Questions I ask myself

Questions I ask myself while writing:

Do my characters ring true?

Do their emotions and actions fit their character?
Does their trajectory make sense?
Do I care about my characters?

Does the plot deliver?

Does the plot build in suspense?
Does the action make sense as it unfolds?
Do consequences logically follow actions?

Does the story flow?

Is the time and scene progression clear?
Does it avoid getting bogged down?
Is too much going on at once?

I feel discouraged looking at all these questions — how can I manage to do all this? Much of this happens subconsciously, or by trial and error. Sometimes it’s hard, because I don’t (obviously) write the whole book at once, but by bits and pieces. A lot of this I miss with my own tired eyes, which is why I have a dev editor and I let others read my stories.

So in actuality, it’s a matter of trusting myself, trusting the process, and just writing.

Routine and Discipline

Scheduling writing has been a pain lately. Remember yesterday, when I was so excited to write? By the time I drove around Kansas City, visited an intern, and wrote a major homework for my online class, I was no longer in any shape to write.

But that’s why I write the blog every morning — so at least I’ve written something. No matter how short, no matter how trivial, no matter how moody. No matter how much I don’t feel it.

Without routine, I would forget I was a writer during busy times like these. I would forget how to write and all the lessons I’ve learned along the way. I would lose my identity as a writer.

In other words, even when I don’t write, I write.

Excited about Editing

I really want to get done with my work today (readings for online class, taking the Introduction to National Incident Management System course and exam, driving to Kansas City, visiting an intern). I REALLY want to get done with my work today.

I’m very excited about where Gaia’s Hands is going.

I knew there was something wrong with it before, but I didn’t know what. But after editing Apocalypse and understanding that it got into the plot too quickly, I realized that Gaia’s Hands needed buildup in the early chapters as well, but in its case, the beginning meandered and the plot appeared out of nowhere.

So I’m excited about the editing. I’m excited about seeing what is possible for the book now that I have a handle on editing. There’s going to be a bit of editing.

But I’m looking forward to editing.

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.

Discipline in a time of busyness

I might write irregularly over the next few days, as I am traveling to a conference in Washington DC to present a poster. This is for my day job, being a professor of human services and the internship coordinator for the department.

This summer is proving busier than I had counted on. Evidence:

Richard and I have two moulage gigs this summer, one in August and one right around the corner on June 4-5th.
I have twenty interns to supervise; next week I’m spending an overnight in Kansas City to visit two or four of them.
The garden! It’s not quite done yet; I’ll be spending next Tuesday finalizing it.
The summer class I’m taking (Management of Disaster Mental Health, which is more interesting than I thought) rolls right along like a Mack truck, and I’m working hard to keep it from rolling over me.

Writing? Writing! I almost forgot about that! I will write any chance I get — if nothing else, I’ll write in the blog at least once.

It’s all about discipline. I am a writer because I keep the discipline to write. I write at least the half-hour a day it takes to maintain this blog, and hopefully at least an hour of writing/revising a day.

I notice myself improving, and that’s a good thing.

A Productive Day

I spent a productive day yesterday editing Apocalypse.

My task was to take away all the filler (of which there was quite a bit, because I wrote the originals about three years ago when I didn’t know as much as I do now) and to get rid of some of the gazillion points of view, because my dev editor said it’s not a good thing to follow that many characters, even in third person omniscient. So I guess third person omniscient isn’t that omniscient?

I’m not done yet. I need to ratchet up some of the suspense. I need to add back a couple things I took out. I need to see if I’m going to put back the Amarel/Batarel/Natalie subplot. (I’m not. No matter that it completely guts another novel I wrote. It isn’t a good turn of plot, although it made a good philosophical point.)

So I’ll be busy writing, in-between bringing the dead bat to Public Health and writing to my new teaching assistant.

Make time

I need to start writing today!

I’ve spent the last couple of days prepping and planting in the garden (there will be more to come) and not touching the edit of Apocalypse. But I’m close to done with the beginning part, which is the part I had to add to the manuscript. I don’t know if rewriting the second part with its many faults (point of view confusion, dragging plot places) is going to be easier or harder.

I’m going on a writing retreat tomorrow afternoon through Thursday morning at Mozingo Lake. That will get me away from the many distractions here (including cats, which my husband will take care of before joining me).

I suppose the break was good for me, although I feel like if I don’t write today, I’ll find something else to do like making plant labels. Or shopping for more plants — stop it!

I still have to make myself a routine so I don’t spend the summer surfing. I’m going to have a TA to help me organize classes, so I need time for that. And my summer class next week …

I’m obviously an extrovert, because I’m thinking with my mouth open — or, more accurately, while typing. But there’s an important lesson here for writers: Make time.

Hard Work

Got a rejection for a short story yesterday. I’m not too upset; I think I shoehorned my entry into the theme and it didn’t quite fit. I only have one thing out there now, and that’s Prodigies with a major press. The likelihood of this being accepted is very low, I’ll admit, but it will still hurt a lot if I get rejected.

