So I haven't blogged for awhile. There are several reasons, a big one being that I was on vacation in Hawaii for a glorious week. And though I spent a majority of the time as red as lobster, I had a great time relaxing on the beaches and not worrying about anything. For the most part the family got along, oddly brought together by our morning ritual of watching HGTV. I've never really watched that channel before and probably won't again, but it was addicting.
Another reason is this whole decision to "start over" on my novel has given me some major writer's block. I forgot how terrifying it is to be at square one. I do not like this square, even if I technically have some of the following squares already filled in. I'm hoping this weekend will be when I things turn around, but I think that about basically every weekend. There just aren't enough days in the weekend, which may really be the true, underlying reason why everything is so jacked up in our country. Think of how well rested we'd all be if three day weekends were the law. But whatever.
I did have a story idea inspired by my job about a woman who drags along her teenage daughter on a road trip to return a giant chaise that the company has either stated they won't take back, or that they wouldn't pay for her to return. She doesn't care. She's going to make them take it back. This is not based on a true story, but is also not out of the realm of possibility, I fear. I include the daughter because a trip of just one person is boring, and obviously I'm focusing on writing YA right now.
While that idea did not come from a dream, a lot of my ideas do. What's cool about it though is that it often becomes a dream within a dream. I have the dream of something interesting that could make a good story, and then I either "wake up" or just change scenes in the dream and start cataloging everything that happened in the interesting part. I just go over and over everything so that I don't forget it. And then when I really do wake up, I remember most of it and write it down. I don't want to brag, but my brain is pretty smart. If only it could remember to turn off when I'm trying to sleep. Or develop a skill that will place me in a field where I can earn a decent amount of money. But you know, this is good too.
Thing I don't understand: how I can be so tired and on the brink of death in the morning, and then basically human and normal in the afternoon. I think someone should call the guy who writes the DSM and have him put in some kind of allergic to morning disorder. Then I can get a doctor's note that prohibits me from having to be somewhere in the morning, but that also somehow keeps me from having to work too late in the evening. It's tricky but doable, I think. If your mood can be altered by the season (which it certainly can) then I don't see how it can't be altered by the time of day. I have a degree in Psychology, I vaguely remember. So I think I know what I'm talking about.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Starting Now I'm Starting Over
There comes a time in every writer's life where they want to carefully unplug their laptop and then chuck it across the room.
Well, I'm only guessing. But for several weeks, I've stared at this particular section of my book and just wanted to catch it on fire, to throw it out the window and then stomp on it until it was dust.
Of course, my laptop is new and then I wouldn't be able to watch Netflix, so I have managed to hold off on said destruction. Instead, I like to slam my fist against my flimsy desk and then give the computer screen a good glare, an If Looks Could Kill sort of thing.
Luckily for me and my fist, a super awesome friend of mine recently read Book 1. Afterwards, she provided loads of comments and suggestions that finally enabled me to see what direction I need to take to get this book to be what I want it to be:
I need to start over.
Of course, I'm not really starting over. I'm going to be using a lot of scenes from the previous drafts, tweaking them as necessary. I am rewriting the beginning, but I've been planning to do that all along. Alex has always been on the plane to her aunt's house, thinking back to the event that got her there in the first place. Now i'm thinking about starting the book maybe the day after that event, so that she's still in her hometown and so she might be able to interact more with the people she's leaving behind. I really just want to have an awkward scene of her being driven to the airport by her (ex?) best friend. We'll see how that goes.
I also decided to read over my Nano project for a bit of comic relief as I dealt with a sore throat this weekend. Maybe it was the medicine I was taking, but I found the draft hilariously terrible, like those singers who go on American Idol and look like they really believe they can sing wonderfully, even though everyone else is doing their best not to cover their ears. It was like past me really believed that I was telling a story in an interesting way, while some kind of subconscious Randy Jackson was shaking his head at how terrible it actually was.
Needless to say, that story is on the back burner. It's really for the better, as I still can't decide if the main character should really be pregnant or not (the draft is written so that she's not pregnant). That decision obviously would take the book in very different directions, so it's something I'll sleep on.
Instead I'll focus on Alex and Book 1, and the companion books that I want to write from the points of view (point of views?) of the other characters in that book. I still can't decide which one to do first, but I obviously have time to figure that out now. Maybe I'll lay out the choices in another post. Or maybe I won't. Life's a mystery.
Well, I'm only guessing. But for several weeks, I've stared at this particular section of my book and just wanted to catch it on fire, to throw it out the window and then stomp on it until it was dust.
Of course, my laptop is new and then I wouldn't be able to watch Netflix, so I have managed to hold off on said destruction. Instead, I like to slam my fist against my flimsy desk and then give the computer screen a good glare, an If Looks Could Kill sort of thing.
Luckily for me and my fist, a super awesome friend of mine recently read Book 1. Afterwards, she provided loads of comments and suggestions that finally enabled me to see what direction I need to take to get this book to be what I want it to be:
I need to start over.
Of course, I'm not really starting over. I'm going to be using a lot of scenes from the previous drafts, tweaking them as necessary. I am rewriting the beginning, but I've been planning to do that all along. Alex has always been on the plane to her aunt's house, thinking back to the event that got her there in the first place. Now i'm thinking about starting the book maybe the day after that event, so that she's still in her hometown and so she might be able to interact more with the people she's leaving behind. I really just want to have an awkward scene of her being driven to the airport by her (ex?) best friend. We'll see how that goes.
I also decided to read over my Nano project for a bit of comic relief as I dealt with a sore throat this weekend. Maybe it was the medicine I was taking, but I found the draft hilariously terrible, like those singers who go on American Idol and look like they really believe they can sing wonderfully, even though everyone else is doing their best not to cover their ears. It was like past me really believed that I was telling a story in an interesting way, while some kind of subconscious Randy Jackson was shaking his head at how terrible it actually was.
