Oh, Amazon,

how you tease me. Look what showed up in my inbox today as a suggested purchase:
(You may need to click on it to read...the text is a little smallish.)

I think it is a sign.

Like, 'Hello, Lee. Get off blogger and go write. Right now.'

*Will not argue with the AmazonGods.*
*going*


Currently listening to Thought I'd Never Call? by James Newton Howard

Snug Fit: Apparently it's not only me who needs to go run/workout. We'll start...eh...in 2012. :)

Hope you all are having a great week/holiday season!

~writerlee

(who is not off to go run.)

The (w)right words.

For me--hands down--the hardest part of writing a novel is, well, the writing.

That sounds more moronic than I meant it to. Let me clarify: For me, the most difficult part of writing is sitting down and pulling the story out of my head. It's the capturing of it on paper. I'm not the most disciplined writer ever (if you couldn't tell), and I delude myself into thinking I'm too busy to write all the time (I'm not. But I am a black-belt in the art of time wasting.)

How does one combat extreme lazy and still get words to paper (almost) every day?

Well, it's a process, but mainly, I force myself to. There's really no other way. Many new writers are amazed at how hard it is to keep writing, especially once the newness of an idea has worn off. When the shininess has faded. (Consequently, this generally unknown difficulty is what makes many nonwriting people think that writing 'isn't a real job--anyone could do it.' Um. No.)

So. To get that story written. Some use the BIC Method, which stand for Butt-in-Chair. Some go a step further and subscribe to the BIC-HOK (Butt-in-chair-hands-on-keyboard).  Others use incentives, set daily word counts, etc. I don't use bribes, mainly because I end up outsmarting myself (that sounds conceited. it's not meant that way) or cheating. (<---Usually this one. ie: Instead of writing 500 NEW words, I'll EDIT 500 words...deal??) I'm also fairly impatient with myself, so it's really no surprise that I get all irritated and sometimes have internal debates* like the following:

WriterMe: Should probably be writing now.
LazyMe: But I know the story. It's not going anywhere.
WM: Should probably get that on paper.
LM: But--
WM: No buts. Write.
LM: Arg, okay. Oh look, chocolate chip cookies!
WM: You're just like all the others.

But eventually I sit down and write words. And sometimes that's all it is--writing words. It's turning down (not off, because I can't do that) the inner editor and just writing the story. Making that lump of clay. It's the only method that works for me, because as much as I love the writing process and creative process as a whole, I like completing things more. The Write Words Method (WWM) gets me a crap ton of clay to work with and refine.

Once the WWM gets me a completed WIP, that's when I move into the Right Words Method (RWM). RWM is about choosing the perfect words or phrases to show this scene. Finding the best way to elicit emotion--sometimes changing one word can alter the perception or emotion a reader has, even subconsciously. Right words means pondering if I made you care about these characters (are they sympathetic?). Are they 3-dimensional? Is that a typo? It's during the Right Words time that my inner editor gets to run wild, and ultimately, whip a work in progress into manuscript shape.

So, what's your method for going from blank document to manuscript? Do you bribe yourself? Combat the lazies like me?

The Battle. Thankfully sleeping doesn't always win.

*For the record, I do not have dissociative identity disorder (DID), or as it's more commonly known, multiply personality disorder (MPD). I just have an overwhelming and distracting case of chronic lazy.

For the love of editing. (Subtitle: Where the (fake) money be made)

*lets loose big sigh*

*clears throat*

*shuffles feet*

Oh, hell, never mind. The Painted Queen is now completed *resists happy dance*. For anyone who has ever completed a WIP (and if you haven't, keep truckin' and it'll happen), the high you get is pretty much indescribable. Proud? oh yes.

For a long time I was a serial starter. Either through faulty design (erm. plotholes) or waning interest (A.D.D.), things just never seemed to get done. And they never will unless you MAKE THAT MANUSCRIPT YOUR BIOTCH  BEND TO YOUR WILL. Write, dangit. Write right now, and you can sort out the problems later.

And now I'm at the 'later' point.

Now, lovelies, it is time to edit this 90k monstrosity. It's not going to be pretty. I bow to those who can manage a publishable first draft. Mine looks nothing like that. Potential, yes. Publishable--nowhere close.

Hopped up on copious amounts of caffeine, my editing session (cliff notes version) goes something like this:

YAY HAPPY HAPPY YAY! WOOHOOO! WAIT, WHAT? OH HELL. WHO ARE YOU? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY WRITING. WTF. IDK. OMG. IHML. DAMMIT. CRAP. JUNK. MESS. x2.

Yep, editing is where the money* is made. It's what separates the joyous premature queriers or submitters from people who are trying to do This Writing Gig** for the realz. If I were to start querying this thing now, it wouldn't be pretty. I'd just be setting myself up for some serious Rejection Pie. This is because THE FIRST DRAFT IS ALLOWED TO SUCK AND OFTEN DOES. It bears repeating: The first draft is allowed to suck. What's not (shouldn't be) allowed is submitting it before it's ready. That's like going out without your pants. You are either Lindsay Lohan or not ready. It's one or the other. Probably the latter.

To mention that often used metaphor--the first draft is like a lump of clay. It may not be beautiful, but maybe it's close to the right color or texture. It likely needs some adjustments, some added bits here and there, some trimming for clarity. You can probably see some of the seams in this lump of clay. Smooth those out. Work with it. Be pliable enough to listen to advice. Implement the good advice. You'll be amazed with the results.

That willingness to work through the suck, to keep trying no matter how people point and laugh, is what separates the I-AMs from the wannabes. It's the difference between being successful and being a whiner. (And nobody likes a whiner.)

And, oh goodness, this draft is full of suckage. (Not that kind, you silly perv). The first editing sweep for me is something akin to a controlled burn--I try to identify major problems and kill them with fire. Kill the adverbs with fire. Scene that doesn't contribute? Dead. Strange chunk of writing that is probably aliens trying to communicate with me because I don't remember writing it? Ashes.

Then I generally move on to more annoying things.

For instance. Some of my thoughts during this editing sweep go as follows:

Oh man. Messed that up. *inserts quick fix*

Whoops. Stupid spell check. *laughs*

Whoa. *sinking feeling*

Hey, MMC, why are you so bipolar? You were just happy and Sexy. Now you're brooding. Still Sexy though. I guess that's a win.

A six-year-old could write better dialogue than this. Srsly.

Villain: Why don't you laugh evilly already are you kidding me this is ridiculous.

I'm pretty sure that is a physical impossibility. *doublechecks* OH YEAH. NOT HAPPENING.

