Prequels

The other night, my family had a cookout at my uncle's house. At the end of the night, when everyone was breaking up and about to go home, someone put it on the History Channel. It was playing that thing they put on every year around now, with no narration, only time stamps and video.

Since it was the beginning of the program, it was showing glimpses of a normal Tuesday. I think there were some parts of Good Morning America, some clips of President Bush jogging, all pretty early in the morning, before anything happened.

The first time I watched Star Wars Episode I, it struck me how that high voiced, pretty naive little boy in the movie would become Darth Vader. It's a weird feeling, because you already know what will happen later.

I got a feeling like that watching those clips.

Only it was for real.

When I see those clips and videos of the hours and minutes before the planes hit the towers, I know what's coming. I know that in the story, very soon, the nation will be rocked to its core. A chill will go down my spine, the cell reception will buckle under the weight of so many trying to just reach someone, and life will change forever. Irreversibly. It's the point of no return, and if we knew what was coming next...

The pre- and post-9/11 worlds do not come one without the other. In the future, when people are curious enough to ask my generation what it was like, we'll tell them what both times were like. We may have been shaken to the core, and a shadow cast over the future, but shadows aren't permanent, and the light came first.

A Sort of Bonus!

So last night, I ended up posting quite late, so technically, y'all get two posts today. But still, the 30 days, 30 posts, 30 chapters thing is totally working out. I really need to work earlier in the day, though. Writing the actual novel is pretty addictive, and I have to make myself stop when I'm tired. Anyway, that part went well last night. I'm getting into the groove with the novel again by writing things on pen and paper. My handwriting is awful, but I can read it, so later I can type it. Happy me!

Last night, I found out I sold the usage rights for an article. I also heard back about another writing job that looks like it's going to have a lot of work available. Things are looking up money-wise...maybe some other changes are coming soon? I hope so. I also got eight hours of sleep last night and the night before, which I definitely plan on doing more often. I feel awesome!

Alright, so I have officially posted. On to more writing.

More Badness

Not the good kind, either.

Here's some more of the strange weirdness I wrote when I was fifteen. Tonight it will be short.

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[Here we pick up in mid-paragraph. She just petted the dog's head.]

That day, Anya's parents were away shopping in the next town with her baby sister, so there was nothing to do. [Is anyone surprised at the potential child abandonment going on here?] Then, Anya remembered the woods. she had been wanting to explore them ever since she had seen them a couple of weeks ago. [For reals, what is with this family?] Those woods appeared to be the only good aspect of the move. [There is something wrong with these people.] And since there was nothing else to do [kudos to young me for totally thinking of the audience and reminding them of things over and over], Anya put on her shoes. [How exciting.] At least there's the woods, she thought. [THESE PEOPLE NEED A HOBBY.] Probably the only good thing about moving to this town. [*sigh*]

Anya walked out of the house and toward the woods [JUST IN CASE YOU FORGOT], with Tiki [he's her dog] following. She found a trail and followed it. [Maybe she'll find the bodies?] Anya loved to explore places just as her mother had. [Oh dangit, another one.] Perhaps even more so, and she had gotten lost more than once. [Mom was apparently the brains of the operation.] And every time that Anya had gotten lost had been slightly frightening. [No crap, Sherlock.] But still Anya loved to explore.

She strolled slowly [repetition just to drive the point across], looking around the woods [not even gonna bother here], and suddenly [DUNDUNDUN, or ELLIPSES!!!], though Anya had thought the path continued, she was in a clearing. A gray, dead looking clearing, filled with rocks, shriveled fruit on the branches of a gnarled, ancient tree, and some gray vines. [I actually like the way the tree sounds.] But, in a few seconds, the place brightened astoundingly [ASTOUNDINGLY GUYS], and everything in the clearing turned a slightly blue color. [The heck is "slightly blue"?] The wrinkled fruits plumped up and turned a deep, royal blue. [LSD is a heck of a drug.]

"Wow," Anya said in awe. This place had smelled old and stale; now it smelled good, but not a heavy, flowery smell. [Totes glad it didn't smell like old lady perfume.] Something fresh hung in the air, something like lemon, but earthier. [So Lemon Pine-sol, I guess.] Anya picked one of the fruits off the tree and inspected it. "It looks alright," she muttered to herself. [I knew the psychosis was a family thing.] So she took a small bite. [Because that's always a great idea.] The taste was wonderful; sweet, spicy, sour, cool, and oddly warm all at the same time. [Apparently it tasted like General Tso's Chicken.]

"Well, Tiki, we've found somewhere to go when we get tired of that house," Anya remarked to her dog. [Gee, Anya, bitter much?] So that day, she and Tiki stayed there in the clearing. they were playing with each other, jumping around, [what the heck kind of game is that?], when Anya tripped over a rock, turning it over, and fell. She sat up, laughing to herself, thinking how stupid that had been. [Good, because in real life, all of that that happening at one time would pretty much just, like, explode a human ankle.] But suddenly [DUNDUNDUN] there was a loud creaking noise, like some ancient, rusted door had just been opened once again. Anya got up and turned around. In front of her was a door. [Because we didn't see that coming.] Or a large hole in the shape of one, anyway. [So a door.] Beyond stretched a long, dark tunnel. Even though it gave her spine chills, Anya was curious. So she whistled for Tiki [and I don't know why, because he was literally right freaking there], and the two of them stepped inside.

----

Okay, that's all I can take for now.

