but i guess they do that here, i dunno

The lovely Mek posted this yesterday, and I can't help but post it myself for those of you who read my journal but not hers, because I love me a bit of whimsy, and this sort of stuff makes me laugh out loud:

In other news, I appear to have started yet another novel. Yes, before finishing that short story which has glomped and bulled its way into novellette territory, and before finishing the faerie novel. And before so much as starting those seven or so novels lined up in the back of my brain, impatiently waiting their turn to be written. Er, oops? My only excuse is that enthusiasm is infectious. My plan is to finish the short story while writing this new novel, and then finish the faerie novel while writing this new novel. No plan survives first contact, of course, but we'll see how we go.

I'm keen to get more writing done this year, partly because after Shadow Bound I have nothing contracted and, you know, I'd really like that to change; and partly because my ability to pin words to the page seems to have slowed down frighteningly of late. I don't know if the words I am pinning down are better put together, and will therefore require less editing. Here's hoping, because that would mean the extra time I'm taking now will be recouped later and it might all even out. (That just sounds too neat to be true, though.)

Chinese Bones (The Decemberists — Live)

8 March 2010 @ 16:43 | No Comments

probably today is not that day

Those of you who keep an eye on my last.fm profile might have noticed (probably with alarm) that my latest iPod scrobble resulted in no less than 4 pages worth of Decemberists songs being added to my list of recently listened tracks.

That's a whole lot of Decemberists, and it's because the current short story is demanding it. The current short story wants all Decemberists — preferably the ones involving murder or suicide or death (which, actually, doesn't narrow the list overly much) — all day.1

The current short story, I might add, has already passed the 11,000 word mark and therefore has no right to be called a short story, particularly since it shows no signs of wrapping up yet.

One day I will learn how to write to a word limit without overshooting it by at least 175%.

  1. Dear Decemberists: thank you for writing songs which can withstand such a punishing listening routine. Although I won't claim I'm not being driven slightly — just slightly, you understand — insane by all that concentrated mayhem. Or it could be the story being born. You just never know. [↩]

Call Me, Call Me (The Seatbelts — Cowboy Bebop)

2 March 2010 @ 20:20 | No Comments

strange kind of day to discover

Right this very second, I'm supposed to be writing.

And my body is doing its damnedest to convince me we're not capable of sitting still1 or (horror of all horrors) dragging words out of the murky recesses of my consciousness and slapping them down in some laughable approximation of narrative order. My eyes are sagging in their sockets, my shoulders are starting to climb up around my ears, and my legs keep attempting mutiny by standing. Get up, my mind is whispering. Give it up. Do something easy. Like watching TV. Or reading — there's that juicy book you're in the middle of, just waiting for you. Or what about scrubbing the bathtub? ANYTHING BUT THIS.

All because I'm not quite sure what happens next in this short story, and apparently DECIDING is too much to ask.

Honestly, some days I think if you just accomplish staying in the chair, you've won an epic battle.2

  1. at the desk — apparently lying still on the couch or the bed, reading, we're definitely capable of :???: [↩]
  2. Although words and/or plot wouldn't go astray right now. Any second now. Whenever you're ready, words, plot. No, really, take your time. [↩]

(Return of) The Electric Horseman (Powderfinger — Double Allergic)

1 February 2010 @ 17:18 | 2 Comments

blown away yet?

Various text messages from my family this morning, asking if I'd been swept off the face of the earth by the Melbourne winds yet. (I'm guessing there was something on the national news last night?)

For all those who are curious: I'm fine. Although I do have to admit that on walking out the front door of work late last week, the wind was fierce enough to literally knock me off my feet. If a colleague had not been on the other side of me (and clearly rather steadier on his feet than I) I would have ended up sprawled across the tarmac. Classy. And that was on a day of just "normal" August winds, not worth warning commuters about.

Fair warning: If I vanish without warning, it is entirely possible I've been carried off to Oz. Which means I could quite legitimately start using the phrase "Don't make me get my flying monkeys…!" AWESOME. (Who wants a souvenir munchkin?)

In the meantime, the good news on my plate is that the edits on "Shaping Lily" are officially — I have it in writing now — done. Done! (Well, except for the proofs. But that's not until next year.)