*Snorts in derision* REALLY?

FMC: You're acting like a moron. And I'm pretty sure that's all your fault.

OH, HAI, PLOTHOLE THE SIZE OF TEXAS. Didn't see you there.

*Sees Wednesday the EvilMonsterCat has walked across keyboard, deleted a whole chapter and replaced it with ‘weov,asdoiethasdvp34098* *Drinks more coffee* *Thinks hard.*

*Decides that's probably an improvement*

What? Who are you?? I KNOW I DIDN'T WRITE YOU HERE.

FML. (Realizes a character got left behind in chapter 7, never to be seen again. #toomanycharacters and #probablynotthatimportant)

YOUR EYES CHANGE COLORS SIX TIMES OMG ARE YOU A CHAMELEON?

  

WHERE DID YOU EVEN COME FROM.

  

WHAT AM I DOING??

Before finally: IDK WTH IS GOING ON HERE FML I NEED A DRINK.

But then, when it seems all is lost, I find that one scene and think, hey, not so bad, Lee. Not so bad.

*Enjoys that for a moment. Then goes to make the other 50 chapters not so bad.*




You just think I'm sleeping. When you leave I'm going to minimize AW, open your WIP, erase 6.56234 chapters and replace them with gibberish that's probably better than what you manage, even when you're trying. And I think I've figured out the 'save' function, just to really tee you off.



*In this case, I’m not even talking monopoly money. One day.
**The Writing Gig means different things to everyone, but to me it means procuring actual real agentperson and editor.




Currently listening to: Prepare For Battle--Jerry Goldsmith and The National Philharmonic Orchestra of London and Sportscenter on the TV.

Because I've nothing to say besides

Hai.

Have a good week!

~Roo

What do you feel when

you come up with the perfect title for your manuscript?

Glee?

Elation?

Relief?

Me, well, I feel all of those. Especially because coming up with the perfect title* for my current project has been a long road, and I don't feel like I can really work on something unless it has a name beyond WIP1 or @)(*&Q#$)(*%)@#(*!!!!! (<---This is a common stand in.)

No title is like not naming your children until they are 18 and headed out the door.** Too late. I try and make my titles capture the essence of the book in question, so once I find a fitting one I hang onto it for dear life. It's my fall back when I lose my theme or core of my story.

So, yeah. Call me a big bundle of Gleelation (that's really happeh, people.) I found the one.

Relieved? You bet. Which is probably what Wendy Corsi Staub felt when her work finally got the go-ahead title:

along with Mr. Green

and George Pelecanos

The HELL TO PAY by Wendy Corsi Staub was the book that brought about this blog post. Hot off the gleelation of finding a title for my WIP, I was perusing the book aisle at walmart when I saw it. The sight prompted me to first burst out laughing and then to do a quick search on Amazon, which is what led me to the others. There's even a Hillary Clinton book with Hell to Pay in the title. Needless to say, this just reinforces the belief that creativity is unlimited, but ideas aren't.

Just when you go a'thinking you're somethin' speshul.... Yeah. Not so much.

Consolation: None of those books are anywhere near mine in terms of theme or plot. Hell, none of them are even the same genre. So no harm, no foul.

Have a great one, everybody :).

*Yes, I know that titles usually get changed, but com'on--this one's perfect. (because I'm the only one with a perfect title...LOL.)

**This is a bad metaphor, I know. Books aren't children. And the writers who treat them as such generally end up never getting them out the door. That's right, those bookbabies become 40 year-old stay-at-home children who crow about the glory days of high school and wipe potato chip grease on your recliners.

NaNo Update, Day #it'stoolatenow

For all you Wrimos frantically writing away, I applaud your wherewithal.

As far as how my NaNo went, well. Eh.

I stopped around 22k. I believe I hit that mark on about day 13, but then that pesky life happened. *le sigh* I haven't been writing much lately, but I've been making up for it by reading.

I have stinkin' missed reading, y'all. I raced through The Hunger Games trilogy in two days over Thanksgiving, and I'm still thinking about the series today, so Suzanne Collins wins. LOL. (And I'm still not sure how I feel about some parts of that series. It's most perplexing.) I've got a little everything in my to-be-read pile, from contemporary thrillers to YA fantasy to paranormal romance to documentary-style prose.

And I absolutely can't wait.

What're you guys reading? Still NaNo-ing?

NaNo Update, Day 12

I'm at 17, 281 right now. Technically, I should be at around 18k, but life happened in the middle of the week and I was unable to get any writing time in. At one point, in fact, I was behind by about 5k--I've narrowed it down to only about a thousand words behind, which makes me pretty happy. Or atleast lessens the drowing feeling...kinda.

Hopefully I can catch up today.

As far as yesterday, I really struggled to get going. I wasn't sure what I wanted to throw at my characters next (read: I'm pantsing the hell out of this WIP) and was generally feeling pretty blah. Being ~5k behind schedule isn't a fun feeling and can be more than a little overwhelming. Thankfully I got in a groove a couple hundred words in and went on from there, finishing with a few thousand that I'm okay with.

Try as I might, I can't seem to get ahead for anything. But I'll settle for being close, for now. Maybe, once I sit down to write today, I can get on a roll.

How's your NaNo going?

Currently listening to: the tv blaring and Wednesday the MonsterCat meowing.

Nano-ing-ness. Day 10.

11,210.

I know, I know, I'm behind. I've got all day to try and catch up though, so that's what I'll be doing.

Favorite lines from the last day's work:

“We do well for ourselves,” it preened. “These communities are like the richest meals. You can really taste the full-bodied flavor of desperation.”

So, yeah. That's it.

Hope y'all are managing better than I am!

Currently listening to Alone With You--Jake Owen (<--sexy.)

NaNo Update, day 6ish.

Currently listening to: Monster You Made--Pop Evil.


Hell to Pay Wordage: 8,222. A little behind quota, but I'm not worried. I love where this thing is going. It's creepy and fantastic*. And creepy.

Did I mention creepy?

The Painted Queen Wordage: 70,400. I've got more story than I thought *coughcough* (or a beginning that goes on a long time before anything happens). I meant to finish the rough draft around 70k, but that's not going to happen. Probably will be around 90k before it's all said and done. Christmas break, oh where art thou?

That's all for now--hope you other WriMos are rocking it :)

*I think it's fantastic. Let's hope that's consensus, anyways.

Day 2 of NaNo

November 2nd. Day 2 of NaNoWriMo.

Progress?--Meh. Debatable.

