Some Days It’s Hard

It’s Sunday morning here in Maryville, on a dark morning following a torrential thunderstorm, with more rain on the way. I’m listening to classical music and drinking entirely too much coffee, followed by a good dose of King’s Oolong Tea 913, which I received from a friend of mine who’s currently back in China. No need to go out; just a long amount of time to do something.

Or nothing. Right now, I want to do nothing.

I took a break from writing yesterday, mostly because I didn’t feel well, but in part because my projects are as follows:

Gaia’s Hands, which is frustrating me because I can’t get a handle for improving it (this vastly rewritten and rewritten story)
A short story about one of the characters in Prodigies, which starts with a whole family dying in a bombing and gets more depressing from there.

Not much to grab onto, is there?

My worry if I take another break is that I will quit writing, because, frankly, it’s easier not to write. Part of the reason I write this blog is to force myself to be productive, to take the hard path, the path I really want to see myself walk down.

So we’ll see what I want to write today.

Thanks for listening!

Writing in Beaver Dam WI

Another day at Higher Grounds in Beaver Dam having just finished another three hours of writing. I’m at 14 hours out of 30 for Camp NaNo July, and I’m at least getting more words for Gaia’s Hands. I think it’s going to go through another dev edit because it deserves it and it’s now a much different book.

Richard has just gone through a line edit of Apocalypse, which means a couple fixes and it’s ready to go into Query Mode. It’s a very different book than the one that failed in querying. I think I’ve grown a lot from when that was the second (and third) book I’ve written.

One thing I’ve discovered: Nobody’s impressed that I’m a writer. I’m secretly amused by this, because there’s this part of me who dreams of impressing people. In reality, it’s “Oh, you’re a writer? You’re not published yet? Have you tried children’s books?” I have nothing bad to say about children’s books, but unless they involve ancient lore, preternatural bad guys, and the reincarnation of King — Oh, sorry, that’s Susan Cooper’s Dark is Rising sequence. Loved that stuff.

I stay optimistic, maybe because I’ve won one short story contest and been a runner-up in another. (I’ve been rejected by three times this many zines and contests, though).

The Conference

Sorry I haven’t written for a couple of days, but I’ve been busy busy at the conference. It’s been a very positive experience, and here are some of the things I’ve learned:

A lot of the people here write science fiction and fantasy. And the stories are all very different from each other.
Character may be more important than plot in hooking an agent in.
My work is good — I was told by one editor that my work was “going places.” I hope so.
The same editor told me I need to back off on the novels (high effort) and start writing some short stories to submit to journals. I have 5-6 novels, none sold yet. He is probably right.
The same editor teased me about my character padding her calves to look like a man, saying that several females he knew had more muscular calves than he did. Well, shit.
Comp titles (“Twilight meets Hunger Games”) really exist for a reason.
I made a friend who’s about my age who introduced me to Broad Universe, a writing space for women (love the pun) and might get me into a critique group if there’s a space.
I made another friend in Kansas City (about my age) who writes stuff with similar worldview quirk (turning mythologies on their head).
I need to put the fact that I was a runner-up in Cook Publishing’s Short Story contest in my query letter.
I need a business plan
I need a marketing plan (this blog is part of it)
I need to quit using so many dashes — and ellipses …
The conference has coffee service ALL DAY.

That’s probably not everything, but the experience has been affirming and I’m a little giddy thinking about it. I’m sure the impostor syndrome will take hold tomorrow, but for now, I feel like a writer.

Waiting for Things to Happen

I’m drinking coffee in my room while I write this, hoping for a productive conference.
The writers’ conference starts at 9 CDT and I already have some ideas for places to get peer reviews. I have to remember to give business cards — I have plenty. Networking does not come naturally to me, especially as I have a hearing problem that’s getting worse with time.

During the conference, I have a pitch session and a session with an editor during the conference (short selection, not the whole book) and a 5×5 critique session during this conference.

Anything to get better — my only fear is that my book doesn’t have good bones. By “bones”, I mean the bedrock of the book. Ok, enough of the metaphors — the basic idea and structure of the book, the language, the characters, the plot.

I still have a manuscript out at DAW (Prodigies); not expecting them to bite, but there’s always hope. Apocalypse is back in dev edit, and the editor is doing a thorough pass after all the changes I made. My dev editor (shout out for Chelsea Harper here) says she believes in Apocalypse. Keeping my fingers crossed.

DIscombobulated

I really want to write today.

But so far, my calendar seems to thwart me from all directions. I have (another!) dental appointment* this morning, followed by a meeting with the outfit that is sponsoring the National Guard training which my husband and I will be doing moulage** for. And, depending on how long that will take (too long, I suspect; I have no patience with dawdling) maybe then I’ll have time to write.