Needless to say, that story is on the back burner. It's really for the better, as I still can't decide if the main character should really be pregnant or not (the draft is written so that she's not pregnant). That decision obviously would take the book in very different directions, so it's something I'll sleep on.
Instead I'll focus on Alex and Book 1, and the companion books that I want to write from the points of view (point of views?) of the other characters in that book. I still can't decide which one to do first, but I obviously have time to figure that out now. Maybe I'll lay out the choices in another post. Or maybe I won't. Life's a mystery.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Writer Trials
They say that a writer will write no matter where they are, no matter their circumstances. If they have a full time job and a barrel of children, they'll still find the time to write every day. Writers are dedicated to writing whenever they can.
Right now then, I'm not really a writer. I think about my books when I'm at work, I write notes in between tasks, before I go to bed, I go over ideas over and over in the shower so I'll remember them when I get out. But when I get home from work...I'm tired. I'm hungry because I don't adequately feed myself during the day. I'm crabby because another day of my life has been lost to a job I don't really want to be doing, to a life I don't really want to be living.
So I don't write. I browse the internet and look at the lives of my friends and family going in positive directions while I stay stuck. I watch TV and see the creativity and hard work of so many people come to life and wish that I could find the energy to do that too.
Somewhere in the last few months my fire has been put out. I wrote the first draft of my book in a month and a half over the summer, coming home after work each day and writing a few pages, writing 20-30 pages on Saturdays and going over it all on Sundays. I was unstoppable.
This November I wrote 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo, something I didn't even think I would accomplish until the last weekend, especially as work was getting busy for the holiday season. I wrote nearly 10,000 words in one day.
So what happened? I guess part of it is the effect of winter. Its just a dreary time. Part of it is that a couple weeks in a row of overtime at work is one thing, but when you're on the third straight month of craziness it gets a little old. It gets very old and feels so pointless. Its not like I'm helping to produce clothing for the homeless or food for the hungry. I'm helping wealthy middle aged women get everything they want when I have no clue how to do the same for myself (aside from marrying rich, I suppose).
Really, I'm grateful to have the job. Not when I'm there, usually, but when I get home to my own apartment, watch TV I've recorded on my DVR, or sleep in my magnificent bed, I'm grateful. I'm not pinching pennies like I used to, sharing a bathroom with my siblings or roommates like I used to. I can pay for things without flinching.
Yet somehow it's kind of terrible.
I have enough money to go three months without working and it's so tempting to make it happen, to give my notice and quit and try to enjoy life for a little bit. To stop going through the motions and actually feel alive. To write late into the night, which has always been my best time and clearly does't mesh with the 9-5 lifestyle I am entrenched in.
It would be a risk, though. I'd obviously have to find another job before those three months are up, a not so easy task these days. I may have to settle for something that pays less than what I make now. I may have to work the kind of job that I had previously congratulated myself for avoiding. Or I might find something even better, the kind of office with people on the parks and rec side of craziness (aka, awesome people). Who knows what could happen.
I wish there was a way to predict the future, to make the risks less scary and the playing it safe less boring. But at some point in the near future I'm going to have to figure something out and go after what actually matters to me. Or else I might lose myself completely.
Right now then, I'm not really a writer. I think about my books when I'm at work, I write notes in between tasks, before I go to bed, I go over ideas over and over in the shower so I'll remember them when I get out. But when I get home from work...I'm tired. I'm hungry because I don't adequately feed myself during the day. I'm crabby because another day of my life has been lost to a job I don't really want to be doing, to a life I don't really want to be living.
So I don't write. I browse the internet and look at the lives of my friends and family going in positive directions while I stay stuck. I watch TV and see the creativity and hard work of so many people come to life and wish that I could find the energy to do that too.
Somewhere in the last few months my fire has been put out. I wrote the first draft of my book in a month and a half over the summer, coming home after work each day and writing a few pages, writing 20-30 pages on Saturdays and going over it all on Sundays. I was unstoppable.
This November I wrote 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo, something I didn't even think I would accomplish until the last weekend, especially as work was getting busy for the holiday season. I wrote nearly 10,000 words in one day.
So what happened? I guess part of it is the effect of winter. Its just a dreary time. Part of it is that a couple weeks in a row of overtime at work is one thing, but when you're on the third straight month of craziness it gets a little old. It gets very old and feels so pointless. Its not like I'm helping to produce clothing for the homeless or food for the hungry. I'm helping wealthy middle aged women get everything they want when I have no clue how to do the same for myself (aside from marrying rich, I suppose).
Really, I'm grateful to have the job. Not when I'm there, usually, but when I get home to my own apartment, watch TV I've recorded on my DVR, or sleep in my magnificent bed, I'm grateful. I'm not pinching pennies like I used to, sharing a bathroom with my siblings or roommates like I used to. I can pay for things without flinching.
Yet somehow it's kind of terrible.
I have enough money to go three months without working and it's so tempting to make it happen, to give my notice and quit and try to enjoy life for a little bit. To stop going through the motions and actually feel alive. To write late into the night, which has always been my best time and clearly does't mesh with the 9-5 lifestyle I am entrenched in.
It would be a risk, though. I'd obviously have to find another job before those three months are up, a not so easy task these days. I may have to settle for something that pays less than what I make now. I may have to work the kind of job that I had previously congratulated myself for avoiding. Or I might find something even better, the kind of office with people on the parks and rec side of craziness (aka, awesome people). Who knows what could happen.
I wish there was a way to predict the future, to make the risks less scary and the playing it safe less boring. But at some point in the near future I'm going to have to figure something out and go after what actually matters to me. Or else I might lose myself completely.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)