Editing

It's not as exciting to talk about this phase of writing. It's down and dirty, cut and paste, rewrite necessary stuff that isn't all that interesting until it's done. Right now it's simply messy. With a lot of misplaced commas.

Much like my house. I'm sorting through things, re-arranging and preparing a formerly empty room to become a sanctuary. Right now, it's all paint, rollers, cleaning material and piles of stuff. The floor has been laid. All of the materials are there. It's simply a matter of putting things where they belong and discarding what I don't need.

There's no correlation between my life and writing whatsoever. It never ceases to amaze me how often that synchronicity occurs. Does that happen to you?

Reward of Gods

For some reason that is unfathomable, and not to be examined too closely should the magic fall off, I can write while watching motorsports. It's an incredibly productive use of my time. The love scenes for some bizarre reason are the best ones I write. Last night, I edited 30 pages while watching the NASCAR race. 30 pages single-spaced.

Today, I rewarded myself with a viewing of the Wrath of Gods DVD that arrived in the mail on Friday. Go order it. I'll wait.

Brilliant isn't it? I didn't even watch all the bonus materials. They'll be future rewards for writing goals that are met. The documentary was fascinating - like watching a train wreck without the gore. It's a testament to persistence, perseverance and dedication. It's also a love letter to film making.

My dad was in Iceland several times with the air force when I was growing up. I've heard stories about its stark beauty and incredible weather but nothing prepared me for the fury of the Icelandic Sea as it rose up to grab a jeep. Or the contrast between sunny skies one day and hurricane force winds the next. Wind and sea fill my mind even now. I wonder if the cast and crew ever did dry out.

Wrath of Gods is absolutely brilliant. Thanks Zingera for recommending it so highly. A bigger thanks to Jon Gustafsson for not only ensuring I received a copy but for making the film in the first place.

Go reward yourself with Wrath of Gods. You won't be sorry.

Procrastination

I took my clipboard with my first draft out west with me last week. I had no illusions of writing while in Portland for Merry's housewarming party but I did think I'd write on the plane ride across the country. I didn't expect to have to stow my personal belongings in the overhead bin. C'est la vie.

Getting back into the swing of writing has been slow. Most of this week was taken up with Real Life and re-assimilating myself into it. Yesterday I did write a page. Today I will build on that by writing two pages before bed(could be a late night as I'm off on dog rescue duty again after a sighting of the lost dog)but it will happen. Tomorrow I'll increase the word count again. If I do that every day regardless of how I feel, this draft will be finished sooner rather than later. Persistence truly is the key.

What do you do to get yourself back from the procrastination slump?

Excuses, excuses

I didn't write a word last week. At least not fiction. Not story fiction. Every day postcard fiction is another story. I did see Alex's house from the air. Wicked cool. Last night I dreamt I went over the falls in a caterpillar. The construction kind. I took two friends with me. Ooops. I suspect the dream had its root in a discussion about Alex kayaking over waterfalls in Oregon. Both the discussion and the kayaking took place in that state. I was on a much needed vacation with a great group of friends. Alex and Nea did come with me but stayed very much in the background while I played.

I didn't realize the world ended rather abruptly at Cannon Beach. All of my attention was focused on trying to snap the following photo. Consequently, I fell off the continent.
I think it was worth it.

Five minutes

It's been a crazy week here. More so than usual. I would take solace in writing - if I had more than five minutes at a time. I try to use that five minutes wisely. While hiding in the car while hail pinged the roof I read three of my own paragraphs. They were good paragraphs. I didn't touch them.

Another five minutes was spent ordering the Wrath of Gods DVD directly from the website. As you may recall I was somewhat irate when a previous copy turned up blank. Zingera urged me to hunt down another copy as it was a brilliant documentary about the making of Beowulf and Grendel. Jon Gustafsson, the director of Wrath of Gods was kind enough to comment on that post and invite me to the website. The Canadian distributer of the DVD dropped the ball and left a lot more customers than just me staring at the blank screen. I just have to edit the first third of the book before I'm allowed to watch it. It's a great incentive to use my five minutes wisely.

If you can spare five minutes please check out his blog and help support my friend Kirby who is participating in the inaugural Ride to Conquer Cancer June 20-22. He'll be cycling over 200km from Toronto to Niagara Falls. All money raised goes to fund cancer research, teaching and care at The Princess Margaret Hospital Foundation. I couldn't even walk that far let alone cycle but I'm happy to share his fundraising efforts with others.

Five minutes can change the world, change an individual, change a mood. How will you spend your five today?

Whatever works

I earned this star, and several others, this week.

I started the marketing course and actually implemented the first lesson at the small community branch of the library. It wasn't part of the course but the opportunity arose and I took it. I have to hand in the actual assignment this week.

My dog gained 30% of his body weight in the past year. I'm appalled and have started running with him every day. Okay, he runs, I walk. I ran a little bit yesterday when he rolled on a dead fox but that was self-preservation. I didn't eat much dinner as a result. Hmmm, an extreme weight-loss program. I think I'll pass. We're running up and down the stairs tonight while a thunderstorm rages outside. You take your exercise where you can get it.

As for blog relevance, my desk is covered in paperwork. I have a spreadsheet for the growth of numerous elements in the story. I have a book about white-water rafting and two drafts of Hell to Pay, one of which is mostly point form.

I'm using a pen to flesh out every sentence on the first draft that I printed last month. It's compact, portable and the words on the page are more visual for me than on the computer screen. Sometimes just knowing the pages are in my bag keep my brain working on the scene. With the demand on my time these days, that's vital.

I edited my first chapter and part of the next one. I don't actually have chapters at this point, merely scene breaks. I'll do chapters on the last pass. Those breaks can really change the pace of the story. I have to build up to the run.

Next week, I'll have another chapter-length section done. Until then, how do you edit?

Goals and Distractions

Sunday is Race Day here at Chez Fenton. My brother comes over to watch the race with his brain washed children. I wear a shirt, scrunchie, flip-flops and earrings bearing my favourite driver's logo. Perhaps I'm exaggerating somewhat. My niece will chant along with the parrot and I but only after she makes it clear where her loyalties belong. I'm reading Liz Allison'sbooks and reviewing my notes from the NASCAR game I wrote questions for a few years back. My favourite sport is actually research. How cool is that?

I had a look at my calendar the other day to see about scheduling a research trip to one of the racetracks. Yikes. I don't have a day off for another three weeks, at which point I'm going to the Pacific Northwest to visit with a whack of cherrybombs(fans of Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer) It will be fun but not relaxing. Then I'm back home to work seven days a week for another three or four weeks.

Did I mention I'm starting a marketing course for the library this week? I'm not sure if I'm an overachiever or a fool. When do I have time to write?

The best way for me to attain my goals is to make deadlines and hold myself accountable. That's where the blog comes in handy. I'm stating my intention right here and now to have chapter one of Hell to Pay revised by next Sunday.

It's a reasonable goal. All of the lightning/fire stuff I asked for help with won't come into play, even on a subtle level, for another two chapters. That gives me time this week to pop into Niagara Falls and do a little research on something that's a possibility for that scene.

Thank you all for your suggestions through the comments and emails. You've inspired several options,all of which involve lightning in some capacity. You're the best.

Your assistance is requested

I've started working on the next draft, scene by scene. I've just started. Now that I'm in my office and can spread papers all over the desk, it's so much easier to keep track of where I am in the story.

There's a scene in the last third of the book of which I have two versions. In one there is a fire, in another the fire is prevented. Whichever one I go with greatly impacts the last third of the book. As it stands, the fire is prevented. It might be stronger otherwise.

My question to you is how do I burn down a small cluster of chestnut trees? In front of people? With enough speed and destruction that they can't put the fire out in time? Perhaps you can see why I prevented it in the current draft.