Novels Are Like Little Businesses

I was a little mad at myself last night. Through no fault of my own (and I won't elaborate...) I barely got a couple of paragraphs written yesterday, in the novel. Before I went to bed, I made sure to write something, just so it was done, even though I had to work this morning.

I read Rework this week. Yes, it's about business, but I felt like it applied a lot to me as a writer, especially in the context of writing a novel. I've gotten a nice little chunk of the story done, and I've cut things here and there.

I guess a novel is like a business, sort of.

I think a lot of small businesses fail because they dont understand their customers. Case in point, there's a small restaurant where I live, in two locations, one downtown. It's been there for years. We got the cake for my brother's Eagle Scout reception from there. They do cakes and such, but a huge seller is their lunch box. This consists of an entree (sandwich, chicken, chicken pie, etc.) chips, another side, and a dessert. They are literally two doors down from a bank that employs hundreds of people. This place doesn't even have a dining area, but the food is awesome, quick, and affordable.

We've also had a French cafe, a fancy Mexican restaurant, and a bed & breakfast try their hand at success in the same area.

They all failed.

Where I live, no one goes downtown for the experience. Most of the people there are working. After dark, people go home to the other side of town or wherever they live in the county. The Mexican place failed despite the attraction of live music. The bed & breakfast closed because a) this isn't New England and b) it had a great view of an old hotel that probably has hourly rates. I'm willing to bet that the French place didn't quite understand its customer base or possibly priced itself out of the running. It may have been that rent was too high and the food was too special (because for real, my town will stiff you on downtown rent.)

Know who you're targeting for your writing. Mostly it's subconscious, but readers like to have that "they get me!" moment when they read. No, they won't say it out loud, but they also probably won't put your book down after five pages.

Anyway. I highly recommend Rework.

Bothering

Alright, so more excerpts and snark are coming this weekend.

This 30 days thing is actually working out okay for now. I have gotten loads more done than if I hadn't set this thing up. That said, I really would love to write full time.

I've also been reading Rework the past couple days, and it's been pretty inspiring. My brain feels like it's going overtime. I definitely haven't found any contentment with daytime TV lately, which does signal a personal change. I did try to bounce some ideas off my fiance last night. I was basically too tired to attempt a toss, but it's nice to know my brain wants to do stuff that late at night.

Yesterday I actually cut out this disgusting part of the book where the characters find that they have to go through an animal carcass that's roughly the size of an elephant. When I wrote the scene, quite a while back, the squelching and crunching just seemed like a great fit.

When I went to type it up, it just grossed me out. It was also tedious and boring, and relied on something gruesome to make it interesting. As that's the reason I don't like slasher flicks that much, that scene had to go.

I'm still a little afraid of this venture. I'm scared to fail, because why bother if most self-published (and even house-published) novels aren't wildly successful?

I bother because I have a story to tell, and I intend to do just that.

This story's been cooking for over ten years. I think it's funny when there are YA book trends, because you know only one or two of the probably twenty on the shelf are honest. Sometimes there are reprints (like the Vampire Diaries, which was first published in the early 90s, and reprinted because, well, Twilight.)

The most honest stories are the ones that you must tell. Not the ones that the market says are hot, but the story you cannot get your mind away from. Tell the story that's chasing you down.

In other words, bother.

Believability

Just kidding on the bad excerpts thing. I didn't bring my old manuscript to work with me, so I think I will save that for tomorrow or the weekend. Not entirely sure...

So anyway.

I'm pretty good at dialogue between characters. In fact, I had that noted at least once in a creative writing class I took for my minor. In writing, it is the thing that comes most natural for me. That's the part that ends up the most believable, and that is helpful because dialogue reveals a lot about characters whose heads you can't get into.

My four characters have helped loads in making my story more believable. When a character is lifelike, it's easier to see their world as real.

I started thinking of this the other day when my brother was watching the Lord of the Rings movies. I seriously have seen the first one no less than twelve times.

Personally, I blame the work that went into the making of the movies.

Those three films weren't slapped together hastily in front of a green screen. The filmmakers took their time to make Middle-Earth as real as it could possibly be. Tolkien did them a favor when he made up an insane history for Middle-Earth.

I had never thought about that before my brother said it.

And I realized it applies very heavily to writing.

I wonder if I lost that for a little bit. Did I believe my story? Am I trying to copy anything? I mean, the book has in no way lost its roots. I worry a little that I tried to put too much grittiness in it and lost...something. I've sometimes described the story as "this, plus this, with a little of that."

I tried to make it too small. Problem is, we live in a very big universe.

I believe my stories now. I believe the world in which they're set.

That doesn't mean the story's perfect yet. But it's really close to being good enough for me.

I think now I've recaptured what I lost, the honesty of wonder.

Keeping Up with Me (And a Preview!)

Okay, this 30 posts thing is harder than I thought it would be. I did write a chapter yesterday, and now I'm frustrated as to where it should go, because I don't like it much. It's literally hard to visualize, which usually means nothing good. Once a scene become tedious and boring to write, or a character stops speaking for long periods of time, when they started off well, I know that's just about the end for that scene or character. I recently dropped a character and I feel a little relieved.

I also feel a little spooked.

It's not a superstition thing. This character was just too easy to replace. Dropping her tightened the story up. Thankfully, none of my other characters have been able to shut up for the time being, so I'm happy. I now know where this chapter is going.

But writing this novel was so much easier when the whole thing was terrible.

Speaking of which, I think I'll post another excerpt tomorrow.

I need a good laugh.