I'm at 1,724, which is basically a daily goal. Not as much as I'd hoped to get done, but that's life. I did, however, find a blog background that fits the theme of my current WIP. (Somewhere on this blog I mentioned that I try to pick a fitting background and leave it for the duration of whatever project I'm working on. The last one was Cliffs of Moher-ish, which worked with the celtic-theme WIP I had going. As you can see, this WIP is a little darker.)

Favorite lines thus far: 

She let out a sigh and punched the radio dial off. Dad hated that song, and if he hadn’t of been a folded up flag riding shotgun, he’d of told her to change it.

So, how'd you other WriMos do?

in which I bemoan my lack of progress.

NaNoWriMo is right around the corner. Upon us(me). Looming. Imminent.

Yikes.

There's so much for me to do between now and November 1st it's not funny. The Painted Queen is thisclose to being a completed first draft. It's sitting at 70k right now. I thought I could wrap up everything around 75k and expand through edits, but it looks like I was wrong-o. (insert le sigh here.) I've taken to writing short snippets (~500 words) that capture the bare bones of the scenes and can be fleshed out later. As is, I've got about 14 of them to write.

Probably time to get crackin'.

Beyond that, I'm really excited to begin the new WIP, tentatively titled Hell to Pay. Like I've said before, it's been driving me crazy. I'm so excited, in fact, I've forgotten how I wanted to open the damn thing. Openings are hard for me. Like many newish writers, my stories usually begin about three chapters beyond where I start them. I'm determined to begin Hell to Pay right where it needs to--only I'm not sure where that is anymore. #fail.

I downloaded a free trial of Scrivener software, mainly because they claim to make the first draft easier (which sounds like an impossibility to me, but I'll give it a go) and offer a discount on the full version if you 'win' NaNo. To be honest though, I'm not sure I'll figure out how to use the darn thing before Nov. 1, so I'll probably just stick to good old MS Word. The concept of Scrivener sounds fabulous, and I'm sure it works for many people, but I'm not sure I have enough patience to fiddle with it when I could be writing away on my normal word processor.

Although, with the new schedule I've set up for myself, I might actually have some free time to figure out Scrivener. Because I'm only writing my thesis and working this semester, I'm really having trouble getting in a routine and many things have suffered because of it. (My jeans, for instance. They seem to have shrank from the spite.) November is my opportunity to adopt a schedule, all while writing furiously.

Basically, in the next 35 hours I need to write 8-10k, figure out Scrivener software, grocery shop, grade 200 papers, do laundry, and drive back home. Not too bad, right?

Oh. Right.

And outline the novel I'm going to write like a madwoman, because it hasn't been done yet.

Crap.

50k in 30 days. Oye.

I did it. I signed up for the insanity fun that is National Novel Writing Month--eek!

Find the site here: http://www.nanowrimo.com/

For those who may not know (or don't wanna click the link), NaNoWriMo is an annual event that draws hundreds of thousands of writers, both published and aspiring. Basically, it's a writing free-for-all, with the main goal to pull words from the aether and put them to paper...erm...word processor. 50k.

In 30 days.

That's about 1,666 words/day, for those strange creatures who actually like math.

Whether you abhor numbers (*raises hand*) or not, 50k in 30 days probably seems like quite a challenge. I know that it will be for me. Try as I might, I don't write regularly, or at least not in a daily routine. I have relegated most of my writing time to the weekend, where I can spend a few continuous hours on my projects. Generally I can turn out 3.5k a week, usually in about 3 hours. Weekdays are too crazy with school and work and thesis crap.

But, that being said, I'm going to try and tackle NaNo this year. Is it crazy? Will I even have a chance to 'win'? Yes and probably a snowball's chance in hell, respectively.

Joining NaNo is helpful to me for two reasons:
1) It means I have a deadline of October 31st for my current WIP. I need deadlines. Otherwise I fiddle on the google or on AW or on crackbook or chew my nails or take naps instead of writing. Hi, I'm WT and I am a procrastinator.

2) It also means I have a distraction to keep myself from editing immediately after I type the end in mah current WIP. Letting it rest for a month will help me to be more objective when the time comes to go back and gut edit the thing. (And major edits it needs.) Plus, the idea I've got for November is one that been pestering me for months and months. One that's been trying to lure me astray. To distract me with its Shiny New Idea-ness. (All words are better with -ness endings. Face it.) I've resisted admirably up to this point. (The query that I tapped out oh so very quickly doesn't count...right? I swear it was just tiny moment of infidelity...I mean weakness.)

I want to get a down and dirty draft done for WIP2. Basically, the beginning, the pivotal scenes, and the ending. While I'm shooting for 50k in 30 days, I'm not going to be too disappointed if I fall short. Any words on paper are progress, and most of those words will get changed through editing sweeps anyway. The point is to get the words out there, period. No editing, no fretting, no second-guessing.

Write. And then write more.

I'm posting this here as a little accountability thingy. Every three days or so I'll post my progress. I have say that I'm really stoked about this story. It's got some pretty dark themes going on--much darker that in my current WIP. Should be fun.

Should any other NaNo-ers exist out there, my handle is lilchubb. Add me. We can talk or moan/groan together. It's always funner (today, a word) when there's people to commiserate with ;).

Holy crap.

If you are in a particularly weird place with your writing, or you just want to read something that will straight-up suckerpunch you, read this: http://www.murderati.com/blog/2008/11/23/comfort-reading.html


...



Now go write.

Things I've learned

over the past few blogless weeks include

1) I stink at blogging. ...This is a bad lead-off sentence I think.

2) Writing a master's thesis also stinks.

3) Weddings 400 miles away are, well...a long way away. (I never said these were going to be riveting.)

• (3a. Optimistic (read: one size smaller) ordering of bridesmaid's dress is a poor decision for a harried grad student. I'm still recovering from the lack of oxygen.)

4) Going for a run with a person who is required by contract to maintain a high level of physical fitness (read: a U.S. Marine) is a poor, poor idea on part of harried, fluffy grad student. Emphasis on the fluffy part. And the harried. Probably more the fluffy.

5) There is no five, because five is the number of DNA primer pairs I'm using for my thesis. And frankly, the number five stinks. I've grown to hate poor old five, and it's kind of sad really. It's not five's fault.

6) I'm all out of learned things. (This is probably bad.)

In other updates, I broke 55k in my WIP. *Wootwoot!* I'll wrap up a short first draft at around 65k, and then I plan on letting it sit for about a month whilst I forget everything and focus my attention on the idea that's been clamoring (with cymbals) in the back of my head for MONTHS. I'm so excited about the new project, but I'm determined to finish the current WIP first. Must. Finish.

