A False Start

So, here it is, NaNo: Day 3, and I'm on novel #2.

No, I didn't do a suicidal marathon typing binge and hammer out 25K a day for two days (though it would be interesting to try that, hmm....) Apparently, my original story has abdicated to its successor.

Story one was like pulling teeth. I know how it goes, but can't quite get it on paper yet. Story two is being more cooperative. 10,190 words and counting. Woo Hoo.

Back to the WIP.

NaNoWriMo!!!

Who knew novel writing had its very own month? (You'd think a writer might know that, but well... I didn't.)

Apparently, every year for the last 11, November has been National Novel Writing Month, where participants are challenged to write a 50,000 word novel in one month by hitting a goal of just over 1,600 words/day. (On the same novel, of course ;-))

I've decided to try it out this year and see what happens. Hopefully having a concrete level and goal will help with time budgeting.

I know I'm capable of that many words in that period of time (I wrote 800K words last year alone, which comes out to around 66K a month) but they were on multiple projects of varying lengths.

So, now I'm going to stop procrastinating and get back to my totally awesome WIP.

Yowza!

I just realized I didn't make a single blog post for all of September. (Since no one's reading this, it doesn't really matter one way or the other, but I'll berate myself none the less.) I think I may have to change my name to Blogger the Terrible. Now when I put on my Viking helmet the terrified masses will have something to call me ;)

Tiara Day!

I'll be the first to tell you, I'm no girly girl (though the influx of pink EVERYTHING onto the market is making me start to like the way said color looks... yipes!) Susan Adrian had a contest yesterday - Tiara Day - for a 50 word story including the words: "princess", "sparkly", and "tiara".

Tiara Day is a regular Friday occurrence that I usually only remember because agent Janet Reid's avatar on Twitter changes to a jewel crowned Shark (which is just awesome, btw. That's a fairy tale waiting to happen.) So, when Janet mentioned the contest in one of her tweets, I hopped over to Susan A's blog and entered something. We're supposed to find out by next week who won.

My entry:

The princess cut diamond sat loose on her finger. Sparkly and pink, it was the last bit of shimmer left from a vibrant life of color and fury. Fire made flesh, reduced to ashes. She was buried in her tiara, and when she arrived in heaven she outshone the sun.

Query Writing and Other Torture Devices

This is the dirty little secret of novel writing--

When you come to the close of a WIP, it's time to start about writing a query for it.

No one - ever - just reads a manuscript because you write one. The act of putting all those words on paper means nothing. It doesn't mean you can write. It doesn't mean it's a real book. It doesn't mean anyone has to read it.

In the space 250-300 words, in a business letter, you have to convince them that they WANT to read it by being such a GREAT writer that they WANT your words on paper to become a book, sell it and hopefully make you both very successful.

And those 250-300 words are TORTURE. You think it's hard to write a book? Try condensing that book into two short paragraphs without losing the voice or the plot or a single element that makes it unique. Leave no question as to what the book's about, but make sure you don't give it all away. Pique the reader's interest so they want more.

Keep it simple. Focus on your main character and your main plot. Lead MC through MP and keep him/her active. If he's funny, make the reader laugh and never tell them he's funny. If she's nervous, make her twitch, but don't point it out by calling her nervous. If it's a "heartwarming tale", then query better not leave the reader cold.

Try writing a query for a book in print - one you're familiar with. (It's easier than doing your own and gives you an excuse to stall while feeling productive.) Once you have something that resembles Spark Notes of the Cliff's Notes of the Abridged version, you're good to try it on your own story.

Then the real nightmare starts -- summaries.

Early Writing -

It can be anything from cringe-worthy to the building blocks of a new novel if the characters strike a chord, but it's always interesting to dig up something I wrote years ago. Mainly things from high school (as I didn't keep too much that predated those years), there's the occasional piece of scribble from when I still used crayons. (Hawaiian Dave!!! Which could make a cute PB if I clean it up and get rid of the sick man illustrations...)

I found what, at the age of something-teen, I thought was a novel - though it's barely 180 pages in what looks like 14 pt. Curlz font. It turns out I was ahead of my time - the currently over-used "portal" theme was the focus (and title) of this one. The writing's painful, but some of the characters are actually decent and I think they'll find their way into one or two of my WIP -- like the son of a football wannabe named Packer.

There are no fewer than three unfinished screenplays abandoned in my early attempts at screenwriting because I had no idea what I was doing - or how to craft a story (though I think they're pretty good for a kid of something-teen.) With some polish, and major editing as one is over 100 pages long at the halfway point, they might actually turn into something worthwhile.

I've got a box full of old term papers that I kept for who knows what reason. (Okay, so I kept them in case I had to do a paper on the same book in college, so what?) There's a card file of novel analysis that they will have to pry out of my cold, dead hands before I give it up -- like my AP history notes. I sweat blood over those horrible little cards, and I'm not letting all that work go out with the garbage, even though I hated most of the books I had to analyze.

And then there's the poetry...

There are almost ZERO professional poets out there. Not too many people that I know of like to read poetry (they'd rather hear it set to music on the radio with a great baseline). So why does just about every kid to ever take a class in public school seem to have poetry squirreled away somewhere just waiting to get tripped over like a forgotten landmine?

(I really think this is how those Poetry "contests" where the "prize" is a book you get the honor paying WAY too much for manage to continually find new submissions. There are millions of people out there who think rhyming two words at the end of two sentences equate "poetry")

I think I'll close this with a haiku I wrote in 10th grade that I still kind of like. (Don't worry, you don't have to like it, too.)

An ear-splitting screech.
Dark wings beat a moonless sky.
NightHawk finds his prey.

Feeling Guilty for Feeling Bad

I hate feeling bad. Who doesn't, right? No one wants to feel less than 100%.

But right now it's worse because feeling bad means not writing. It's hard to string together prose (or even a blog post) when it feels like something's boring into the base of my skull. At least with a blog post, I don't have to edit my work beyond making sure the grammar is decent.

So, in an effort to feel not so guilty about today, I've gone over some things in progress and hit serendipity. Two of those WIP that have been sitting sketched on my PC for untold weeks and months can be combined into one stronger storyline. They just sort of clicked today. AND the story found its voice (rather, I found its voice) and main character. To my utter shock, it's not who I thought it would be.

I'm not sure why this happens, but so far the story I thought was YA turned out to be better suited to adults, and this one - which I thought was decidedly adult - now has a younger POV.

What had been an ensemble story of five+ threads I couldn't figure out how to weave together just found themselves knit around a teenager who is the focal point of the whole story. That's what was missing: cohesion. I knew this kid was in the story for some reason, but I couldn't make her fit with the others until today.

Hopefully, when the horrible grinding at the back of my head stops, I'll be able to tweak what I already have of the story, stitch it to the other one, and come up with something wonderful. It all came down to figuring out what my mysterious stranger mumbled as he lay dying:

"Come and find me, Mandy."