As you were all invaluable with the bar scene, I know you'll be of great assistance in causing this fire. Gasoline and a match are not an option. I'm not sure how well flammable liquids travel through time and space.

Thank you.

To set the scene without giving too much away. Nea and Alex are in a forest. They are surrounded by nymphs as well as a variety of flora and fauna apart from the chestnut trees. I like the idea of lightning but am not sure magic can be employed. It might require plain old-fashioned human means. All of the players, including the nymph observers, apart from the arsonist are preoccupied by a bitter confrontation between Nea and her mother.

Oh the Joy

This was my office three days ago. It was convenient. I have this cool little table on wheels and I propped my paperwork up on the hingey part of the table. I could watch Yoda play to the right, observe the fish or even laugh at Ky watching bird and fish. I also watched television while I wrote. Multi-tasking is my middle name.

I spent several days replacing the main piece of glass in the door that lounged in the garage. It took some careful manipulation and lots of scrubbing to get a reasonably clean door upstairs and into the room.

While it's not perfect (several boxes beneath the door/desk have to be put away), I'm pleased with how the room has come together. Stacks of papers have already spread themselves across the top but I'm sorting through things right now so that's to be expected. At least now all those papers have homes, and will go into them just as soon as I can access the filing cabinet and shelf.

Thanks to the new level of organization my brain has been able to focus on the important things. I actually wrote some dialogue this morning that helped me get back into the right frame of mind. Thank you to Elen and Kate for your thoughtful input on my conundrum. It is about balance, as well as a time and place, not to mention purpose, for everything.

This office supplies me with all of the above. And no, that's not the same vase of lilacs in both pictures. I'm setting mood in every room. A good mood to assist me with all the crap in life and writing.

Conundrum

I rescued a baby skunk from certain death yesterday. He was limping as quickly as his injured leg would allow him to motor through the parking lot. He was headed for the even busier road when I got to him with a shopping basket. Poor little guy was terrified out of his wits by the time I reached him. He didn't try to spray me. He did hiss and cower. By the time the Humane Society came to pick him up for even more certain death(at least he wouldn't suffer from his injuries or die beneath the wheels of any one of the half-dozen cars I stopped in their tracks), I had repeatedly answered the question of why I don't work with wildlife for a living. For one thing, I don't have my rehab license. I also don't have the time or money required to take on rehab full time. I've done it for other people and know beyond all doubt that it's a 24-7, no vacation heartbreak.

Rather than get into all the whys and wherefores of wildlife rehab, and the fate of one little creature I crossed paths with for twenty minutes on a rainy, cold Sunday, I started thinking about how I could change the world. What could I do to ease the pain and suffering out there? Cyclones, earthquakes, tsunamis; they're on the news every day killing people for weeks and even months after the initial hit.

Nea creates those things. She does it for a multitudes of reasons, not the least of which is she's a demon. Thinking about all the real life tragedy those natural disasters cause left a really bad taste in my mouth about Nea.

Even if her tornadoes don't kill people they are still devastating. And that's her whole purpose. To make other people as miserable as she is. I understand why Nea does those horrible things but don't know if I can continue to write about them.

In the last blog, I was researching how to set a stand of trees on fire in front of witnesses. That same night, someone did that very thing at the end of my street behind my friend's house. We took the dogs for a run along there two nights later and were sickened by the huge swatch of land, and habitats, destroyed by arson.

I spent a good chunk of last night and this morning trying to reconcile fiction with reality. I have to tell you that at this moment in time, I haven't been able to do it. I don't want to write about deliberately causing a fire after seeing its destruction firsthand. The acrid smell still lingers in my nostrils.

I think about that little skunk and how we built parking lots, shopping malls and busy roads around his habitat. He literally had no where to go yesterday. He was surrounded by concrete and cars without a safe haven in sight. Not much different from the effect of Nea's actions.

I'm switching the blog to Sunday posts only for the next little while. Yes I'm a day late. Yesterday was full. I might post more often if my brain gets back into writing mode. If I can justify Nea's behaviour in such a way that The Reader believes it. And cheers when she's redeemed at the end.

I've started organizing the office today. Maybe once it's done, I'll be able to get back to work. And write my way through this conundrum.

Progress?

I'm reading. Susan Wiggs, JoAnn Ross, Maggie Shayne, NASCAR stories and Explore! as well as a few Canadian Gardening magazines. The latter serve dual purpose. I've got some flower beds that need help, and I'm trying to figure out how to burn down a grove of chestnut trees. They have to catch quick enough that no one is able to put the fire out.

I have a heavy work schedule, am recovering from a particularly debilitating flu, and re-arranging a room into an office. Some other stuff has to happen before the office can be converted from a spare room(all that furniture needs a place to go) so it's complete and utter chaos in my house right now.

I feel completely unproductive despite the above paragraph. While I'm thinking about Alex and Nea a fair amount, no words have hit the page in over a week. Well over a week as a matter of fact. It's disheartening. On the other hand, by the time I get back to fingers on the keyboard, I should have thought through the problem areas so that the words can fly.

It's good to be optimistic.

Mothers

Nea has a less-than-delightful relationship with her mother. The nymph gave birth to her and that was about it. There was none of the nurturing, caring, guiding that most people expect from their mothers. At last meeting, Nea's mother was busy teaching Nea's alleged soul mate about earthy pleasures. Fortunately for Nea this was neither unusual nor out of character behaviour from her mother and she wasn't shocked. Even more fortunately, she didn't feel all that soul matey about the guy.

For all those people who think we writers merely transcribe our own life experiences, let me remind you this is fiction. My mother is loyal, loving, dedicated, funny, generous and nothing remotely like Nea's mother. Despite the normal ups and downs that every two people in any kind of relationship experience, we genuinely like and care for one another. My mom is smart, strong and a good role model.

There's a good reason for Nea's mother to behave so differently from my own. Not only does it serve the story and add to Nea's growth, but her mother suffered a great tragedy in the back story. A tragedy that altered both of their lives and one from which neither will ever truly recover.

With some luck and a great deal of work on both their parts, Nea and her mother may find understanding and a way to heal. My mom would be disappointed if they didn't at least try. She's a big proponent of doing one's best. That's not a bad thing.

Distracted

P.S. I love you came out on DVD yesterday. No, I haven't watched it yet, but I did buy it. I am listening to the soundtrack while I work on my new project. Yep, you heard right. I started a new project. Actually, I'm working up notes and an outline while I research some important details for Alex.

The universe, and plenty of writer friends, have been urging me to write a NASCAR romance. A hero came to me just over two years ago. I ignored him. I finished Gabriela's story. The hero raced back up to the front of the pack. I ignored him and started Alex's story. On Saturday, the driver roared up the line and roared his engine to get my attention. I tried to ignore him.

I would have succeeded if my friend Lou hadn't made a comment about why she disliked motorsports. Out of nowhere a woman appeared and reamed him out. She made some valid points. He made several back. The loud "discussion" was equally matched and hard to ignore.

I made notes. Lots of notes. I have goal, motivation, conflict, setting, character, growth and resolution. I have an email reminding me in that timely way that synchronicity works, that Harlequin editors are actively seeking authors for the NASCAR line.

The new project has to wait long enough for me to finish the polished draft of Alex and Nea's story. Those two have not been patient about having their story told. I revisited Bracken the other day in the course of writing Nea's Black Moment. He's too pissed to meet, or trust, another woman. It will be interesting to see which one of these new projects compels me first.

In the meantime, lots of reading, gardening and P.S. I love you. It's all research.

Hell did pay

I spent the rest of the week reading Explore, watching too much daytime television and thinking about the end to Alex's story while a vicious cold ravaged my brain cells. It's been nasty here this week.

I rushed the end of my first draft because I wanted to meet the April writing challenge. I realized it was rough but last night a solution came to me in the middle of the night. I didn't write it down because I ended up standing coyote watch for this darling dog with whom I am house-sitting.