Right now I'm reading GENERATION KILL by Evan Wright. Final verdict is still out (I'm only about 6-7 chapters in), but I will say I'm enjoying it thus far. I'm dying to get my hands on Lee Child's new Jack Reacher book, THE AFFAIR, as well as read a couple other books of various genres that I picked up in a bargain sale. Life would be better if I had more time to read.

Other than that, nothing much going on in my life. How're all of you?

Do you remember

this day, ten years ago?

I do.

From our high school librarian running in, panicked, saying that the World Trade Center tower had been hit, to everyone in my tiny school packing into the library to watch the news all day. We watched the second tower get hit. We watched them both fall. We didn't--couldn't--understand. We watched footage of the UA flight 93 crash scene after it went down in that Pennsylvania field, only to later learn of the bravery of those people on board.

On that day, teachers and administrators and students were all equals. We all sat together, without any sense of order, and watched the tragedy unfold before our very eyes. Many people came and went, but I sat in the same chair all day. My friends never moved. We couldn't move. We were transfixed and mortified, horrified for the loss of life. Horrified for those people with family and friends that were lost in the rubble. Horrified at the sights of desperation, of the people jumping from windows, trying to save themselves. It was a jolt of reality, and one that I won't ever forget.

And I remember it all. But what I remember most vividly wasn't on the television that day. Isolated far away in tiny-town Texas, we were all safe. No one had any family or friends in the WTC or aboard those planes.

A couple hours into the tragedy, the room was particularly quiet. Many students had been picked up by their parents and taken home, and so the number crammed into our modest library was decreased.

For some reason, I glanced around the room. And my heart stopped beating. There, sitting near the back, was my math teacher. A former United States Marine, survivor of multiple tours in many war-torn places of the world. Brave recipient of a Purple Heart, along with several other decorations. A great teacher and person.

And father to a son working in the Pentagon.

I'll never forget seeing the tears stream down his face. Or the look of abject horror as the news played the reels of the attack again and again. Or the quiet, terse conversation he had with his wife, also a teacher at our school. The pain in their eyes because they couldn't reach their son; the son who had just been promoted to a Pentagon window office.

On this day ten years ago, there was no such thing as far-removed, tiny-town Texas. We were all right there in NYC, the Pennsylvania field, and the Pentagon. Today, we stand together again as one nation bound by tragedy, and we remember.

Appreciation (n)

Hey everyone, hope y'all had wonderful (long) weekends. I was productive...sort of. I've been spreading my attention out between my WIPs, which has resulted in just a little progress on several things, rather than a lot on one. I know that progress is progress, but still.

One thing I've really been working on is outlining my next novel--I plan on having the rough draft of The Painted Queen completed by (at the latest) November, and want to be able to jump right into another mss. So, I've been mentally working out what's next in my head: a paranormal, set in Texas, during the worst drought of the century.

Coincidentally (and sadly), I've had a lot of inspiration as of late.

As many of you know, Texas is on fire. We haven't had rain in months. Growing up in an rural and agricultural setting really sensitizes you to the weather; everyone from ages 12 to 102 knows that we're in a terrible situation here. At home the temperature has been over 100 degrees for more than 20 days in a row, all with no measurable precipitation. My home area is under water rationing, and there's talk that the wells are actually drying up because there isn't enough water cycling through the environment to replenish groundwater sources. The biologist in me knows it's true; the agriculturalist in me knows it's only going to get worse.

People are losing their livelihoods one failed crop at a time. In my area, the soil is better suited to raising livestock than grains or fibers, but some people do still scratch out a living directly from the ground. But cotton didn't produce this year, unless one could afford to irrigate, which most people can't do. I took a walk across my parents' hay field while I was home, and with each step in what is normally thick, retina-searing green Bermuda grass, puffs of dust rose. What little is left of the grass is dead, a sickly yellow husk of cellulose. The livestock looks terrible. Gone are the days of additional feeding to put that extra sheen in the coats of your cattle. Now you're taking out loans, paying for feed just to keep everything alive. If you can't do that, you sell low, knowing that you'll take out another loan to buy them back in a few months when--if--it ever rains again.

Basically, everything and everyone is baking. In a time when the east coast is drowning, we're roasting.

And now, to top it off, we're on fire. When the whole world is a tinder box, one little spark is all it takes to turn 16,000 acres into a barren wasteland. The winds from hurricane (or is it tropical storm?) Lee brought a relief from the heat, but now are only fanning the flames higher. Mandatory evacuations are underway. People are losing their lands, their homes, and their lives.

While everyone else is running away from the fire, our local firefighters are running into it. Helicopters are hauling in water, but there are still hundreds of people on the ground, physically putting out the flames or digging trenches to save what little is left. Everyone is at risk. Under-equipped volunteer firefighters are rushing into the smoke, trying their damndest to save everything--to save something.

It takes a special kind of person to do that.

This post isn't looking for pity. It isn't about complaining or whining. Even though this is the worst drought I've ever seen, I know we'll pull through it. We always do. What this post is about is appreciation. Appreciation for the people in the service industry who run toward the fire when everyone else is running away. It's for the families of those firefighters who wonder if their wife/husband/mom/dad/daughter/son will come home tonight, tomorrow, next week. It's for the people who collect food to feed those working 18 hour days in the smoke and ash. It's for the people who open their homes to the homeless, who lend washing machines, a change of clothes, blankets, or beds. For those who raise funds to cover random expenses or to buy a meal for someone who has lost everything. For those businesses that put out the mason jars at the front counters--even spare change helps.

In the larger scheme, my WIPs mean nothing.  The fact that I have the electricity to power my laptop and a place to stay with a roof over my head is more important. The fact that my family and friends are out of harm's way is the most important.

This post is about appreciating what you have, because you never know when it might be taken from you.

I know I need to work on that. Do you?



Found on facebook--that's the Austin, Texas skyline. Taken by Austin photographer Deanna Roy http://www.deannaroy.com/



Taken around Bastrop, Texas. Over 200 hundred homes have been destroyed, with many more in imminent danger.

Ah! Janitors!

Hi folks.

Long time, no blog. I know. [hangs  head]

Even though I haven't been blogging much (erm. AT ALL), there's still been lots going on with me. Firstly, I completed all my summer classes, which means that I'm done with real classes FOREVER*. Yay! Secondly, I've been overrun with labwork, and the IT guys at my university apparently hate the genetics lab because they killed our internet to the room**. So that's where I've been--cooped up in the cold, boring lab without Pandora to keep me company. Que terrible!