I had great ideas last night for my rewrite/character development of Gaia’s Hands, and of course I forgot some of it and I’m trying to piece the rest of it together with Richard***. I need a good stretch of time to write with more coffee to fuel me****.

I’ve written today’s blog and I have promised myself at least an hour on Gaia’s Hands. Hopefully, I will feel inspired.

* I was born with an enamel deficiency and rather soft teeth; I have all my teeth crowned, but one or two of my teeth have broken off and require further work.

** Casualty simulation; making up volunteers to look like victims for training purposes. This run-through is an earthquake simulation to train the local National Guardsmen. For the first time ever, we’re getting paid for it. Woo hoo!

*** Richard is the husband previously mentioned.

**** We’re currently drinking our way through a coffee blend that is supposed to taste like chocolate; no matter how we roast it, we aren’t getting any chocolate notes, just something that tastes like really good commercial coffee. Sigh.

My routine is anything but.

Back from the conference, and back to my routine —

No. I have to go to Kansas City for intern visits on Wednesday and Thursday. Hope to find some time to hole up and write some more and —

OMG! I forgot to tell you! I figured out how to fix up what was wrong with Gaia’s Hands!

Interestingly, it was the same thing wrong with Apocalypse — not enough of a ramp-up. This time, however, there was too little going on at the beginning — a lull — rather than a too short ramp-up and there’s the battle. So there’s a long-overdue revision.

Richard and I laid out the revision of the first part of the book (other parts need revising but not whole chapter rewrites) and the challenge of course will be time, energy, and patience.

Wish me luck.

Powered by Science and Coffee

I need coffee.

I’m still at the conference; I will be presenting my poster on “Do Euphemisms Influence Car Buying?” (The answer is No) this morning and maybe get to the zoo this afternoon.

I’m getting everything done except my writing/editing but that’s to be expected. Not enough brain cells for the writing.

But at least I’m getting this out today.

Of weak coffee and wistful waiting

My coffee tastes a little weak this morning.

My husband usually makes the coffee, and he has learned to make it to the strength I prefer. He’s in Kansas at a funeral, however, and I made my own coffee this morning.

My morning routine has been broken — we usually get up around 5 AM (me bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, him not so much) and sit together for breakfast and coffee and sharing cat memes on the Internet. Now I’m on my own and it’s 6 AM and very quiet in here. I’m trying to share cat memes with Buddy the Cat, but he remains disinterested.

It’s been less than 24 hours since he left, and I miss Richard. It’s been over ten years married, and I still miss Richard. Not in a huge heart-rending way, but in the little things. I imagine this would be a hard thing, maybe the hardest thing to bear, if he died before I did — the low-key, everyday presence.

He’ll be home about 7, 34 hours after I last saw him. No big deal. Just … when you’re older, love is less about passion and more about sharing cat memes.

The Wind Chill

The temperature at this moment is -17 F (-22 C) with windchills of -32 F (-35.5 C). At this temperature, any exposed skin will develop frostbite in ten minutes. The US Postal Service suspends deliveries to save its workers from literally freezing to death and schools shut down. Outdoors could kill me today with very little effort, if I were to venture out and stay there.

I’m not sure why I got out of bed this morning. It’s hard even thinking about moving, even in a blessedly warm house, with temperatures outside like that. It’s bitterly cold outside, and my body wants to eat high-carb food, gain twenty pounds of fat, and hibernate for the winter.

I will do nothing of the sort. I have coffee to drink, blankets to swath myself in, books to edit. I have gardens to plan. I defy the chill, even though it frightens me with its potency outside.

Welcome to My Winter Morning

Sunday morning, and Richard and I sit on the couch over coffee and Baroque music.

Our living room provides comfort with cream and burgundy and dark wood. Clutter from projects and plant catalogs litter the coffee table as garden planning helps us through the winter days. I sit on the couch next to Richard with a lap desk on my lap, tapping on the keys of a Microsoft Surface. Words come slowly today; maybe the coffee hasn’t taken effect yet.

The beans that Richard roasted came from Malawi, and the coffee brews up rich and brown sugar sweet with a slight herbal note. Yo-Yo Ma plays Bach on cello over a set of old yet functional speakers.

Chucky, the big butterscotch-colored cat, races upstairs chasing an unseen sprite. Me-Me, grey tabby and white, regards us with her huge, wondrous green eyes. Snowy, pitch-black and ironically named, sits in front of the fake fireplace warming herself by electric heat. Girlie-Girl, calico patched, demands something. Richard shrugs his shoulders and tells the cat he has no idea what she wants.

I light a candle, and the scent of sandalwood wafts to me. I drink my second cup of coffee and think about the seeds cold-stratifying in the refrigerator and other seeds in their packets waiting for the right time to be introduced to soil and water. It’s winter outside, and the weather forecast says it will get even colder, but for now I sit in my warm house on a Sunday morning.