What from there? Try to shop out the dev-edited version of Voyageurs, which is short at 70,000 words but we’ll see. Work on the rewrite of Apocalypse (which will take a few months at best guess) and send it back to my dev editor. See what tweaks might help Prodigies‘ saleability and shop it back out. Send Whose Hearts are Mountains to dev edit. See if I can salvage Gaia’s Hands in case Apocalypse gets sold and it needs a prequel. Write something else, maybe finish Gods’ Seeds.

It’s hard work, and so far has been fruitless. But if I’m going to be published, I want it to be my best, and my expectations have been raised by beta-readers and dev editors and my own revelations about where my stories could go.

Someday, I hope,my hard work will bear fruit.

The Semester Winds Down

Tomorrow is the last regular day of the semester; then we will go into finals week here at the college. The semester is winding down; the rhythm of my life will change with summer session. I’ll still be busy with an online class and 25 interns and putting fall classes together, but I will have much more flexible time.

I’ll have more time for writing — well, maybe not, but I will be able to devote longer blocks to it, which is a good thing. The summer projects writing-wise are: 1) rewrite Apocalypse; 2) Send Whose Hearts are Mountains to dev edit (if #1 gets to a good place). No new books. Also keep pushing Prodigies and start pushing Voyageurs.

I don’t sound like someone who’s ready to quit, do I ?

Day 1 Camp Nano April 2019: The beginning of Gods’ Seeds:

I’m trying to motivate for April Camp Nanowrimo and a new book. Here’s an excerpt from the first chapter:
*****

A group of beings — human-like, but with a venerable air for all their apparent youth — sat in a room whose black crystal-crusted walls shone with reflected light from the molten white floor, from the white and silver table, and seemingly from the participants themselves. The paucity of light did not lessen the sterility of the surroundings.

“The Apocalypse proved that we, the Archetypes, no longer take our protection of the human patterns seriously,” Luke Dunstan said earnestly, his hands tented in thought. His visage, weathered in contrast to the unlined faces of the other immortals around him, announced that he had become worldly and, unlike most Archetypes, had committed evil — in his case, for the sake of good. Unlike most Archetypes, he had also repented, which gave him a perspective that could be called almost human.

“But they still embrace evil,” the Baraka Archetype, short and spare like his people, countered. “They fight wars. They envy each other and they commit crimes out of greed.”

“Or out of want, or madness, or jealousy or a dozen other things,” Luke stated, the grimace on his face reflecting a view of reality he knew had wavered from the neutrality of an Archetype. Su, his consort and the Oldest of the Oldest, watched impassively, her tightly curled hair ruddy in the sparse light. She knew how to play the game, Luke noted sourly, something he had lost in his long association with humankind.

“If we give them the full impact of their cultural histories — not just the facts, but the emotions — the fear, the hatred, the xenophobia — “ The Bering Strait Archetype trailed off.

“How do you know it will make them worse? They already have the stories of their peoples’ pasts, and those seem to inspire xenophobia, it’s true. But what if they remember the full impact of the losses of war and weigh it against their hatred — would they decide to fight more? Or would they lay their weapons down?” Luke paused to take a breath, to calm himself down, to wear the gravitas of the Archetype instead of the passion of humans. “The point is that, if they kill each other, millions of them will not die with each death. If we keep holding the patterns of the humans — “

“One of our deaths will kill millions of humans,” Su interjected. “Which is why the Maker created us nearly immortal. Yet Lilith, who held the patterns of all women, was nearly killed by our kind. Can we guarantee this won’t happen again?”

All of a sudden the residents of the room stopped speaking. Luke felt as if a wind had cut through his immortal bones and chilled them for just a moment. Then he felt the weight, a weight of the history of countless descendents of the people of the seax, the knife that gave its name to the Saxons. And then his burdens vanished, and he felt a hollowness inside. The gasps from the others at the table echoed his.

“What — what was that?” The Ibero-Maurasian snapped, breaking the silence..

“I think — Su, did you notice anything?” Luke asked, knowing that Su had not carried humans’ patterns, their cultural DNA, for millennia as all her people, the Denisovans, had long since become extinct.

“Nothing,” Su answered, “except that all of you around me froze for a moment, and slumped forward. As if something had been taken away from you.”

“As it has,” the Bering Strait Archetype murmured. “I think — I think we have lost our patterns, and if we have, the Maker has taken them from us.” He sounded bewildered, as if something more than the weight of patterns had been taken from him.

“I must see — “ the Ibero-Maurasian said, then paused, and Luke knew that she mindspoke another Archetype. “No,” she finally said, speaking slowly as if weighing each word. “I think we are the only ones whose patterns have been taken.”

“But what does this mean?” the Baraka demanded.

The Arnhem Archetype, theretofore silent, spoke. “I think this means that the Maker has decided for us — He will take our patterns from us whether we are ready to relinquish them or not. And we’re the harbingers of this big change.”