26 August 2009 @ 16:53 |

the atlantic is not a damn girl

Let it be known that live music is good for the soul.

Now, I'll grant you that seeing Eddy Current Suppression Ring and Tex Perkins in the space of two nights, one of said nights being a school night no less, may have been more than my bio-rhythms were prepared to cope with, and I would have far preferred to get more than 9 hours sleep in the last 57, but…eh. It was worth it. I REGRET NOTHING.

Of course, as a consequence, today has so far been spent playing catch-up on the chores. And, er, lolling upon the couch. Which is how I intend to pass the rest of the afternoon. Although, in the interests of being a somewhat productive member of society, said lolling will be accompanied by words on the faerie novel, and edits on "Shaping Lily". At some point.

Honest.

22 August 2009 @ 15:42 |

just your typical glamorous day, really

All week I was promised: 20°C on Saturday. And now Saturday is here, and I'm sitting on the couch wearing my fingerless gloves and wrapped in a throw rug, because it is very clearly NOT 20°C. No doubt when I leave the house this afternoon, the wind will sweep itself and all the clouds away to the south and Melbourne will start to bake and I, I will be overdressed and thus I will suffer. This is the natural way of things.

So far this morning, I have managed to wake up at 6:39 (and this is despite not getting to sleep until about 02:30 and where can I lodge a complaint about my bio-rhythms, anyway?) and pick my way through maybe half of the copyedits on "Shaping Lily". Suffice to say I've had better days as far as focus is concerned. Ah well.

Now I think it's time for breakfast.

Before I dive back into wrangling that effing car-crash of a narrative the faerie novel.

ETA: Since the A-format of Shadow Queen should be hitting bookshelves soon, it occurs to me now would be a good time to remind visitors to the blog that you can read the first chapter online for free.

15 August 2009 @ 12:15 |

just keep going, dammit

Last Saturday, a friend of mine said he might take a break from the novel for a bit, because he wasn't sure quite where it was going, and he didn't like it very much at the moment. And I told him that meant he was most definitely Not Allowed to put the novel aside for a bit. Put a novel down when you don't like it very much, and you run the very real risk of never picking it up again. And the only way to be quite sure of where the novel is going is to actually write it, and see where it takes you. Plenty of time to assess whether it went in the right direction once you've gotten there.

(For those planning-type writers out there, that last snippet of advice is going to sound heinous and dreadful and like telling small children they should totally just run out into the middle of a busy road without looking first, everything will be fine, and for that matter strangers present no danger whatsoever and while we're at it, in the interests of making sure you fit in at school, have you considered smoking? I can only say I'M SORRY, but I don't plan my stories in advance. In fact, writing them in linear fashion is still kinda new to me, and something I'm struggling with, and if I could come up with a substitute analogy for you pre-planning types I would. Honest.)

Anyrate, the point of all the above is this: I have totally spent the past two weeks avoiding my novel. Because I'm not sure quite where it's going. And I don't like it very much at the moment.

I've had all sorts of reasonable and legitimate excuses. Edits on a short story needed to be done.1 Then when those edits were done, there was no point picking up the novel again because edits on Pledged should be landing on my desk soonish, and if I picked up the novel again I'd only have to put it down again. So I picked up a short story instead, because I don't have any finished short stories to submit and perhaps I could work on that. Only I've just hit a point in the short story wherein I'm not sure quite where it's going, and I don't like it very much at the moment AND ARE YOU SENSING A PATTERN, PEOPLE?

Because I sure as heck am. And, quite frankly, I don't like it very much.

The thing is, the middle of a story is always hell. (I have even heard the pre-planning types opine this, although presumably for different reasons.) This is partly why it's not-very-affectionately known as the muddle, among other names.2 And every single time I attempt a story, without fail, I have to learn this lesson about the muddle anew. Every single time I have to remind myself that it's not okay to put the thing down, the key is to get past this section, however I can. Slog through the words until I find a way out; leave a note "And then something genius happens!" and skip ahead; consume some stimulant of choice and stay up all night; try whatever trick has worked in the past and even a few that haven't, because every story is different, but whatever you do: just. keep. going.

So. Time to figure out a trick that will work for the novel.