This coming week, I'm going to go back to the last three scenes in the rough draft and make Alex's loss stronger, tie Nea's black moment into his then shove the tension over the Falls. It should be fun.

Hell to Pay

The Write off the Deep End writing challenge ends today and I reached my goal! The first draft of Hell to Pay is done. I've printed it off. Next up, I'll read it through scene by scene to flesh it out. I know where the problems are and will take care of them. It will be work but should go faster than this draft.

I'm pleased.

What a difference a week makes

The latter half of the week was not productive. I've been working, reading and wrestling with my office. I abandoned that project until after May 1st. Our writing challenge ends on the 30th and I'm hopeful I can meet my goal. I'm house and dog-sitting for the next ten days. It's only down the street from my own home, and it has a big screen TV but it's a different environment. I've already made a mini-office in the rec room so wish me luck.

Several of us traveled to Buffalo on Friday night to see Jeff Dunham. I laughed ridiculously hard for two solid hours. At one point my head was pounding from all the laugher and I was completely convinced I was going to die from a stroke. What a way to die. If I wrote suspense or mystery, I might actually use that scenario.

In the midst of gasping for oxygen, I actually started to critique the one routine. The Christmas special is being taped in June so we were privy to a lot of new material;some of which was written on the spot. It was all funny, yet one of the characters was inconsistent in tone. He was meek, wicked, sad and maniacal all at the same time. It was like watching the rough draft of one of my scenes. All the gold is there. You just have to brush off the dirt. That was freakier than the fear of stroke.

It's one thing to hear voices in my head but to critique someone else's voices is another. Jeff Dunham doesn't exactly need my input. The laughter is immediate and accurate feedback.

How do you know you're writing contains more gold than mud?

The mini writing retreat is over. Elen and her family were incredibly gracious about sharing their home and time with me. We found a nice rhythm of writing, talking and writing that allowed us to be social as well as productive. Elen is one of the most thoughtful people I know. She puts a lot of time and effort into everything she does; really considers the ramifications of her thoughts and deeds before she acts upon them. I learn much from her.

Having a desk to work from was more beneficial than I remembered. I could spread my papers and research notes out around me instead of balancing some on the couch and others on the footstool. Some of my comfort may have had to do with the fact that I wasn't fighting a cat for the mouse. Electronic or not there's something about a mouse that cats feel obligated to hunt, even if it's in your hand.

Back at home, I quickly assessed the odds of setting up a desk in my office. I used to have both but gradually migrated to the living room surrounded by the zoo. I multi-task while I write. That wasn't necessary while at Elen's and I suspect that accounts for a large part of my productivity. Of course I did spend a fair amount looking out the window and watching the neighbour wash his car. Procrastination exists everywhere.

Sometimes it's important to hang out with friends, even change the scenery a little bit to gain some perspective on your work. Fortunately, the retreat was a lot calmer than landing on a branch in the middle of rapids.

Escape to Nim's Island

I'm visiting with the lovely Miss Elen and her delightful family for a mini writing retreat. We've spent a fair amount of time visiting, eating delicious food and wandering through her garden. We've talked about writing and I may have even put words on the page. I know I woke up this morning to a dialogue between Alex and Nea. Too bad I didn't write that down. It's my own fault for not having paper beside the bed.

This afternoon we snuck out to the movie theater to see Nim's Island with the oh-so-inspiring Gerard Butler. It was a fun movie. I enjoyed listening to the kids in the audience laughing at the animals' antics as well as Nim's defense of her home. Elen and I were highly amused by the scenes with Jodi Foster's writer character speaking with her fictional creation, Alex Rover as amusingly portrayed by Mr. Butler. Looking at her office with posters, montages, textbooks and reference articles spread round her was like looking at the nest I've made in Elen's daughter's room.

Gerard Butler is not my Alex but of course he was great in this film as well all of his others. Actually there several similarities between that character and my own. The whole adventurer, action hero, do-the-right-thing attitude tweaked some more insight into my Alex's struggles. Watching those scenes in the writer's office as well as her conversations, even arguments, with her character will likely strike a chord for other writers besides myself.

I may have not reached my writing goal for the day but I did complete more than I would have had I stayed at home. It's no big deal that I rewarded myself a little early with our trip to Nim's Island. Any time Gerard Butler wants to come sit on the floor with me and tell me what to write, I'll be more than happy to let him.

Aren't imaginations wonderful?

Perspective

I messed around for two days with a fairly important scene. Okay they're all important, otherwise why keep them around. I moved them up the river, then down the river. I changed the mood; playful, brooding, angry. Nothing I did made the scene jell.

Alex is standing at the base of Nea's brooding tree. He's got a lot on his mind. So does she. It is apparent to both that things are not as they appeared to be. They are not who they appeared to be. Alex didn't know how to respond to Nea because she wasn't reacting the way he expected her to.

Yesterday, I took Kate's advice and changed the POV of the scene. Suddenly, it's easier to write, flows better and is more consistent in tone. I'm finally able to identify with Nea without sending myself into my own personal hell. We understand each other better, her and I.

Poor Alex hasn't got a clue. But that's okay. Things aren't from his perspective until after they return from the forest. He's keeping a secret until then.

I suspect the key to world peace lies in looking at everything from the other's perspective. It always works for me, in real life as well as fiction.

Wrath of Keziah

Several posts back I whined about my The Wrath of Gods DVD being blank. I had set a goal of finishing this draft before the replacement copy came in. Bad news. The entire shipment was blank and there will be no replacement. I'm disappointed. Apparently I do have a flare for understatement.

On the upside, I have no excuse for not writing. I shall create my own entertainment. Now that Nea has a great perch from which to brood, and Alex has some perspective on how much his life may or may not suck, it's time to shake them both up.

Easy enough to do. Channel the disappointment and inability to change a darn thing about the coveted DVD into the wip and presto, another scene brilliantly written. Hey, it's good to have a game plan.

Nea's tree

I went out to Niagara Falls today in order to take a picture of the tree in Alex's yard. I've always been drawn to this building, property, landscape. The view is breathtaking year round.

I finished Nea's flying scene the other night but wasn't quite sure where to land her. Until I thought of this tree. Imagine glass in the window frames that are cemented over. That's part of Alex's bedroom. He has curtains over them but she knows he's inside. I think the road is further away than in actuality. (I stood on the road to take the photograph)



Once I stepped onto the property nausea crawled through my belly. I'm sure it's because of the turbines but the intense energy there always creeps me out. I think the demons would enjoy it.

When I stepped beneath the tree a wave of peace washed over me and dissipated the nausea. I leaned back against the rough bark and listened to the roar of the river. It's so strong it drowns out all thought, leaving a powerful sensation. This is the time of year I dream of going over the Falls. I don't know what I was thinking, tempting fate by standing so close to the edge of the river. There aren't any fences along that spot.

I wrenched myself away from the magnetic pull of the water as it rushed south in its haste to leap over the brink of the world. That's a long way down. It's mesmerizing. No wonder Nea and Alex are both drawn to the danger and excitement. It's difficult to remember there's a city, and hundreds of thousands of people literally around the bend. Wildness beckons. Step closer.


Then closer still.

Ack!

I've been having trauma getting online. I received a wireless router for my birthday the other day. It was supposed to make my life simpler. Instead I've fiddled with that instead of finishing my homework or writing. I'm a little frustrated.

On the other hand, I have no excuse for letting deadlines whoosh past. I have plenty of opportunity without distraction for writing. The April writing challenge is going well. I've been flying with Nea, reading about Belize for Alex and found twenty pages of notes to input - including the final scene.

So ack to Internet connections and whee to writing time. I'm optimistic that I will have great news to report where the writing is concerned when I post next. In the meantime, enjoy this view of Alex's window.