Anywho. [Knows none of the above is particularly interesting]

So the point of this blog post is to thank Ellen over at WordThief for sending me JANITORS by Tyler Whitesides. Admittedly, in all my awesomeness***, I won the book, but still, she sent it.

Like it arrived. In the mail. For the realsies.

I've had a little trouble focusing as of late, so I haven't quite finished it yet, but I'm really enjoying it thus far. The main character, Spencer Zumbro, cracks me up with his mannerisms. Daisey 'Gullible' Gates is JANITORS version of Luna Lovegood, and who doesn't love a Luna? All in all, I'm sure I'm going to really enjoy it (once I find two seconds to sit down and finish it.) And seriously, how can you not love that cover? The little stripey newt thingy is twelve kinds of adorable and you know it. But I digress.

I have a feeling I'm going to really love this book. Not to mention, once I get done with it, I'll probably hold my own giveaway for it--pay it forward and all, y'know.

So. Follow Ellen. She's a YA writer who always has some great blogposts going on, as well as some rockstar-awesome contests. (And Ellen, I'll be getting you a picture with the book--once I drag a rake...er...comb through my hair. :)

Until next time,

~l


*Thats a lie. Sort of.
** Damn them.
***This is also a lie. The only awesomeness in this post is Ellen, who hosted the contest. I just posted a comment.


What I'm listening to: New Slang by The Shins

What I'm Writing.

Yes, I am writing. (Not really blog posts, obviously. I'll do better. Promise.)

So. What am I writing? *DeepBreath*

My thesis.

(Yikes)

I'm about to be working on the the Discussion section.

(DoubleYIKES)

It is a scary thing, folks. And to give you an idea of how it's going, I leave you this:

Yep. This.

Character Traits: The Baddest of the Bad.

this is mah worried face. im so cuute.

Meet Roo. (He's that adorable bugger on the left, pictured at 9 weeks old.) (Roughly 70lbs ago...eeee!)

Roo is adorable.

Roo is funny.

Roo is Bad.

Roo is, above all things, a character.

The Rundown.
Name/Aliases: Lord Remington LaRoo of Tsavo. Roo. Rooster. Rue. BadDog. MarleyWho? Torpe Torpedo. No (<--- this is the one he answers to most often.)

Puppy Group: Rhodesian Ridgeback

Character Traits

• Positive: Fun-loving, outgoing, energetic. Loves a good walk. Great companion. Excellent jogging buddy, crumb-picker-upper. Happy ALL THE TIME. Adorable. Good with kids and strangers. Low Key.
• Negative: (These are the faults, because every character needs them.) Demanding. Juvenile. Only barfs on the carpet, never the tile. Has terribly destructive affinity for cords of all colors and constitutions. Chases the DemonCat. Tail Wags at perfect height to clear coffee table in one swoop. Eats flipflops with unbounded passion. Enjoys un-potting grandma's flowers and other plantlife. Digs deep and random holes in the backyard, much to the chagrin of momma when she's walking around outside without the usual Constant Vigilance.

The Skinny: Roo is the happiest dog I've ever met. He also is the only dog I've ever wanted to strangle because he escaped and ran off for 4 hours while I was at home at my parents*. He has, in no uncertain terms, been the most destructive canine I have ever owned. However, all the negatives are off-set by his intense adorability (OH HAI, FAKE WORD!). Some days it's his only redeeming quality. (Well you know, besides being so happy all the time.) Even when he does something atrocious, like eat momma's netbook charger (the only one I have), his adorableness only decreases by two points for thirty seconds. That's the power of adorable, people.

In short, this is a fake blog post about characters. Okay, that's not true. This is a real blog post about (sorta) real characters. Make them real. Make them awesome. And make them adorable**.


hai. im bad.

*he returned unscathed, and (of course) happy as a lark.
**If they are villains, then this:

Hey, even villains need to be adora--erm...have redeeming qualities. Or at least a motive as to why they assassinate da flipfloppers. And when I did this in paint the ball and chain weren't floating, promise.

Happy 4th, y'all :)

"Our country is not the only thing to which we owe our allegiance.  It is also owed to justice and to humanity.  Patriotism consists not in waving the flag, but in striving that our country shall be righteous as well as strong." ~James Bryce

"This nation will remain the land of the free only so long as it is the home of the brave."  ~Elmer Davis

Happy Independence Day, everyone--I hope everybody has a great weekend. :)

And please--keep in mind those who allow (and have allowed) you to celebrate and enjoy this time. We have so much for which to be grateful.

Muse Fuel

Like many other writers, I'm inspired by lots of things. The ideas come from occasionally weird places, such as the bone my dog is chewing on, or The Beast*, a genetics machine/monster that I do my research with.

Most of the time, however, music really gets the creative pot a'simmering. Case in point, the latest WIP I've got going was not only kicked off by my love of history, but also this song:  

Then there was this one**.

 Most recently, it's this:***

So, what's your Muse Fuel?

*I mean this. It's the devil. An expensive devil. If I could get the 96 capillary array version, I'd be the happehest gurl in th' woirld.

**It's worth mentioning that The Last of the Mohicans soundtrack (Trevor Jones & Randy Edelman) is twelve kinds of awesome.

***My playlists (and cds) span many genres, much to the chagrin of my boyfriend.

WordCountStuffs.

Short post here, as I don't have much to say (count yer blessings). Latest WIP busted into the 20k-ish range, which makes me pretty happy. I've seen on other blogs and AW that loads of writers reward themselves when that pesky word count reaches certain milestones: I think that's a wondiferous idea. I think a celebration every 10k is warranted, so obviously I get to have twice the party. :). Yes, I'm back-partying, cuz it's mah prerogative.

Anyway, whilst celebrating my two word count parties--I'm eating 2 cookies right now--I'm trying to remind myself not to enslave my person to that darn button, no matter how fun it is to click (sometimes). *Sigh*

It's hard being so complicated. I mean conflicted. I mean confused. Compulsive?

Anyways, I have a funny feeling that this rough draft is going to end up on the shorter side.

Tools --> Word Count sez so.

/writerfail.

*****

ps. Tell me I'm not the only one who struggles with the WC issue(s). Support group? Stepwise program? Something (besides more cookies)? (Ignore the last, more cookies is always a groovy idea.)

In Real Life.

Recently, a post in the Wall Street Journal has garnered the ire of many a YA author and aficionado. Before I say more, find the article here .

The particular piece has been rebutted (aka, torn to shreds) by many, many other people thus far. It's caused a veritable outrage on twitter, making the '#YAsaves' tag/conversation the third most active twitterthingy going on in the US. That is A LOT of conversation.

