I'm not crazy, I'm just creative

As I was getting my day started (wandering the internet), I came across this article -- Scientific American: The Unleashed Mind: Why Creative People Are Eccentric -- and being a little eccentric myself, I had to go check it out. Whoa! How true! Not that I see my characters chasing me around (other than in my writing area), or have a germ free zone, and I do shower regularly, but on so many other accounts, a huge resounding yes!

Critiquing and the Percolator

One of the reasons I enjoy critiquing the writing of others is because it helps me make my own writing better. Yep, I'm selfish like that. Not only do I find it so much easier to point out the things that bug me or that just don't feel quite right in other people's work, but it then makes me think about those exact things when I'm writing. I've become paranoid that if I happen to post a chapter for critique, that same person might read it and call me out on the same issues I've recently harped on them about. My inner editor is armed with a steel ruler and she's not afraid to use it!

Beyond that, in the conversations often struck up after a critique, things I've been percolating on my own writing sometimes hit me. As they did today. I'd been working with someone on a troublesome opening chapter. In the back of my mind, it occurred to me that I had a novel with an opening chapter that had a very similar problem--the tension fizzled by the end of the chapter. It wrapped up too neatly instead of leading into chapter two.

Hours after this virtual conversation, I was out racing from one thing to the next (my overachiever scale back plan doesn't activate for months yet), and a lightbulb went off. I now have the answer to what I need to add to the first chapter of a novel that I haven't touched in over two years to make it work! Swan Queen, there is hope for you yet!

*insert evil laughter and much milking of the giant cow* And if you have no idea what that means, go read this.

Confessions of a recovering overachiever

Sorry for the sudden lapse of silence, but after a month-long blogging challenge with my discarded characters, I've needed a little time off.

Fourteen years ago, pregnant with my first child, I had lofty visions of all the wonderful and meaningful things I wanted to do for and with mhy children. It started with a journal while still pregnant, covering everything from current events, to family history and then milestones as my children grew up. I would soon become involved with their schools, their hobbies, and all things connected to them. We would make our own christmas cards every year, by hand. We'd make Christmas cookies for family, co-workers and neighbors. We had big family birthday parties. This was all great and wonderful and everyone was happy.

However, somewhere around hitting forty I came to the conclussion I'd run out of patience and time. Year after year becomes a rush of one project leading to the next with little to no downtime in between. You may remember that last year I buried my tattered superwoman cape. This year I'm going a step further. I'm allowing myself to put my overachiever tendancies aside and join the ranks of the average.

Last month I offically put in my notice that I will not being taking on the Young Writers Program next November. I also put in my notice that I'll be stepping down from Girl Scouts as of the end of this school year. And even bigger, (because this has been one of my pet projects for eight years now) I'm handing off half my elementary christmas craft program to my new assistant whom I'm training this year. Then, after next year, I'm done with that entirely. That's three huge time-sucking programs crossed off my list. Whew!

I will also freely admit that I didn't make Christmas cards this year. We're using up extras from years past. We're cutting back cookie production to immediate family only. My christmas tree has way more ornaments on one side than the other, and yet, my normally twitchy self is ok with that. Half my outside Christmas lights didn't work this year so I threw them away and I haven't replaced them. In fact, I let the kids put the working ones up and they look pretty atrocious. Oh well.

Now if all this cutting back will give me some of this mythical "free time" to do the things I like to do for me, I'll be a happy average woman.

Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 30

Well halle-freakin-lujah, we’ve reached day 30! Between getting pricked by paperclips, accosted by discarded characters, being interrogated and doing a little of my own, and holding actual conversations with my Scorpius bobblehead, I was growing a little concerned that this month would end with me losing my goal for this year’s NaNo: to retain my sanity.

As of last night around 9pm, I completed my 50k word goal. The novel needs another 30 to 40k to finish out the draft, but I like where it’s going and aside from some questionable dialogue, my current in-play characters are behaving. One of my characters, thanks to the rewrite of Trust has become far darker and downright creepy in book two. He surprised even me. I love when that happens.

So how much did I write this month? Well, this blog challenge led to an additional 10k, in addition to the 50k novel in progress, at least 10k in planning/organizational emails with my co-ml (I’d get an exact number because I’m curious like that, but it would take way too long), 3k in pep talks and regional forum posts and daily notes, facebook messages of encouragement, answering NaNoMail… yeah, a lot. Let’s just call it that and let my fingers rest, shall we?

And for this last day, I’m to share a link to my story. I’ll compromise and share the opening scene. Enjoy.

I didn’t think my shipping business was overly successful, not to the point where anyone would want me dead over it. But as I lay there on the floor, observing the fine spray of my blood on my office wall, I had to consider that I might be wrong.

Heavy footsteps drew closer.

Damn. I knew I was rusty, having been out of the business for over four years, but it was still disappointing to know that I’d not done any serious damage with the two knives I’d managed to throw before toppling from my chair. I tried to peer around my desk, but my body wouldn’t cooperate.

Rhaine was going to be pissed that I missed dinner yet again.
The footsteps stopped.

Something tingled inside my head. The telepathic barriers I’d erected years ago dissolved as my mental strength faded.

The tingle came again. Familiar.

The black form of my killer loomed over me. “Oh fuck! Vayen, is that you?”

Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 29

As I watch my discarded characters--I’d call them darlings, but they’ve ticked me of this month—dismantle their ream wall and reshape all those paperclips, I can only shake my head. Well, that’s not entirely true, I could laugh at the Barthromians that Chuck is making clean up all the camel crap with teaspoons on their hands and knees.

There’s hope for that man yet.

This is what happens when you let characters run amuck with a plot. They make a mess. Sometimes it’s good to see where they will go, how they will grow and the twists that you hadn’t planned on, but there is a limit to the chaos you should let them make. Even in a rough draft. Unless you want that draft covered in crap, keep them somewhat on track.

Since all my characters are busy, I’ll have Scorpius ask the question of the day…or at least put on of the tiny flyers in his hands and pretend.

What was the one thing in which I indulged to keep myself writing?

Bad dialogue. I could say drinking or chocolate, both of which are somewhat true, but no, mostly bad dialogue. When a scene stopped moving, I let someone speak their mind and the sparks started flying. While this is good, it usually resulted in a lot of responses like, “Good” “Fine” “No” from the character being ranted at with an occasional comment to egg the other character on. There will be some definite clean up involved but no, I won’t be doing it with a spoon.