Nea's wings

I've been playing with a combination of textures to create Nea's wings. At first I thought of this

but unless the skin is on the warm body, it neither feels nor looks right.


Then I thought of this -
but they're such a cliche, as are these

that I abandoned that plan and just took all three, mixed them up with some lace and pretty colours to give Nea her wings.

Then I started writing the actual scene. Which is a very good thing as we started a writing challenge for April. My goal is to finish this draft of the book. Last year I did an outline; this year I'm going for a rough draft. I want to have it polished and out the door by the end of the summer if not sooner. May is going to be a loooong month at both jobs so I might let that be the month where things get to settle after the April marathon of writing.

Extra points if you can guess what each of the cropped photos is. Good luck.

Wings

I went out for a bite and a pint with some friends the other night. We had all needed a break from reality and shared a few laughs about the turns our lives have taken lately. It was nice to introduce friends I've known for many years to someone I've known for a shorter period of time.

We all share an interest in birds of prey. Many years ago, the one friend and I belonged to a raptor rehab center. I have tons of books on how to properly care for and subsequently release injured birds of prey. Unfortunately the group disbanded over politics before I was able to actually nurse a raptor back to health but not before I was able to learn plenty on the subject. I didn't get my rehab license at the time but am looking back into that certification.

The more recently acquired friend is interested in falconry. We shared our experiences with her. Training with lures. Feeding. Teaching an injured eagle how to fly. I used to be friends with a man who trained birds of prey and helped him on occasion. It was exhilarating.

There's something about watching those creatures hunt that is both graceful and noble. Yet it's also violent. I'll spare you the details but it's not a clean kill. It's brutal and messy. But it is often swift.

That made me think about Nea's relationship with her wings. She cherishes them because they are a symbol of her demon status. They carry her with speed and efficiency towards destruction. They also lift her high above the trees. Demons are violent nasty creatures; the antithesis of everything her wings grant her. Freedom, beauty and speed.

Like a falcon spiraling out of the sky, Nea dives on Alex and twists her talons in his soul. Swift. Brutal. Elegant.

Will Write for Wine

This isn't the first time I've mentioned Will Write for Wine. It probably won't be the last. I was out running my darling dog along the canal in an effort to dissipate the sugar buzz. I was also trying to catch up on all the podcasts I've downloaded over the last few months. One of the reasons I get so far behind is the writing frenzy that Lani Diane Rich and Samantha Graves inspire.

I listened to an episode about Dialogue and watched the tugboats breaking up the ice in the canal. I also threw a stick for the dog. I was laughing at all three when Lani said,"Everyone lies." That stopped me cold in my tracks.

I'm in the midst of a scene where Alex is making some conclusions about his own redemption. And it occurred to me how much stronger this scene, and the rest of the book, will be if he's lying to himself about his motivation. He's being both selfish and noble but mixing up which belongs to what action.

I'm excited, and have to go write. I'll probably be late with the next blog if all goes according to plan. Bwahaha. Like that ever happens. Poor Alex.

Alex Across the Universe

My friend came over last night to work on her essay about Across the Universe. Someone had stepped on her laptop so she used mine. I also own the movie so we watched it 5 times in 24 hours. As of this afternoon I still wasn't sick of it. Odd considering each viewing was consecutive.

The most interesting aspect of the entire experience was how much I wrote. A little friendly rivalry kicked into gear. I grabbed pen and paper and just wrote everything that came to mind. I started with the end of one scene and notes for the next. Every tap of the keys drove me to match her word for word with ink. Scratch, sing, tap. Scratch, sing, tap. So our night went.

The Beatles are not on my playlist for Alex. He's more of a nature tape kinda guy. But knowing someone else is writing beside me gets the juices flowing every time. Hmmm, I wonder where Alex gets his competitive spirit from...

It was fun, productive and created some good stuff. A writer's retreat would get this sucker finished in no time. Just saying...

Melancholy

Melancholy. It's an interesting word. The last four letters spell holy and at the risk of sounding sacrilegious that's almost how I feel right now. Reverent.

During Holy Week I'm attending two memorial services. It's made me reflective about how we live our lives. Most of us go about our business, make homes for our families, provide for them, share experiences with good friends and move on with little awareness of how much we touch each other.

A man came into the store the other day and told me that I never fail to brighten his day. You'd think I would have been less surprised given that I'd just written about the importance of a positive outlook over at the CB Bar and Grill. He's been depressed for some time. I had no idea. He comes in. We talk about animals, great books and tell each other a few jokes. Then we go our separate ways, both carrying that good humour through the rest our day.

Some times the way people touch us is more subtle. Write off the Deep End is a writing group that formed when Brian Henry wrote my phone number on the blackboard at a writing course he was teaching. I was the only volunteer to host a group. Kate and I have looked back plenty over the years in amazement that we so naively gathered other writers (including each other) towards us that day.

I'm not sure of the evolution from there. We met more people at other writing courses and our information was circulated in the Niagara region. Tom Torrance taught romance, poetry and writing for children(all separately, of course) at Niagara College during that time. While I never took any of his classes other members of WODE did. As we tended to pool our resources, I heard "In Tom's class, we..." a lot. He was a great influence on all of us. Brenda Harlen credits him with a good portion of her success with Harlequin.

I didn't know him well. He was my parent's neighbour for several years. He frequented the library where I work. He came to book signings. He always smiled, said a few words in his soft voice and let the action flow around him.

He was a quiet man. A gentle man. The kind of person your glance bounces off in its quest for stimulation. But his words carried weight and his message had power. I look at all the people whose lives he touched, all the writers to whom he gave confidence in their abilities and I am awed.

In one of those serendipitous moments I love, I just finished reading a book this morning. I almost turned away from it in the beginning because the prose was literary, slow moving and lyrical with it's gentle images. Yet the more I read, the more I enjoyed the slower journey full of profound observations that I would have lost in a faster paced book. The end left me pensive and pondering the final paragraph. The main character says the need we have to put words on a page is the way in which we grasp hold of meaning in every day tasks. She suggests it is a way to hold onto our memories.

It may be my interpretation but I think writing is the way so many of us find meaning in our interactions, our communications, in our lives. As writers we are allowed, even encouraged, to ponder all the connections we make in daily tasks and assign meaning to each. As writers we record all that happens around us. We make sense out of chaos, and order.

Sometimes we merely observe. Sometimes we extrapolate from those observations. Through our writing we share bits of ourselves. Bits that have an effect on someone else, bits that alter their reality or thinking, bits that float across miles to land in another's conscious when they most need to see another perspective.

Few of us know how long-lasting or far-reaching our interactions have on our family, friends, co-workers, strangers, students and teachers. Memorials are an opportunity to share that person's significance in our lives with those who love them. The two people whose memorials I attend this week were fortunate enough to know, through words and actions, the myriad of ways in which they had touched the lives of others.

Sometimes melancholy can lead to bright memories. Thank you all for reading, and inspiring me to reach for meaning in the mundane and the magical.

Alex

I went through some boxes of old paper this weekend. Not only am I doing my annual search for tax paperwork, receipts and such, I'm also sorting and shredding things that have outlasted their usefulness. For some reason I cannot bring myself to shred a sketch an ex-boyfriend made of a thermostat for a car that went to the wrecker twenty years ago. It makes me smile every time I look at it.

Among other such memories I found notebooks, binders and sheafs of paper with several story ideas, outlines and even scenes. Some are good, some not so much. But they all had one thing in common. The hero's name was Alex. He's been dark, fair;lean, stocky;tall, average;a firefighter, medieval knight, and electician(not sure what the last one was about).

In his current incarnation as an extreme sports athlete, he's been around for twelve years. I knew where we were going together and how we were getting there but could never find a strong enough companion for that journey. So I sent him to Tibet while I gave his original storyline to his sister(that was Kate's Idea and it took me six months to accept it).