And it's a good thing, don't get me wrong.

But for me, instead of getting all wound up over it, it's easy to just let it slide. Roll off, no problem. Why? Well that's easy: Because I don't care what some obviously narrow minded  woman has to say about my genre. Seriously. Couldn't give two shits. (Como se dice 'publicity stunt'?)

Should the article have been filed under the 'Opinion' headlines? Probably. Would it have still sparked off this wildfire of a debate? I think so, because we're all so passionate about what we write. (Which is why we write in the first place, right?)

I don't think anyone with a lick of common sense will allow the article to cast a cloud of distaste over all YA. It's clear to me that the woman in question didn't look very hard to find something suitable for her daughter to read. Anyone who does think blood and guts and torture is that all YA is, well, fuggetaboutem.

What I obviously DO take very obvious issue with is the free and easy way the writer drops names--not cool. She obviously never learned the golden rule of writing: Respect your fellow writer. If we don't respect each other, who will? It's hard enough to make it out there like it is, without all the backstabbing, etc. in the workplace. Who hasn't gotten the "Why don't you get a REAL job?" question? Pisses you off, huh?

That's the aspect of the article that made me most irritated--the lack of writerly respect. THAT pisses me off. THAT makes me want to say "Okay, darling, if you can do it better, by all means...."

Then you'll hear the crickets chirping.

I don't have gratuitous violence in my YA. As a matter of craft, it's my intention to not have gratuitous ANYTHING in my YA. Everything in the story plays an integral role. But there is violence. There is blood. There is loss. Because the stories I try and tell could be real to someone, somewhere. My characters get broken down, kicked around, but come out on the other side stronger for it. Some of the best people I've ever met in my life weren't raised in 'perfect' homes. Everything wasn't marigolds and roses all the time. They had hard lives, much harder than mine was as a child. And if I can ever measure up to 50% of them, I'll consider myself extremely blessed.

The YA section the lady perused obviously didn't fit her tastes. That's okay. Real hurts sometimes. I just turned off the news because hearing about some poor little girl who may or may not have been murdered is all anyone's talking about and it makes me think lots of people shouldn't be parents to dust bunnies, much less children. The story is incredibly sad. Should we not talk about that either?

If you want to shelter your children from some things, fine, I don't care. (And just because FOX owns the WSJ, it doesn't make this a conservative/Republican movement. My folks are VERY republican, but have always encouraged me to read whatever I wanted to.) Don't make this a politics issue; it isn't one. This is one misplaced opinion that's gotten a lot of attention, nothing more, nothing less. (We're so pumped about about it, I think we're actually making it more than it is. A LOT MORE.)

If you don't want real, I'm sorry, you won't like my YA. But that's okay. Because maybe there's someone out there, somewhere, who needs it more than words can say.

They're the ones I'm writing for anyways.

Welcome to the Blahhhhhg. [Subtitled: Voldemort Won't Be Dead, No Matter What the Last Movie Sez]

This week has been an epic, dismal failure on many fronts. Thus, for purposes of this post, I rechristen my blog a blahhhhg.

With extra helpings of blah.

I’m sick. In a fun, feverish, blah-kind-of-way. Thankfully, my momma's great. She demanded I come home when illness first reared its ugly, strepto-staphylo-infested head. (In my defense, I was planning a trip home to see the parentals anyways. Honestly.)

Okay. Initial trip to my friendly campus quack-shack (university health center) lead to a vague diagnoses (actually, I’m really not sure if I was given one, but with my mental acuity at the time, I probably wouldn't have remembered it anyways) and a prescription for pills that likely could have choked an bull elephant. And were a bright, obnoxious pink to boot.

This was on Tuesday. You can bet I started those badboys with the gusto generally reserved only for chocolate products.

Wednesday rolled around and I suspected I might live after all. I again had a zest for life: I moved from my bed to the couch.

Thursday happened and I felt like a million bucks. Okay, so that’s an exaggeration. I felt like twenty bucks, but that’s a far cry in the way of improvement from my previously negative balance.

Thursday.5. Mysterious, full-body rash. I know, I know…SEXAH. Madre wigs out. She makes (I wasn't consulted on the matter) me an appointment with her doctor. We have several brief but intense arguments over the pink-elephant-pill continuation. She says stop. I say pshhh no moms, you be crazzzze*. I’m finally starting to feel better. So what if I look like a diseased tomato with straw for hair because I haven’t brushed it since the advent of Pill 1. So, like, dc! 

Moving on.

Friday. Doctor. (yay.) He takes one look at me and gives three possible causes, two of which passed for interesting in my fevered-congestion-aching-head. They were:

Bad reaction to the meds. [Snores] Level on interest scale**: -100.

Mono—when a dying soul has mono and takes this certain antibiotic, they get splotchy. I was game for this diagnosis: I could blame the so-called ‘kissing-disease***’ on the BF. (I always knew those darn boys had cooties, Microbiology or not.) Level on interest scale: +5. (Mainly because I could blame BF for all my troubles. He loves that.)

The last option was fascinating: scarletina. That’s Scarlet Fever, folks. How cool**** is that? It’s rarely (like hardly, hardly, hardly ever) fatal these days, but people still shudder when then hear the name. I love a good shock factor. Level on interest scale: +11. Archaic sickness, I think so.

Two lab tests later, I feel like I’m on a game show (one where there's no free oxygen in the room), waiting to hear if I get the prize behind the sure-to-be-the-winning door I picked.

[Drumroll]

…

Damn allergic reaction. Hello no-fun-story-to-tell plus a -100 interest rating.

Today: New pills. Feeling...meh. I believe I will survive. To pass the time, I’ve taken to divining the flavor of my Halls citrus cough drops without unwrapping them. It’s quite a challenge, requiring the perfect combination of lighting and non-watery-eyed vision. I could really use a pair of jewelers’ glasses, or whatever they’re called. Here’s what my discernment has led to thus far:

The pile on the left is considered safe. (Read: Orange.) The middle is a sketchy grapefruit flavor, which will do in a pinch but is inherently less desirable than orange. The farthest right is a septic pool of lemon-flavored atrocity. *Shudders*  I think they’re burning a hole and oozing through my mom’s mesquite coffee table. They’re an abomination. I think Voldemort created them. Maybe they're little bits of his soul. HARRYYOUMISSEDAHORCRUX!!!! Game Plan: Avoid. At. All. Costs.

Every once in a while they get sneaky, but I am wayyy dedicated to my sorting quest.