  1. Okay, that one actually is quite reasonable and legitimate, but in the interests of full disclosure I'm including it. Because it was the excuse I jumped on to start this whole avoidance caper rolling, after all. [↩]
  2. My novels always earn themselves appellations like THAT EFFING CAR-CRASH OF A NARRATIVE around this time. For full impact it must be delivered through tight lips and with narrowed eyes and followed by the phrase WE'RE NOT TALKING ABOUT IT ANY MORE. Which is promptly followed by brooding silence and then, just when my friends have tentatively moved on to another subject, interrupting them with an angst-ridden yawp and the desperate plea MAKE IT WORK WHY IS IT BROKEN PUT IT BACK TOGETHER FOR ME! [↩]

29 July 2009 @ 17:55 | 6 Comments

everyone needs somewhere to run to

I've finished the first round of edits on "Shaping Lily" and sent them winging on their way back to the editor — who will doubtless send them straight back with a "Good work! You fixed exactly a drabble of the stuff that needed fixing…here's the stuff you didn't fix back again so you can have another go at that, and while we're at it here's some more!" Because edits are never done in one pass, and fixing one niggle always makes other jagged bits stand out. Writing is in the re-writing, as someone (actually probably various someones) famous has already opined.

Last night, instead of turning back to the poor oft-abandoned faerie novel as I should have done, I worked on a short story. Poor faerie novel: it has been picked up and put down so often it's surely going to have some serious continuity issues. And probably a good few narrative drive issues into the bargain. (Poor me, who will need to fix them!) All my stories get abandoned at some point, because my brain likes to switch to a different problem when I hit the middle of the story.1

Tonight… tonight I cannot decide what to work on. And I am getting distracted by Apple Dictionary only being in American English. Why is there no Australian English dictionary? Or at least a British English dictionary? I DO NOT SPEAK OR SPELL AMGLISH, APPLE.

  1. The one story which was written without any periods of abandonment, even minor ones, is Shadow Queen — although it did have its periods of stalled work while I grumbled and glared at it and muttered under my breath about recalcitrant plotlines. [↩]

23 July 2009 @ 18:10 | 2 Comments

today i sat in a beanbag for 8 hours (it was the best day evah)

Today, determined to finish the first pass of edits on "Shaping Lily", I decided to track my progress throughout the day. In the interests of accountability, you understand.

Read on at your own peril. You have been warned.

9:17: Realise I've been dicking around on the internet far too long already, mostly reading through 6 insane discoveries science can't explain (yet).1 This is not a promising start to my revisions. Quickly check my to-do list, and remember in a panic all those bloody things I promised myself I'd do today. Realise edits on Lily is therefore not the first thing I have to do today. Decide edits on Lily are the first thing I'm going to do today anyway.

Read more »

  1. I knew about the antikythera mechanism, but didn't know about the others. Really like the pipes. And the bloop Cthulhu. [↩]

19 July 2009 @ 18:49 | 9 Comments

house of cards

Last night I stared at "Shaping Lily" with my edit letter in mind, and wondered if it's possible to fix what needs fixing without pulling the story to pieces.

It was a totally vain endeavour, of course, and I knew this at the time as well, but it appears to be part of my process. There is a point in my process — just after I've received feedback on a story but before I've actually started any (further) revisions — when the story hangs in the balance. A point wherein I basically sit staring at the story, hesitating, thinking a lot but achieving nothing. Or nothing material, at least.

Because as soon as I start — as soon as I select a single thread on which to work — the entire story will unravel and in the process a whole slew of other things that require fixing will fall out, and what was once a story will become instead a mess of shredded words scattered haphazardly over my desk. And I will have to examine every word, singly and in context, yet one more time, as I try to weave it all (seamlessly!) back into a cohesive narrative.1

All that sitting and staring has its place as well, however. It's a moment of waiting, of zen before the battle frenzy, which fixes the big picture in mind before I get lost in the minutiae.

Which is what it's time to do now.

  1. This metaphor would probably be much stronger if I knew anything at all about sewing, or weaving, or knitting. [↩]

The Trapeze Swinger (Iron & Wine — Around The Well)

14 July 2009 @ 18:31 |
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