I wrote several other books in the meantime. Now that I had Alex's identity solidly implanted in my subconscious those heroes were able to form with different names and their own solid identities. Alex wandered through Indonesia and Australia with brief jaunts home to see if I was ready for him. When I started his sister's story in earnest, he went to South America. Who knew he would connect to Belize so thoroughly? Certainly not I.

The character has been rolling around in my head in one form or another for fifteen years and I'm still learning about him. Some of it is fascinating stuff. Some of the little details don't amount to much until you put them all together. He's so much tougher,versatile and resilient than I ever could have imagined. And funny. His sense of humour is a little bent.

He's larger-than-life, contained to a larger-than-life home at the head of a powerful natural wonder. He's sparring with a demon(also Kate's Idea that took some time to accept)for his soul. Yet he's as trapped as anyone has ever been, even if the cage is immense.

He had an epiphany yesterday. While I knew the first part of the book involved unAlex-like behaviour I didn't realize how it was possible for him to change so drastically. I thought it was the demon's fault. Alex says otherwise.

After all these years, I'm still enjoying the revelations. Perhaps that's why I'm not working too hard to finish the book. It will be hard to let him go.

Fortunately, other heroes await. There's that old ghost story whose memory was triggered by Gerard Butler. That's on an old floppy disk, as well as in a binder. But you know I remember more of that story and that hero every day.

Meanwhile Bracken grows.

Dreams

As writers, we tend to live in our subconscious more than most people. We create characters, situations, worlds and realities that must feel real or the reader won't be engaged. Not only will they toss the book against the wall, they'll tell all their friends how ridiculous it was.

This leads to the need for some solid research. I've never been to Belize nor run white water in a raft(or any other conveyance for that matter). Travel books, tourism boards and the wide world of google help to capture the feel of the tropical country. YouTube has some fascinating video of amazing river runs that I've previously shared with you. I draw on those resources a fair amount when I'm writing.

There's a pivotal scene with Alex and another character going over a waterfalls in a kayak. Racing off the edge of the earth to plunge 200 feet. Exhilerating stuff. Terrifying and something I feel confident describing despite the fact that I've never been in a kayak.

Every Spring for the past 16 years, I've dreamt about going over Niagara Falls, without a barrel. I swim, sweep or flail my way over the edge. My breathing changes, adrenaline floods my bloodstream and euphoria and terror dominate my senses. I am never injured but I am always aware how precarious my survival is. There are a variety of reasons for this recurring dream but the one that interests me most for this blog is the way I can use that experience to give this scene a sense of truth. Even though my feet stay firmly planted on the ground whenever I go to Niagara Falls, I can recreate that feeling with a high level of accuracy. Because I've dreamt it so often.

Which brings me to the recurring dream from the last post. I have this ongoing relationship with a NASCAR driver because I write romance and need some stuff to drawn on. My subconscious likely chose him because we've met a few times, I'd done all that research on him for the game and wandered through his hometown. It perceives him as familiar. The relationship isn't real so I can poach from it all I want for writing purposes.

The subconscious is the best tool in a writer's toolkit. It isn't bound by physical limitations or conventional thinking. It has a symbiotic relationship with the imagination. They fuel each other.

And save me a plane ticket to Belize.

Connections

This blog used to be all writing all the time. Then I headed into Gerard Butler world and have seen him in everything I write. There is a definite connection between that actor and a story I wrote many years ago. The odd thing is that old manuscript was based on a dream I had about a different actor, Jon Erik Hexum, the night before he died. The two men have no obvious connection other than the one my brain has made.

Over the years I've learned to pay attention to my subconscious, even when I don't have a clue what it's trying to tell me.

There's a NASCAR driver who raced to the front of the pack in many of my dreams a few years ago. Entire lifetimes together, including the occasional scrape against the wall, occupy my nights. During the daytime I'm mystified. I'm a fan of the man's driving and competitive confidence but hook up with him? I think we'd take each other out on pit road. I have to admit how strange it was to spend a good chunk of time last year in his hometown visiting with a real life, non-celebrity man. I was terrified we'd run into the driver and I'd end up saying something that sounded stalkerish.

I'm aware of that line between fantasy and reality, truly I am, but spending so much time with someone in that subconscious state lends a false sense of familiarity. It doesn't help that I spent a fair amount of time researching him for a game on which I worked a couple of years ago. It's that very essence of fact underlying all the fiction that could easily make me sound unhinged.

As a writer, I weave fantasy and reality together in a seamless blend of entertainment. Regardless of whether the book is plot or story driven; character is what engages the reader. These men are interesting characters to me. They aren't real. I don't know them. But there are elements to each of them that compel me to revisit the connections time and again.

It's that sense of the familiar that comes from perceived connections. Whether it's the dreams, the hometown or mutual acquaintances that give me that idea of being connected, the truth is irrelevant. There are times when I have to stop for a moment and think about whether I actually had that conversation - despite the fact that we haven't met.

Maybe I'm losing my mind. Or maybe I'm letting my imagination run with all the scenarios and possibilities so that I can write the most complete, real and flawed characters I can.

What do you think?

A good read

I fell into a book this morning and it wasn't my own. It was The Footprints of God by Greg Iles. I try to avoid his writing when I'm under the gun because he sucks me in so completely. It's a combination of characters, story and writing style.

Like Susan Wiggs, Iles is difficult for me to dissect. I've tried analyzing both authors in an attempt to understand what drives me to keep reading long past logic dictates I should. It would be much wiser to shut off the light, get some sleep or finish my own writing. Instead I fall into a fictional world that engages all of my senses. I suspend disbelief for the hours it takes to work my way through to the end. In the case of Iles' work, I'm usually exhausted at the end. Yet satisfied.

That satisfaction is what keeps me plugging away at my own manuscript. I want readers to put my book down at the end of a wild ride with fascinating characters and feel like it was worth the investment of their valuable time. That, and the hope that some day Gerard Butler will star as one of my heroes in the film version of that book. Dreams are good. They're an essential element in creating a satisfying book.

How do you classify a good read?

Best laid plans

I was called into work on my day off yesterday. Great for paying bills but not so great for the plan to spend the day writing. I had my notes by the computer and a big glass of water to keep my brain hydrated. There was even a plan to review the bar scene(the phrase 'will it never end' kept running through my brain) so when the phone rang I was irked.

The end result was a distinct lack of time to procrastinate. I had half an hour to write before work. I knuckled down and wrote the punchline to that scene. Dialogue poured out onto the page. That was the most productive half hour I've used in some time on the writing front. Upon review today, the quality has held up to the cold winter light of the day after.

It was even more satisfying that I wrote on my lunch break. Instead of reading the book I had finally settled upon(and have since rejected because the characters didn't engage me)I wrote. Alex is back. His humour was missing. Even knowing where it had gone and why, I was missing that aspect of him. I've trudged through that scene because of it. The rejected book (see above) showed me the importance of showing the character's flaws and issues in a way that keeps the reader engaged.

This is a major turning point for Alex. My realization is his. Sorry it took so long but I've got it covered now. The sense of fun is back.

Who knew going to work would net such results?

PS Driving to work netted this image from Universal Studios - change the outfit, soften the lines of his face slightly, lighten the hair - and that's Alex - Hercules

Reading when writing

I'm not sure what it's like for you but I have to be careful what I read when I'm writing. Yesterday I read The Great Gatsby. It was completely unexpected. I'm not sure what I thought it would be like but that wasn't it. The writing was fluid, active and captivating. The story and the characters were larger than life yet intimate. Of course I'll never write anything like it. I'm okay with that. Only F.Scott Fitzgerald can be himself. Just as there is only one Keziah Fenton.I know because I googled it.

I picked up a book to read this morning then put it back down. I did that with three others. I want to read them all, truly I do, but I don't want to influenced by story, characters or writing style while I'm writing.

