Sunday morning at Mozingo Lake. I’m sitting on the couch swathed in blankets in front of the fire, recovering from my decision to turn the heater down for the night. The main room temperature was 57 degrees this morning; the bedroom, without its own heat, probably hit the low fifties. So I’m now pampered on the couch while Richard makes hot chocolate.
I’ve decided to do one more editing pass of Whose Hearts are Mountains, suspecting that I concentrated too much on the “was is where have had has” and not enough on other aspects that need smoothing out. And I have one more novel that needs editing after that.
I’m postponing writing another novel, and I know it.
Like I said, I have an idea for a new novel that I’ve been sitting on for a while. The name of the novel is (tentatively) God’s Seeds; I’ve talked about it in these pages. It might help me to do what I usually do when I write — pay attention to the relationships between characters. The themes come first, the plot I create in the outline, but in my books, the relationships between characters create the dialog and the unfolding of the story. The main relationship in this novel is between Baird Wilkens, a half-human Nephilim and Leah Inhofer, a young adult with a startling gift. The story is in the Archetype universe, taking place a year or so after the Apocalypse. (Note to readers — the Apocalypse doesn’t turn out like you think. Look up the origin of the word)
It’s just hard to write right now because of my failure to get something accepted. I’ve already fulfilled my goal of writing a novel several times over, so another novel isn’t a tantalizing new goal. I haven’t gotten published or even found an agent yet, and so that goal seems daunting enough that I’m becoming avoidant.
What do I need right now? A clear path — an idea of what to do next. Give up? (I don’t feel like I’d have closure if I did this.) Self-publish? (I’m still scared of landing into obscurity, and it wouldn’t feel like closure.) Keep plugging away? (Insanity is doing the same thing over and over with the same results). Pray? (I’ve been doing this. No answer, my friends. No answer.)
At this moment, I guess it doesn’t matter, because I’m parked in front of a warm fire in a pine-paneled cabin, Outside lies a snowy landscape and iced-over lake. All is fine.
Tag: small not-so-audacious goals
Baby Steps Back
Right now, I’m considering going back to Whose Hearts are Mountains — not to finish it up yet, but to sit down and look at the 70,000 words I’ve already written to see how I can balance the travelogue through a post-Collapse United States with the protagonist’s personal reactions — and field notes, because Annie IS an anthropologist.
I also have to make it plausible that the myriad of “incidents” (i.e. attacks) Annie experiences could be random malfeasances rather than the signs of a plot by Free White State’s government to capture her. I’m covering this for the next book in their series. I have to make the dreams and hints hint only toward her identity as a half-human, half-preternatural creature rather than the conspiracy that will be in the next book.
I also should work on the mental health book, which is going to require some primary sources. I’m too much an academic to use the Cliff Notes of bipolar disorder, Bipolar Disorder for Dummies. (I kid you not. Not even a tiny bit.) Biological psychology and psychiatry articles don’t intimidate me that much — ok, biopsych intimidates me a bit — it’s just that there’s so much “We don’t know what causes bipolar, but neurotransmitters are involved somewhere” that I can read without my brain going numb.
Yes, this is a lot of work I’m doing for something that may just be for the fun of it, given my total failure to find a agent. I may take a friend’s advice and try for literary fiction agents but not right now, not while I’m fighting off depression. Part of me wonders if writing, or at least putting 85,000 words into a novel (and I’ve done that with six so far) is a waste of time if I can’t get published. I like my creations to have an audience and speak to people, just as knitters want their family and friends to appreciate the gifts of socks and hats.
This is my dilemma, the one I have to get a handle on before I write again.
Words Like Me 