They all have captions on the wrappers. I tried to get a picture of couple of them, but they all turned out stinking blurry. But I'm noticing something--the lemons all have the most enthusiastic sayings, such as "Conquer Today!" or "Get Back in the Game!" which makes me think of a cheesy junior-high sports movie. Probably the strategy--get you so pumped you mistakenly eat one of the little bastards.

Oh how you try, you snaringly captioned little drops of poison. No matter your tactics, I shall not be fooled.

oye.

           

*Antibiotic resistance is bad, peeps. Always finish ALL the antibiotics that your doctorperson prescribes. Srsly. *Is glad something semi-intelligent came of this ramble.*

** For practical purposes, the Interest Scale ranges from -100 to +10.

***’Kissing disease’ is a misnomer. But BF doesn’t know that.

**** I’ll be the first to admit my nerdiness. It’s my blahhhg today and I’m running with it.

Character Dynamics

Lately I’ve been reading a lot more than normal, mainly because my head’s so congested I can’t form coherent sentences for my WIP. I came across a few blogs talking about various aspects of character, so I thought I’d add my .02 cents, mainly pertaining to character dynamics and adversity. 

Writers know that characters need to be dynamic—nobody wants to read about a cardboard cut-out. Characters need to grow, change, etc. Bottom line is, if the character is exactly the same at the first and end of the book, the writer hasn’t done a very good job. People change continuously throughout their lives. Characters should be no different.

One way to catalyze character growth is by facing adversity. We all know someone who was a mean jackass until he/she interned at a Monarch butterfly farm and became the most wonderful person ever afterwards. Because internships at Monarch butterfly farms are really life changing. For the greater good.

Right.

But we’ve all heard the saying that adversity builds character and changes people. It’s hung around for so long because it’s true. Soldiers come home from war and never pick up a weapon again. A college student dies after being hit by a drunk driver—his/her mother then becomes a public speaker, educating people on the consequences of too much booze. A child who was abused ends up abusing their own children, eventually becoming the adult he or she swore to never be.

Adversity changes us, sometimes for the better, other times for the worse. But the point is, you have to change to grow. And often you have to experience adversity to change.

In the current ms I’m working on, the main character is a paramedic. She’s a passive healer, not a fighter, but she gets thrown into a world where she’s literally fighting for her life on a near-constant basis. She’s constantly forced into situations where she decides the outcome—roll over and die or fight. Change or suffer. Kill or be killed. Obviously it goes against her beliefs, but she changes to survive.

I once read that it’s not enough to put your MCs in a tall tree and write them climbing down. Around the tree you need to dig a moat and fill it with toxic water and wicked alligators. Then throw rocks at your MC. Maybe let some killer bees loose. Make it difficult—mucho difficult. Throughout all this adversity, the MC who finally braves the bees, stones, and the gator moat shouldn’t be the same as he/she was when stuck at the top of the tree. Those are the kinds of characters readers like to read about. 

So. Go throw rocks at your characters. Torture them. Make them HAVE to change. Stasis is bad. Make them grow.

Got those rocks yet?

Productivity--I haz it.

It's shaping up to be a good week here: in the past two days, I've cranked out 7k that I'm pretty happy with--yaya! Even though it's just a rough (first) draft, I'm really seeing ways I can iron this story out and make it fun/interesting/something-someone-somewhere-will-wanna-read.

Hopefully, this weekend will be even more productive, but we'll see how that goes. *fingerscrossed*

So how's your writing going? Any goals met?

hayyyyyyy :)

The Chaos Between

Ah, the Shiny New Idea (SNI) strikes again. I've started a new mantra (as of 9:00am this morning): I am going to finish my current WIP. I am going to finish my current WIP. I Am Going To Finish My Current WIP. IAMGOINGTOFINISHMYCURRENTWIP!

Maybe I should tattoo that backwards on my forehead. And then carry around a handmirror everywhere I go.

Okay, so maybe not. But I could definitely use a little in the way of focus right now. I'm so excited to be writing again that I've got a twenty-nine point five zillion ideas going on in mah lil noggin which makes it ohsohard to concentrate on anything at any given time because there's so much going on or so much I could be doing if I could only work on twelve WIPS of different genres all at one time....

Right. You get what I mean.

Hi, my name is Lee, and I'm battling SNI addition.

[Must. Not. Give. In.]

Suffice it to say, after this current WIP is completed and sitting nicely in a drawer for thirty days before editing, I shant be twiddling my thumbs in want of an idea. Or seven.

*head desk*

It's Okay to Suck. (Seriously.)

No matter how you say it, nobody wants to suck. At anything. I'm one of those people. Blame my perfectionism, my INFJ personality, whatever. Long story short, that trait is very deeply ingrained within my personality. It's there for the long haul, baby.

And you know what?

It's something I/you/we need to get over. That's right, I said it. You've got to be willing to suck at some things before you can ever get better.

Several examples come to mind, ranging from musical instruments to sports. Regardless of the scenario, however, the idea holds true. Ask yourself this question: 'What things am I naturally good at?' Got a scroll-like list yet?

Then try this one on for size: 'What are the things that I really love doing?'

Odds are, between the two questions, you'll have some overlap. But there may be a few things you love and maybe aren't so naturally good at. (This is where the musical instruments analogy comes in.) Some people are musically inclined. My family (largely excluding me) is one such group--everyone plays at least one instrument, usually two. My mom is just amazing--she plays piano, guitar, flute, sings....

But she didn't get to be seventeen kinds of awesome overnight. (I think it took two nights.)

*...maybe she's not the best example....*

A long, long time ago, I asked my mater familia to teach me her wicked-awesome-guitar/singing-jedi-ways. She obliged, began speaking in reverse syntax like Yoda and calling me 'grasshoppa'.

Wonder of all wonders (not), I sucked. Something about strumming and singing at the same time blew my mind to the point of short circuiting. I was pissed. First (bratty) reaction went something like this: Whatthehellwhyisn'tthisworkingi'msupposedtobeawesomeliketherestofmyfamilyamIadoptedthissucksIquit.

Yoda...erm, my madre, just laughed and handed me back my guitar pick after the ninth time I'd launched it airborne. And you know what she said?

Suck you do. Hopeless you are not.

And that gets us to the point of this whole rambling blog post: It's okay to suck. Seriously. Most people throw in the towel in the early stages of learning to do anything new because they can't handle not being awesometastic immediately.