I've turned to some good period dramas and watched them instead of reading. The rhythms and cadences are restricted to dialogue alone. Sage hooked me on the BBC production of North and South. I immediately followed that viewing with the final episodes of The Vicar of Dibley. Hard to believe the male lead in both shows was the same actor, Richard Armitage. Cathy thinks he's a good candidate for Roger in the Outlander series.

I think the best way to keep my mind on my own story and characters is to read nothing but research materials and stop losing myself in sexy British actors.

What do you do to keep your mind on your own writing?

Hmmmm

Stashaholic thinks Henry Ian Cusik would be a good choice for Jamie from the Outlander series. I'm not convinced anyone can measure up to my mental image but you have to admit, he's not bad to look at.



She's thinking about her choice for Claire. I can't comment as I am busy writing. I have a brilliant post sketched out on the bathroom wall for you and will post it just as soon as I get this scene finished. I am hopeful that it will actually be in this lifetime. Thanks to Jodi Thomas for the quote, "Triumph comes from perseverance."

Ahh, my idea of triumph...


Enjoy!

Muses

Music is my muse.

I load up the CD player, yes I am that arcane, with music that either my characters listen to or are inspired by. The lead singer of The Tea Party supplied me with the hero's overall look in Heaven Coming Down. I was fortunate to have a one-on-one conversation with him in which we realized we drew our inspiration from similar sources. It seemed fitting to write the entire book to his music.

I've written to salsa, blues, metal rock and country. They've all been instrumental in flicking the switch in my brain to CREATE mode.

Part of the challenge with this project has been the lack of musical identity for Alex. It's not that big a deal though. Nea's music is definitive and strong. It's angry, loud and sums her up. Alex listens to instrumental. It's his music I hear every night before I go to sleep. Fitting as that's when I do most of my pre-writing. Nea may be Queen of the Night but Alex is at heart a dreamer. It's an interesting contrast to listen to their music.

Who or what is your muse?

Can't blog. Writing

Guess what I'm doing right this moment? Writing!

You'll be happy to know that all the research you did for me with alcholic beverages several months ago is finally being put to use. I've been structuring the demon's drinks with his downward spiral back to hell. Of course he's taking Alex with him. It's fun. I really should get back to it before they start doing shots and hitting on that blonde biker babe at the end of the bar. That would be a cliche. Especially if her beefy boyfriend took exception. Ooo, gotta go. I just thought of how to end that scene.

Here's something shiny to entertain you all with while you wait. Blue is my favourite colour. How about you?



Photo courtesy of reelzchannel.com

Please

I had a bit of a breakthrough the other day during a lull at work. I picked at the current scene and asked myself what purpose it served. Bar scenes can easily be cliched, and therefore highly entertaining, just not the way the authour intended. My problem lay in the structure. I have two punchlines in that scene. By reversing their order everything is much stronger. Writing is not the chore it was last week.

I'm still plodding along. Mostly because that's my internal speed these days. Writing, walking, thinking; I'm merely taking my time. I get every where I need to and that's what counts. I wonder if I've missed things because of rushing around trying to be all things to all people. So I'm practicing more mindful interactions with life.

As Alex is my hero, I'm turning much of my subconscious focus to him. I can do that, will who I dream about or think about beneath the surface. That technique helped me throughout university. Sorry, I have no idea how it works. It just does. It allows me to expand my conscious activities. Instead of obsessing about one issue, idea or Gerard Butler, I can now think about all of them at various times of the day without fear of losing brain cells.

With all that said, I decided to take Zingera's advice and watch this 15 minutes short,Please. I had a feeling before I watched it that it was going to set something loose in my brain.

In the first two minutes the old story that P.S. I love you reminded me of jumped forward. There's some weird connection between that old manuscript and Mr. Butler. One I don't want to pursue until after Hell to Pay is finished. I almost stopped watching the short then because the pull was strong. I took a breath, shoulder checked Alex and dove back in.

The ending was a little predictable and made me want to smack the characters but that could be because something similar happened in my neighbourhood when I was a kid. Cliches are so because they imitate recurring aspects of life. Even when life goes sideways, you can often see the changes coming.

The rest of Please? Wow. It's powerful. When he talks about being a novelist, I got chills. There are days when that's incredibly true. Go. Watch it. Even if you're neither a novelist, nor a fan of Gerard Butler's you'll understand the writer in your life a wee bit better afterward.

Brain full

Usually writing gets all that extra stuff out of my brain onto the page and frees me up to think of other things. That's not happening at the moment. Daily living, or surviving the sore-throat-that-will-not-heal, has dragged so much out of me. It doesn't seem like a lot, until I try to think.

My brain is full of parents, health(mine and theirs), researching alternative therapies(theirs and mine), conventional therapies(I think you know who's), work, the library collection course, and somewhere waaaay down there Alex and Nea who aren't exactly clawing to get out.

I've tried writing at the computer, writing longhand, writing on the shower wall, writing in my notebook and writing while I walk(digital voice recorders rock). Nothing worth noting.

Maybe I'm not Wonder Woman and can't do everything. Maybe I'm missing a key element in the story and don't realize it. Maybe I need to just keep plugging away.

Honestly, I think it's a combination of the three. I'll continue opening the document and adding a few words at a time. A conversation with Elen brought me back to the basics of Alex's character. Lani Diane Richsaid something interesting about what a bad idea it was in a romance to make the hero and heroine the antagonist and protagonist. On the surface this is exactly what I've done with Alex and Nea. On further reflection I realized it is not. In the end Alex will give Nea exactly what she wants, not what she thinks she wants. Despite what the two of them think, she's not taking away anything he holds precious. He already threw it away. In her own warped way, Nea will give it back to him. Of course neither one of them realize that's what is really happening. They think they're adversaries.

Sort of like my brain and I.

Puttering along

No writing today. Not because it was Superbowl Sunday. I had my six year old niece here all weekend. She's full of enthusiasm from the moment her eyes open in the morning til the very instant they flutter shut at night. If only I could figure out how to harness some of that energy. It would solve the global energy crisis. Not to mention my own. She sucks it out of me. I have no idea how the working/writing mothers manage. She is a treasure. Truly. We had some good laughs. She taught me some interesting dance moves. High School Musical was far better than I had imagined. Both times.

Alex took a backseat to the princess but he didn't go away completely. I did manage to play with him during her bath time. We discussed the crazy aunt scribbles on the wall and that led to more insight about this current scene.

I have no idea what triggered how to write Nea's reactions to the loss of her wing. Something made me think of OH's tattoo post and it came from there.

I'm writing out of sequence again. So much on Alex's scene then over to Nea's and back again. But whatever works.

I'm motivated. My replacement copy of Wrath of Gods should be here in three weeks. I need to be free to watch it.

Back on the wagon

My Wrath of Gods DVD contained no data so I opened up my documents and plunged back into Alex's story. It was so much easier than I feared. Perhaps the contrast between the two men - one fictional, one who plays fictional characters - was what I needed to give my brain a break.

I wrote for an hour yesterday, another hour today. Because I don't have Sven breathing down my neck, judging my word count, the pressure is off. The words are coming smoothly, the scene playing out in front of me. Writing is a pleasure. Not that it had stopped. It was simply a matter of too many demands on my time and writing was the only thing I could afford to put on hold.

It helped that my wireless keyboard was able to transcribe the shower scribblings instead of me unhooking everything from the laptop and hauling it in there. It also helped that Alex was still slumped in front of the picture window staring at the turbulent river. It took a bit to rouse, then dress him but I had fun with it.

Day two back at the keyboard and Alex is down at the bar with the demon drowning their sorrows. I may just join them for a pint after work.

The zoo, Gerry and Alex

I can't get enough of Gerard Butler these days (movies that is) and it's gotta stop.

I need to start writing again soon. I'm afraid if I stop for too long I'll never get back to it. All the dark Scot distractions have obscured my love for Alex.

