A Twitter (NOT!)

So shall pen a few lines to (hopefully) put me in the flow for finishing Adam's chapter. Not so easy as you might think, even though I did some concrete reasoning last night.

This morning, I have a persistent Bagheera on my lap, and a deadly 'Oh, who cares?' attitude, which believe me, is more fatal than a cat who won't leave the pen alone. I can work around a sweet purr-cat, but when I've got nothing in my brain and no wish to pull out what's there … things look grim indeed.

Clarity at night -- OR Later the same day

Huh. 8.30, and I'm in bed. What a wonderful way to spend your 'Friday' night. I must admit, though, it's pretty nice to lie here and realize I don't have to make myself believe something impossible anymore, that I'm done for the day. Very wearing, to every few seconds keep forcing yourself to think what you innately count as false.

That's quite an obtuse, wordy sentence, but I'll let you work it out on your own.

So I guess I need to figure out how Adam's revelations should work out. In this chapter, he's thinking about Leslie, about her selling the farm, how she brought up the subject of his dead wife Renee (so he's also thinking about her). He's comforting Emma, (who's scared at the loud thunder), which would also remind him of Renee. But he's also thinking about how many changes he's had in his life lately and he doesn't want more (i.e., Leslie selling the Martin place). Which (seems to me) would lead to his relishing time with his daughter, and how he wants to protect her, and keep their world safe. WHICH IS ADAM'S MAIN STORY GOAL, WHICH NEEDS TO BE STATED UP FRONT, WHICH IT IS. Which he doesn't get to achieve, but that's another story -- in fact, it is the story.

Leslie's main story goal is to find a home for herself (she hopes in her dream condo), but she doesn't achieve that either.

A writer's jitters

Spent a restless night. In fact I've been on tenterhooks for days, though I don't really know why.

I was writing about Adam the other day, about his feelings for his daughter Emma, and I just kept feeling more and more that something was wrong. That maybe she would have needed fed at this point in the story, or she could be put back in her crib and Adam 'take the story' downstairs, as it were. But anyway, my Inner Editor kept yelling 'Something's not right!' -- but I don't know what isn't right! All I know is I'm being yelled at, and it's got me so wound up I can't do anything. Typing in the stuff about killed me, but I did it.

And I would love to be able to clean it up and send it out for an opinion, but I am frankly scared to. I keep imagining all the other things that 'could' be said, and I don't want to hear them again either.

So I guess the only way to deal with this situation is to face it. Clean up the chapter, finish it, and send it off. Then just go on from there.

I need to face this fear.

A historian's thrill

Did some research on religious background for Scotney Castle (a new story idea I have). I had forgotten that the Avignon Papacy, the Great Schism and John Wycliffe were all at about the same time. This, with the deeply pious Henry V coming along just afterwards, is completely understandable, and even a little exciting to this Moody Bible Institute alum.

But I'm not sure what ramifications (if any) it will have for Annette (my main character).

Dull and tired

Sitting, waiting, in a parking lot again -- Wal-Mart this time. At least it's not Rural King, so WSMI isn't blaring in my ear.

Been a pretty stupid day. I'm tired and run down from going to Alton Square yesterday. Kind of strange to contemplate about that trip. I prayed so specifically that I'd be able to order that chair and be able to pick it up at the store, and it worked out exactly as I asked (except, of course, for the price!) It makes me wonder whether I could do that more often -- get precisely what I ask for -- like with writing. And you know, it might work out that I could ... so long as I actually do the work, and not just sit at my computer playing stupid games.

Or even if I work on a story instead of scribble in The Pensieve ... as I'm doing now. Sheesh! My rationalization for now is that my head hurts too much to think. (So what else is new?) I really wonder sometimes if I should find some way to disconnect those games.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow when my head doesn't hurt.

SIGH Tomorrow when I'll be all by myself. Ed's traveling to DeKalb tomorrow at noon for a 1-day 911 Training class; he'll be back Monday night.

Needing directions

"Yes, I'm lost here. Could you direct me to the Island of Misfit Toys?"

I once told my husband that Rachel's writer's group was like a collection of Misfit Toys. That Rachel, Lin, David and I don't really fit in any other groups, 'cause we don't produce much word-count output. I'm needing those guys today.

Had to post word-count totals on GYWO and the Circle, and brother, was I blown out of the water. My monthly pledge goal for GYWO is around 17K (doable at 550 words/day) -- my total is 4,681. One girl on the Circle posted a total of about 27K (doable at 880 words/day).

So, could you please tell me where my group of friends are? I really miss them.

Write On!

Writing is one of the scariest things I've found.

Don't believe me? Perhaps you think writing is only a matter of sitting down for a hour or two with your laptop or a pen in hand and putting down whatever comes into your head.

Perhaps you're right.

But.

To finish a book, you have to keep on putting those words on paper (or the computer screen). All the time a new scene, fresh dialog, different characters, another locale. You can't stop where you are, admiring your own word strings, or the flow is lost and you're left polishing and re-polishing that one single sentence.

To keep writing -- ah, here's where the fun begins -- because continuing on with those pages involves change. Sometimes you don't know where to go; sometimes you don't know what's coming next; sometimes you just haven't the foggiest idea in the world where Chapter 10 will wind up at.

How's that scary, you say? Well, as theologians, philosophers and psychiatrists all agree -- Fear of the unknown is one of the greatest fears we humans face. Dealing with that fear can lead to solutions ranging from nervous incontinence, to simple avoidance of things, to abuse of drugs or alcohol.

So how does a writer keep on getting those words out? The best way I know is to stay in the moment, to focus on whatever is there in front of you, and allow 'the muse of the story' to take you wherever he/she/it wants you to be.

Of course, invariably (as with all things), as soon as you get comfortable there, Reality forcibly knocks on your door. And that's when it gets really hairy: to be required to leave the Muse and handle Reality.

See? I told you writing was scary.