt, for example) to make sure she can pin the mood to the page, and sometimes I'll do something similar. Theme and symbolism might also get a few quick notes at this point, too.

The Binding books, being first-person, had only the one set of turning points, as the other characters' storylines played a very definite second fiddle to Matilde's. The faerie novel, on the other hand, has two protagonists, who are not always working together, so I have two sets of turning points happening, sometimes coinciding and sometimes in counterpoint. Here's hoping I can make that work.

I do find that with each book I attempt I'm wanting slightly more outlining up-front, so who knows? Maybe one day I'll end up being uber-detailed, outlining every beat of every scene of every chapter before I even write a word.

Although that would be a world gone topsy-turvy.6

  1. Processes change with time, of course, but also with books. I'd heard writers saying before that every book is written differently, demands to be written differently. Every book is a first book in the sense that you never learn how to write books, you only ever learn how to write the book you are currently writing. Before I'd actually hit the magical =30= on my first novel, I didn't disbelieve them, but neither did I entirely understand. Surely tricks learnt in writing a previous book would stand an author in good stead in writing the next book? Yes, in the sense that the author now knows those tricks and will try them, but no in the sense that the tricks in question may not help wrest the book out of the head and onto paper, and then the author is back to square one: whatever works. []
  2. Not Shadow Queen, that's my first published novel []
  3. Which, in the published version, roughly align with Chapters, oh, about 2 to um…however many chapters there ended up being. Thirty-odd, from memory. I don't have a copy of the book to hand to check, and I am too lazy to walk into the other room to find one. []
  4. Ooh look! that almost sounds like a bona fide outline — for very loose and nebulous interpretations of the word outline []
  5. Which is generally the same, Act II of the 3-act structure being equivalent to Acts II & III of the 4-act structure []
  6. As evidenced by this very post. Most people can explain their outlining process in a sentence or two, or a quick concise list. Me? Over a thousand rambling words. I sigh in a resigned fashion. []
Oct 082009
 

Ugh. I am suffering all kinds of inability to manage my time this week. This has not been helped by a decision to revisit all my account passwords and make sure there isn't any critical overlap happening. I have A LOT of internet accounts.

Neither has it been helped by Australia Post's fine efforts, which included directing me to the wrong branch to pick up my parcel, the staff at the wrong branch first telling me the parcel had not yet arrived and please to come back tomorrow and then, when I came back tomorrow, belatedly informing me to please head elsewhere. At the right branch (an expedition to find which involved maps, no less), the guy behind the desk spent a good five minutes staring at the docket and sucking on his teeth, as if committing one name and address took a prodigious effort, and at last ventured into the (closet-sized) back room (which held all of three packages) with an expression like a man looking for a needle in a haystack.

Meanwhile, I'm still stuck in the awful head-space of trying to fix the holes in the faerie novel, spurred on partly by the fact that I seem to have 70,000 odd words of (dreadful) alpha draft and no actual narrative impetus yet. This has been worrying me a bit, because if that's the 70% mark then I should be getting that rushing toward the end feeling, which has been decidedly lacking.

The solution, it turns out, is simple: obviously the novel will be about 120,000 words long and thus, I'm only just over halfway and THAT's why it feels like I've only just hit halfway. Genius! So genius that, even if it's not true, which it very probably isn't, I'm going to run with it anyway. Any lie to keep the writing going, after all.

Oct 052009
 

First up, a brief announcement for the livejournal crowd: I've changed the settings in the crossposter, so now you should be able to leave a comment on the livejournal site, should you so desire. Previously I had it set so you could only comment on my website, mostly because that made my life a touch easier, having all the comments, and therefore the entire conversation, in the one spot. But it occurs to me impermanence and fragmented conversations are the foundations of the internet, and who am I to argue with that?

(Wasn't really all that brief, was it?)

And for those of you thinking the loonies were only out on the streets, think again. There's one in my apartment block.

This morning, after a wacky and hilarious misplacing of my keys, I decided to drive to work rather than run for (and still miss) the tram. So I headed for the back of the apartment block, where the poor filthy beast otherwise known as my car was parked, when all of a sudden —

"GOOD MORNING!"

It is a bright and cheery greeting, but it is also a very loud one. I manage not to stumble in surprise, but it's a close thing.

One of my neighbours is hanging over the balcony, earbuds in his ears, with this look on his face like he hasn't slept in days and he's never appreciated the beauty of the sun before now. His hair is unkempt, his eyes are wide, his grin is brighter than the breaking day.

"DID YOU SEE THE BALLOONS?"

I've reached the car by now, but I pause, because I'm polite like that. Although I pause with the car door open, because I'm late, after all.

"No," I say — mostly because I've not seen any balloons lately (I've been far too busy getting ready for work, which is not a task that normally requires my eyes to be open) and partly because from his manner "the balloons" apparently encompasses something remarkable and I've definitely not seen anything of that nature today.

Exuberant as a puppy who's just spotted his favourite human, he points and cries, "LOOK! THERE!"

There are a couple of hot air balloons hanging low in the sky.

As indeed there are… pretty much every morning.

Somehow I suspect he's never been up before 7am before.

 Posted by at 4:00 pm