It's not all bad. My little zoo loves how much time I've spent in front of the television watching DVDs. Parrot on the shoulder, cat on the lap and dog at my feet while I continue to learn subtext. Dear Frankie is still my favourite but there are some excellent Looks in everything else I've watched.

I just popped Wrath of Gods into the DVD player. Once it's over, I have to abandon Mr. Butler for awhile. I've been studying his subtleties and nuances as well as his humour but seriously who am I kidding that it's all for the writing?

Alex is nothing like him physically though I hope he has the integrity of his characters. Blond shaggy-looking athletes are more what I need to be focused on. Got any ideas? Tao Berman doesn't fit the physical profile either but his kayaking skills shaped Alex so maybe it's back to youtube.

I have to admit I'm in a happier frame of mind, partly thanks to my mini film festival. Alex and Nea are still miserable but I have pulled back far enough to be able to write their misery with a level of objectivity I had lost in all the chaos of my home. The house is finally clean and reasonably organized. I hope my brain is as well.

We'll find out tomorrow when I get back to the story. It should be interesting, even if it doesn't star Gerard Butler.

Thanks to all the Gerard Butler fans who popped over after my comment about The Look. Had I known you were all going to visit, I would have written a better post.(Check out the video link below. It's just for you.) It was a popular blog that spawned some amazing conversations about what appeals to each of us;not only in actors and movies but in books as well.

This is a writing blog; a space for me to store my writing related thoughts. Occasionally I delve into other subjects but primarily as they affect my writing. I'm not putting a lot of words on the page these days but things are rolling around in my brain, making connections and generally sorting themselves out while attend to other matters(my house and zoo were screaming for attention).

Authors derive their inspiration from a variety of sources. While Gerard Butler speaks to me(not literally but hey, something could be arranged should he so desire it)he has yet to inspire a novel. His recent role in P.S. I love you did, however, remind me of an old manuscript that deserves resurrection. Once I get my office reorganized and finish Alex's story, I'll dig out Waiting on a Hero and see what it needs, besides a better title.

One thing each of Mr. Butler's characters have in common is integrity. Perhaps not by standards you or I may hold high but his characters, flawed though they may be, hold true to themselves, to their own personalities, flaws and growth. (I haven't seen every movie in which he's acted but enough to make such a sweeping statement.) That's something that should be a given in any solid piece of writing - integrity. Yet there are times when I worry that the plot needs can override that requirement.

Alex is struggling with every single aspect of his identity so this is a significant part my thought processes these days. I need his growth to be real, true and believable while still moving the storyline in the direction I originally envisioned. I will continue to look to movies like Dear Frankie and books like It's not about the accent to guide me.

What character quality is a must-have for you?

Photo courtesy of CBC's The Hour with George Stromboulobopoulos

Sweating with Sven

Sven's reign of terror ended yesterday. I didn't meet my goal. In fact I fell far short. Regardless, I'd sign on for another tour. Until three weeks ago, I wrote every single night. For hours at a time. My word count increased exponentially as the weeks went on. Sven can be very inspiring. It might have something to do with not wanting to see the disdain on that curled lip. That's just not my idea of sexy.

When the words flowed, the count increased and I had my butt in the chair, well then that was another thing entirely. His eyes would twinkle, the corners of his mouth tilt up and approval shone from him.

Despite the fact that I didn't answer his calls or return his messages for the last few weeks, Sven has invited me to return to his sweat lodge for the next writing challenge. I have a few issues to work out before I accept, but with a little help from Alex and some input from Nea,I should be in a better head space. Don't worry Sven, it wasn't you, it was me*.

*I've always wanted to say that to someone.

PS I love the way you look at me

The writing vacation was necessary. I was stuck and needed to give my subconscious some time to work things through. The Crayola(TM)bathtub crayons prevent me from losing the threads of ideas as they come to me. I know that when the time comes I'll be able to weave them into a beautiful tapestry because of the time off. The colours will pop, the pattern will be clear and I'll love the feel of the fabric beneath my fingers. I've just been too tired to appreciate any of it.

Many of my friends are writers. It's inevitable when we get together that our conversation will turn to the craft of writing. I spent a lovely evening with three talented women discussing the process. It's different for everyone, different for each book. None of them have an online presence but the minute they do, I'll link to them because they are each brilliant in their own right. I'm very blessed with the friends in my life. That night with strong women watching Shirley Valentine prepared me well for the next day with another brilliant writer.

I went to see my dear friend Elen. We spent a great deal of our afternoon discussing the industry of writing; blogging, websites, networking, workshops and conferences. We've both been mentored by some amazing and generous authors like JoAnn Ross, Maggie Shayne, Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer. That conversation naturally segued into our personal fun reading. We both vehemently believe that the Outlander series should not be made into a movie. We have very definite ideas of what Jamie and Claire look like. And as much as I love him, Gerard Butler is not Jamie.

After we went to see P.S.I love you Elen asked me about my obsession with the incomparable Mr. Butler. I wasn't surprised by the question but I did have to think about it. Two writers in a dark theater watching some seriously sexy men led to some interesting conversation. Dialogue, costume, music, setting; they were all fodder for our discussion, but none more than casting. Hilary Swank didn't do it for Elen. I could agree with her assessment but I lived for Gerry's screen time. A slight exaggeration but he drove the movie for me. So of course we analyzed it because there's a paranormal brewing in my head about that fascination.

He's certainly an attractive man - dark hair, gorgeous eyes, sexy accent and a crooked smile. His grin lights his face and takes it over. You can't help but grin back. His character had a boundless enthusiasm for life. They usually do.

I've never been one for subtext. It usually sails over my head. I've struggled with it from the time I was a child. She read compassion mingled with love in his eyes always threw me for a loop. I was too literal and expected to see the letters crossing his eyes like words on a teleprompter. I still can't interpret The Look the manager gave me the other day.

But in every single movie, including 300, Gerard Butler looks at the heroine like she is the reason he breathes. It's never the same look. It's not like he lowers his lids, scrunches up his nose or lets his jaw go slack. I can't describe the look because it's not physical. Regardless of whether it's walking along the waterfront in Dear Frankie or in the hills of Ireland in P.S. I love you, the essence is the same. That is his appeal to me as a viewer. The day I nail that emotion in a scene is the day I'll know I am a writer of merit.

Thanks to two days of relaxed movie watching and hanging out with writing buddies, I've finally been able to understand the magic of that particular actor. I'm sure I'll be able to infuse my characters with a similar magic because the knowing only enhanced it. Thanks to modern technology, I'll always have Gerry to remind me.

Cleaning and reading and writing, oh my

This writing vacation has been productive. The last few months have been crazy between work, travel, the library course and writing. My house has been neglected. The pets have whined in various different voices. My TBR pile spilled over into a fourth room(I only have five rooms in this place). I actually spent Saturday stretched out on the couch with a cat on one side, another one on my lap, the dog beside me on the floor and the parrot on my shoulder while I read A Dirty Job by Christopher Moore. It was a good day.



I rearranged my living room yesterday. Lifted furniture. It was quite a workout. I definitely earned a star.

Today I hauled my butt out of bed early and took Ky for a run before his chiropractor's appointment.


I was listening to the brilliant Lani Diane Rich and Samantha Graves podcast Will Write for Wine. I'm very behind in my listening. I think it was episode six. Regardless. Something strange happened. My brain made a few connections about my own characters. Poor Alex. His life really sucks - and I'm about to make it worse. Maybe not today. I only wrote the idea on the shower wall.

There's a definite correlation between my mood and Alex's. The last time I was all broody and moody was when Nea went on a tear and did her best to destroy Alex's moral fiber. It can be disturbing to try and think like a nasty, twisted demon. Facing one's demons is all too literal at times. As Alex is feeling pretty low, I've been questioning some of the same things he has. Trust me, that's a good thing.

