Novels in the oven

For me novels are like that recipe you vaguely remember your dearly departed grandmother making in your childhood. You know what you want, but no one can tell you just how to put it all together. The exact taste is right there on the tip of your tongue, but you just can't quite name the ingredient you keep missing. And you need to give it time to cook. But now much time? Too much and it's overdone and dry, not enough and you've got a mushy mess of stark flavors on your hands (or fork).

I write a rough draft, add in some notes of intent for the really rough spots and toss that puppy in the subconsicious oven. (No real puppies were harmed during this post.) I turn the light on inside the oven and sit and stare. Nothing cooks when you watch it, I swear. So I walk away. I have no freaking idea when this meal is going to be done. Rushing the process just makes me bang my head on walls. So I go look for something to eat while I wait for the DING!

I eat my obligatory vegetables. I enjoy some broccoli while editing, some carrots while I read books and blogs on writing. Sometimes I munch on a salad go on critique sprees. I do enjoy my veggies, but I long for that main course. It smells so darn good. Why isn't it done yet?

I sneak a few pieces of chocolate cake while I read books for fun and catch up on the tv shows I otherise ignore. That cake is indulgently wonderful, but it's not filling.

Nothing quite hits the spot, so I sneak off with a sandwhich and write short stories. Filling yes, but still not what I'm craving.

And then it comes. A DING that fills my head and sends my fingers flying over the keyboard to find that draft I'd set aside so long ago. All that time waiting, smelling, drooling, and now I grab my fork and dive in. I can't stop eating. I must. Keep. Eating.

Once I wash the dishes and get over the stomach ache, I'll sit back and ponder if I got the recipe right this time. If I did, who knows, I might finally be ready to invite some friends to dinner.

Six Sentence Sunday: Sahmara's Sunset 3

In today's excerpt of Sahmara's Sunset, we learn that the goddess is not as benevolent and loving as the priests of Sahmara's childhood had taught.

Sahmara jerked her hand back, but the old woman held on with surprising strength.

She slid the tip of the knife against Sahmara’s finger.
Sahmara watched in horror as Reva thrust the bloody finger into her mouth and sucked at it ravenously. Her shock wore off a second later and she managed to yank her finger back from the wet, toothless maw.

Reva lapped a drop of blood from her chin with her long, red tongue. “Eager enough for my help, but so reluctant to pay?

Enjoy other Six Sentence Sunday entries here.

Holed up in my writing cave

I'd planned on a continuation of the rescue of Ms. Wildstar for my midweek post, but instead, I've been writing. Oh man, does it feel good. It's been a long time since I've actually been writing rather than soley editing. Since last November, actually. Too long.

After a much needed refilling of my creative well, I dived into writing a few new middle chapters for Trust. Thankfully, I left a clearly outlined plan for this section during my last round of cuts or I'd be banging my head against the wall, wondering what the heck I intended to do in the space where I deleted 13,000 words. I have to admit, outlining isn't totally evil after all.

Why delete 13,000 words? My plot needed focus in that area. Total refocus, to be exact.

It's so good to be working with these characters again. I've missed them while playing with short stories and Sahmara's Sunset.

I found that listening to the CD's I had been obsessed with at the time when I was doing one of my major rewrites that inspired this current version, has been a wonderful way to get back into the character's motives. Not that I can listen to music when I actively write, but I do do a good deal of mental writing in the car or while I'm working and that often happens when I'm drifting off into la la land with background music. Perhaps that's not such a good thing when I'm driving. Hmm.

Six Sentence Sunday: Sahmara's Sunset 2

Last week I gave you the first lines of my first fantasy novel, Sahmara's Sunset. This week, we get a hint as to how Sahmara ended up in hands of the enemy.

The hall was tainted by the metallic tang of her father’s men being put to death by Altherian swords. True to his Ma’hasi training, Zane stood in front of her, his sword at the ready. At the other end of the hall, her mother screamed as soldiers pinned her to the ground. Her Father bellowed threats while two men held him back. A third held a knife to his throat.

They kept asking her father questions, but Sahmara couldn’t understand them.

Enjoy other Six Sentence Sunday excerpts here.

Weasel attack: Eight Months early

Yeah, I know, NaNo is eight months away but I got this email last night and it reminded me of some of the raffle items I wanted to do for next year's regional events. Which then thwacked me on the head and urged me to create next year's regional logo. Since Rippy McWeasel was so popular last year, (even the newspaper reporter wanted to know more about him!), he gets a special place in this year's logo.

Working a ten and some hour day should have ended at that point, but the logo project called to me and the next thing I knew, two hours had passed, my husband had gone to bed and it was just me and Rippy hanging out on my computer like old times (last November). What do you think?