Copy-Edited Manuscript: 0.999
Author: 0.001
Jun 032008
May 132008
I appear to have purchased a new iPod.
Accidentally.
Honestly, I expected to be outbid. I only raised the bid by $10, and there were nine hours to go. Life, however, does not always (or indeed ever) work as expected. You would think I'd have figured this out before now, really.
Suggestions on what to call the new beast? I'm thinking Othello myself, because I'm literary like that.
In other news, writing? Is hard to get back into once you've stopped. Oof.
I'll tell you all of the things that you'll never forget
away come away, cherry crow children, journal, writing life
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May 072008
Children. They are, in point of fact, germ manufacturing and distribution facilities.
Spawn and Brutus were up on the weekend and, lo and behold, I am lurgified. This circumstance would be more acceptable if it had occurred on a working day, instead of my days off.
On the other hand, my germ-addled mind did produce a short story idea today, which may yield words for the day and therefore as far as I'm concerned is more lovable than the novel.
If you can believe it, Spawn, at not yet 2 years old, knows how to use an iPod. This nearly broke my brain.
pterodactyls are the least of my confusion
away come away, journal
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May 062008
Home for a week and a half now and at last I'm feeling, sorta kinda, touch wood, that maybe, just maybe, the daily routines and errands are back under some semblance of control. Although I did catch myself reading my stars this morning, which is a sure sign that I'm pining, and hoping the world will miraculously start accommodating me.
The wordcount is not back under control, however. Part of the problem is finding the butt-in-chair time, which has been slippery and tricksome of late, but should become easier now that I've knocked over most of the backlog of errands.
More of the problem is the novel I'm working on, which I love and adore and think is all kinds of interesting1, is not coming together in my head, and buggered if I can work out why. What little writing time I've had has been dedicated to the writerbunny workout, namely: bang head on desk, hope something good/decent/hideous-but-usable falls out.
- As you can guess from such a glowing description, I am at the start of this novel. The glow will wear off as the weariness builds alongside the wordcount. It's only natural. [↩]
why are you singing?
away come away, journal
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May 012008
Oy vey. Whose grand idea was it to start back in on the wordcount the same day I started back at the dayjob?
Apr 302008
If you peer into the burning lake, you may be able to see the pinnacle of the drowned temple, which is what you see the tour guide and driver doing here:
I can't put my finger on precisely why, but I absolutely love this picture.
Spent today attempting to knock out something approaching an outline for the next novel, since the draft and revision process of Pledged was grisly enough to make me swear I would never write a novel without an outline again.
Sadly, my outlining skills are rusty to non-existent, and so far all I have are random questions and mysterious notes to myself. Including the notation Pterodactyl!, which I scrawled to myself while away. Perhaps it was the thin mountain air, perhaps it was J, whose suggestions for my plots rank up there with Tess's or Spawn's for shock and amusement value, perhaps it was a combination of both with a touch of sleep-deprivation thrown in for good measure.
Either way, don't blame me if pterodactyls turn up in this book.
Apr 062008
I've been neglecting the blog badly of late, and it's not because I found the meaning of life while stuffing envelopes.
It's been partly the frenzy of getting ready to go overseas, partly the frenzy of working what seems like every day at the dayjob, and partly the fact that I haven't been writing. It's harder to write here when I'm not writing fiction — after a while life starts to seem too drab to bother talking about. Which, yes, is a touch ironic, because when I'm not writing I have more time to actually leave the house. I never claimed to be rational, you know.
Because of the lack of writing, I'm actually itching to start writing again. Just in time for my relaxing holiday tramping around the Himalayas, when I plan to have no time for writing what with all the brain-breaking sightseeing and cultural appreciation.
I'm hoping this means I come back from Bhutan fired up and re-energised and full of fiction. I am planning on writing a novel set in a pseudo or real Bhutan, but I think I'll start that one much later, after the trip has had time to settle. The novel on the cards when I come home is the faerie novel. (Oh yes. It's obligatory. Every fantasy writer must at some stage in her career write a novel what has faerie in it.)
In the meantime, I need to fit all of this:
into this:
It looks easier in the photos than it does from here.
Mar 112008
New passport, iPod battery backup pack, jabs for typhoid and tetanus booster (ouch, ouch), spare memory card for the camera… all check. This travelling business is expensive, and it ain't just the airfares. It's like a month-long shopping fest beforehand, and I can't tell you how much I hate shopping. So far I've managed most of it over the net, but soon, soon, I'll have to venture out to buy some new clothes. That means the pain and trauma of public dressing rooms, and their mirrors. Gah.
It's been six and a half days of no words, and I'm starting (at last) to unwind. Enough that I'm thinking maybe it's time to start up with the words again. No idea what to write, so perhaps I'll concentrate on some short stories for a while. There's a new novel idea brewing, but I refuse to work on that just yet. If there's one thing selling the first half of the story before you've written the second taught me, it's to have the worldbuilding settled and consistent in your head before you start writing.
In the meantime, those of you casting about for help on how to write a synopsis, check out Sean Williams' blog. There'll be more from other authors to come on the 18th of March, so be sure to check back.
Mar 042008
Beta draft done.
Brain broken.
Send (alcoholic) aid.
it's not my fault!
journal, shadow bound, writing life
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Mar 032008
State of the Beta Draft: the dog Stephen Moffat ate my homework.
So, okay, the beta draft is STILL not done. I have swapped panicked moaning for cheerful lunacy and singing like a seagull. It's so much more fun for all involved.
There's an astonishing array of seagull moods available: there's panicked seagull, introspective seagull, pensive seagull, yawping seagull… The list is endless. And the best part of it all is that seagulls are not particularly tuneful birds, so there's very little pressure to perform so far as trivial issues like tone and pitch are concerned. The more jagged and jarring the better!
I tried to finish the beta draft last night, honest I did, but I couldn't. It's all that Moffat bloke's fault.1 There I was, humming (un)tunefully in the manner of a lovesick seagull, when the TV starts up with Jekyll.
Interesting, I'd thought on seeing the ads, but potentially sleep-depriving.2 Then my friend tells me it's written by Moffat, who wrote that amazing weeping angels episode of the third season of Doctor Who, not to mention the gas-masked child episode of the first season of Doctor Who and the girl in the fireplace episode of the second season. Moffat story! I think. No matter how scary it might be, I must watch. I will, I think (by now I'm a virtuous seagull, you see), work on the revisions at the same time.
I tried. I couldn't. The show was too good, and I had to pay attention — and honestly, I'd be done now if that Moffat bloke couldn't write.