In the meantime, I'm cleaning my house, cutting plastic bags to knit or crochet(I have patterns for both) into a rug and considering how to write myself out of this mood.

Nothing to see here

The New Year did not start off with a bang. I wrote three words on the shower wall. That's it. I have an idea about incorporating two scenes but right now my head is not in it.

There's been a lot of drama around me, none of it actually mine, but it's had an effect on my thought processes. I've yet to figure out how to use those emotions in my story. Until I do, or things change up again, I'm taking a writing vacation. I haven't had a real vacation in years. It's not a trip to Belize (if Alex doesn't get to go there, neither do I) but it will give me a break. So I can pass the next library course, read a book or two, knit a rug out of plastic bags and take care of some other things.

Of course, if my brain suddenly clicks back into the book, you can be sure I'll cut my vacation short and go back to writing. You'll be the first to know.

In the meantime, be kind to yourselves.

Snacks

Fell off the exercise/food/writing wagon again. Dratted holidays. I have enjoyed time with friends and family though and that's far more important than being slim, beautiful and famous.

It's not like I haven't done anything. I spun around the living room a couple of times but no bopping. I wrote all over the shower wall but haven't actually inputted anything since Christmas Eve. That feels like a lifetime ago. I think the shower stuff might lead me down an avenue I had overlooked. It might be very interesting.

And I think I discovered Nea's favourite snack food - dates. She's already gone on a rant about nymphs actually being cannibals. That's not accurate but it was kind of funny. If they're supposed to guard and protect flora and fauna, isn't vegetarianism a very bad thing? Maybe it was funny only to me. At this point in time the scene doesn't actually serve a purpose. Until it does, it's only in the notebook, not actually input into the document.

What do you do with those scenes?

Caroling

Hello all you weary carolers. The CBs have been going from blog to blog singing traditional, non-traditional and sometimes even funny Christmas carols in an attempt to inject some fun and frivolity into the festive season.

The sideboard is loaded with beverages from cocoa to hot toddies, with eggnog and punch thrown in for good measure. All of the cookies and treats that came in the mail are laid out for you weary carolers to sample. I've even included some of my Toblerone fudge.

Gather 'round the fire. Have a toast. And know that no matter where you are in the world, who you're with or how well we know each other, you are welcome at my table.

Peace on earth, goodwill toward' man, and like I sang this morning on a hilltop with my dog,"let the sun shine in."

Regardless of what you celebrate this holiday season, my wish for you is joy throughout all that you do.

CMS/Keziah/Sheryl

The Big Picture

That's a phrase that's been running through my head for weeks as I deal with work issues as well as writing challenges. There are times, more often than not, when we react to a situation without any idea of how we fit into The Big Picture. I'm well aware that, at work, I'm an expendable cog in a tiny wheel that operates a side component of the entire machine. Once I accepted that, I was able to find peace in the changes and be happier with the job that I do. I was also able to look at it from the other side when management divulged information about someone else's job. The bottom line for me was to understand how all the pieces fit in the puzzle.

Friends of mine own a lovely piece of property with seven acres that backs onto a creek. Their home is at the front half, lots of elm and black walnut trees populate the back. While they are smack dab in the middle of orchards and grape fields, their property is prettier than it is functional.

Last week, the husband was clearing out the underbrush down by the creek when he found a hunting platform in the top of their tallest, straightest tree. He was furious. Not only had someone trespassed on his property, they hunted wildlife that resided safely there. They shot a rifle with the intent to kill. And kill they had. By spiking his tree to build the platform, they had ruined it.

What I didn't know, which means the hunters most definitely didn't, was that my friends were planning to sell that tree as a veneer tree. Money is tight for them right now. She's been ill the last few years and unable to contribute to the household income. Alternative therapies don't come cheap in any country. So that tree was not just the highest spot in the land from which to kill deer. It was a souce of income for my friends. An income they desperately need. One that they have nutured for several years.

Those hunters were ignorantly unaware of the big picture and how destructive their trespassing was. I'm not convinced they would have behaved differently had they known. Sometimes The Big Picture doesn't mean anything to people who don't see themselves as part of it.

I think that maybe that's the problem with demons. They don't care what The Big Picture is. They live to rearrange it. Structure and understanding are repugnant to them.

Fortunately that makes for an interesting story. Alex and Nea have no idea how their puzzle pieces fit together. They are only aware of their effect on each other. They are in for a big shock at the end of the book when they find out who exactly manipulated them both and why. So am I because at this moment I only have part of the answer.

Snow storm

I'd show you pictures but the wind was blowing so strong I didn't take any. My niece and I only tromped to the bridge and back because the visibility was so low. We really needed Ky to help us find our way a couple of times. I definitely got my exercise today.

I can also use that feeling of battling the elements in one of Alex's scenes. He's hating winter and dreaming about the hot climes of Belize. I can only imagine. My little trek today reminded me of how quickly things can turn. Again, something I can use with Alex.

It's all about the writing, baby.

Good Advice

I fell off the Sven/exercise/good food/writing/healthy wagon last week. I think I just caught a bug. No, it was not a Curculio elephas or lesser chestnut weevil. I had a fever. Which makes me like the Energizer Bunny without any direction. I go full tilt ahead then forget what I was doing and crash to a halt. Leap forward a few paces then stop again. I even took time off work because I had the attention span of a gnat.

So I did nothing but play with the dog, clean the house and overstimulate the parrot(he's not used to me being home so much). We played loud music, danced around the house and crashed on the couch every couple of hours to stare blankly at the wall. Seriously. The wall is that lovely spiderweb colour. A few plants need to be pruned. Maybe I should hang some pictures.

I started a lot of conversations that didn't make sense. I didn't write. I didn't work on my library assignment and I most definitely did not go into the store to sell pet food. I was also very dizzy. That made me fall down a couple of times. The bruise on my knee is a lovely eggplant. Grilled eggplant is delicious. My mind wandered very easily.

So I whined to a friend about how productive I wasn't in any aspect of my life.

Her great advice - crash on the couch, drink plenty of fluids and baby the bug (still not a curculio)It was good advice.

I went back to work today. I wrote a scene last night and another one today. I finished my library assignment. And I came up with an indoor exercise program. All because I took Elen's advice and stopped fighting the fever. I was losing anyway.

Now, I'm playing with Nea's bug. A curculio elephas. But I'll spare you all the image of the long nosed chestnut weevil.

Excuses, excuses

Ky was sick for a few days which meant I was up all night every night. By the time I dragged my sorry butt home from work every night, I was too tired to actually think of anything scintillating to add to my wip. Not a single word of brilliance.

I walked to work on Saturday with the hope that it would trigger a great thought process. Most of what I thought was along the lines of,"Crap, it's cold out here," followed immediately by, "Why didn't I wear my black coat? It's longer, warmer. Ugly." For twenty minutes my entire focus was on getting to work without freezing to death. The sun was shining. I was tired. I mistook that for a sign of warmth. I won't do that again.

I had the day off work yesterday. Ky and I spent it with friends. Then I went Christmas shopping. That was definitely not conducive to thinking. Which is why I was scrambling last night to get my reading done for a library course I'm taking. I had a session with my tutor this morning and I didn't fake it very well. Fortunately the assignment isn't due until next week. So much for my day of writing. "The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men, gang aft agley."

Today I was speed walking indoors. I was warm, almost too warm. Ky's feeling better so he only woke me up three times last night. I read a sign that said, "No refunds," and it sparked something in me. I dug out the scene where Alex and Nea argue over the importance of capitalism and free enterprise as they pertain to natural resources. Boom! I had another page of dialogue. Who knows from where inspiration strikes.

I'll endeavour to do more tomorrow. 'Tis the most anyone can ask. Besides, my shopping is done.

Quote from Robbie Burns - a nod to Theresa in Edinburgh