To get to Jedi Master levels, you've got to be willing to suck first. To not be naturally awesome or a virtuoso. And that fact, well, sucks. But those people who do stick it out, deal with the ridicule, ignore the family members who point and giggle, eventually stop sucking. Maybe even get to the point where others consider them to be impressive. Maybe even Yoda-like.

The same theory can be applied to many different fields. Because it's on this blog, you can bet I'm going to relate it to writing. Many moons ago, once I decided I was going to get serious about writing, I found this awesome writing forum. I learned a ton immediately--the amount of Jedi Master Juice there is fantastic. I prematurely posted a snippet of a WIP up on the Share Your Work section, and promptly got told that it needed work. It wasn't fun, but it was necessary. I was told I sucked, but I wasn't hopeless. There might have even been some potential hidden in there.

Flashback to the mom and guitar session.

Through some self-motivation, I'm still writing. I can now say with complete honesty that I've gotten better. I understand the craft more now. Nowhere near an expert, but I'm learning more and more everyday just because I want to.

Most people think that writing is simple, that anyone can do it. They're only partly right.

All it takes is dedication and patience.

And the willingness to suck.

Why hello there, stranger.

Admittedly, I know it's been about four million years since my last post. I know that's not good. It's not because I haven't had much to say. Quite to the contrary: I've had A LOT to say...just not really about writing. This mainly because that evil monster called School consumes my life. She let me out for a short reprieve, however, so I'm here to make the mostest of it.

So, what have I been doing in the last two months? Well. I've--

1) Written 3 not-for-funsies papers*

2) Completed a rough draft of my thesis proposal

3) Completed AFLP analyses on 40 of my 130 specimens

4) Created presentation over completed research

5) Presented presentation at BigScaryScientificConference (Subtitled: PlaceWhereGraduateStudentHatersCongregateAndAnnihilate)

6) Collapsed with relief once BigScaryConference was over

7) Had a drink. Or three.

8) Made and presented another presentation.

9) Collapsed. Drank.

10) Attended music festival. Did not drink.

11) Ate copious amounts of candy

11.5) More candy/caffeine here.

12) Studied and took 3 finals.

13) Collapsed.

14) Preoccupied my mind by surfing youtube. (This is fantastic. I ran and bought several of her originals from itunes after finding this cover.)

15) Realized I haven't really done crap in the way of Actual Writing**

The good news is, however, that I've spent most of the day alternating between AW surfing and glorious WIP-writing. (AKA, It's been a damn good day.) I've basically outlined 3/4 of my romance novel, and that's something that makes me verrah happeh. I've also figured out a queue for my WIPs and set some goals. (Goals are a good thing.)

I plan on finishing two WIPs this year: my historical romance and my YA Contemp (which basically just needs a middle-section-rewrite), come hell or highwater. It's going to be tough, but I think I can do it.

So. hello! More stuff coming here (hopefully good stuff) soon, so check back!

Up next: It's okay to suck.

*Not-for-funsies=anything school related. Usually dry, boring, scientific style writing that sucks my soul.
**Actual Write=well, basically the opposite of above.

Working the angles

So, it's been a long time since I've posted on here. That's the thing with school--it consumes my life. I may be female, but I'm not a very good multitasker or time-manager (don't tell my bf...he believes the facade).

Anyway.

I recently took on some major house-renovating tasks. Like the kind that should probably be done by someone with, oh, I don't know, a contractor's license. Yeah, I go big.

One of the most minor tasks I began was pulling up the atrocious moss growing on the stairs. Although it's not a good picture:

  
Those lovely stairs are encased in fungus...erm, I mean carpet. Carpet samples, no less. Orange and green, of a really fuzzylicious composition. (Yes, today 'fuzzylicious' is a word. Work with me here.)

It was a bit more of a task than I anticipated. It was sweaty, dusty work. There's no telling how long how those samples had been there, and it seemed like they were rebelling against removal. Like, growing and becoming one with the wood beneath. *Refrains from 'you complete me' joke*

Somewhere around halfway down the staircase I started thinking about writing. (Mainly how I would much rather be writing, but that's not the point.) Pulling up ancient carpet on stairs is friggin' work. I found out the hard way that you can't just pull in side-to-side (aka, safe) motions. You've got to work the angles when tugging on that carpet to achieve maximum rippage, and that means occasionally pulling in non-safe (or not smart) directions.

Namely in a downhill direction, but I digress. 

The point of this rambling post isn't about potentially dangerous home improvements. It's about writing. 

Yep, there's a correlation between effective carpet removal and enjoyable and effective storytelling. Whudathunkit?

Working the angles is a good idea in carpet removal. The same goes with your writing...you've got to explore alternatives to fully evaluate your plot. You've got to scrutinize your story, find the nails (plotholes), and then figure out the best way to remove them. Brainstorm. Pick your nose. Stand on your head--whatever works for you.

Once you find the problem(s) in your story, often you've got to change your approach. Don't just keep pulling/writing in the same direction. It'll just frustrate you, and probably make you want to quit and drink a bottle of wine in a bubblebath. Don't be afraid to take a (short) breather, either. It's better to step away for a bit than to get so irritated you end up leaving the stairs half molded, half not. Or to keep writing aimlessly, with no real direction. Find the angles that work. Look for alternatives. Ask yourself "what if?" And by all means, change for a different tool from your writerly utility belt if your need to. (No sense in using a hammer if a crowbar is what you need, or vice versa.) The harder you examine your plot/characters/theme, the stronger you can make it.

If you're struggling, often you'll find those alternative angles (after a lot of painful brainstorming, of course) are the ones that tell the story best. And isn't that what we're all after here?

The only difference between writing and home improvements in an ancient rent house is, after working my novel's angles and removing plotholes, I don't feel the need for a rabies/hepatitis/tetanus cocktail vaccination.

Usually, anyway.

Thoughts? Comments? Concerns? Flames?

Hello, bloggosphere

Yep. It's happened. After all this time resisting, I've finally decided to get a blog. (Obviously.)

Welcome!

I won't say that this will be one of those profound, deeply terrificallywondiferous blogs. Quite to the contrary, in fact. I’m on a journey to become a published writer, and I’m sure there will be huge potholes along the way. Like monumental, ginormous quicksand-filled pits with vipers at the bottom.

Pit vipers.

But I digress.

However, like most things worthwhile, the work is worth the gain (fingers crossed). I’m currently working on a time-travel romance. Writing a straight-up romance is new for me—I’ve tried my hand at UF, YA, and thriller/suspense. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to make up my mind. Stick around here long enough and you’ll see that for yourself.

Anyways. My dog (LittleMonster) is eating one of my shoes. Until next time,

~l