Conflict

There's a huge difference between conflict and excitement. In fiction, there's supposed to be plenty of both. In real life it's nice to have plenty of the latter and little of the former. The odd thing is how often we mistake one for the other.

I'm inputting and editing as I go. By this time next week I should be done and floundering around for a post. I tripped across a scene that was heavy on conflict and not all that exciting. Too much drama and not enough substance so I broke it up, twisted perspectives and allowed the conflict to generate excitement through the internal turmoil as the characters played out the action.

Nea is conflicted just by breathing. That's not always interesting, let alone exciting. She's drawn to situations that feed her combativeness.

Alex has a strong sense of adventure. Everything to him is exciting. He rises to the challenges that are part and parcel of those adventures. Until recently, he wasn't particularly conflicted.

Reconciling the two of them is fascinating to me. All too often in life, we're attracted to people and situations that keep our blood pumping. We seek adventure and conflict thinking that we have to overcome in order to be either exciting or excited. That's where all those Bad Boy Heroes come in. The more dangerous he is the more exciting.

Oddly, I've never been drawn to write dangerous bad boys. My guys usually end up in conflict between doing their job and the heroine's goals. Sometimes his values are challenged by hers but I don't think there's been a badge-wearing, gun-carrying, motorcycle-riding, black leather jacket in the lot of them. They've all been strong men drawn to strong willed women.

It's a good thing I've been around to teach them all the difference between conflict and excitement so that they all get their requisite Happy Ending.

Fans

A friend of mine made the observation the other night that there's a fine line between optimism and delusion. She illustrated that with the idea that meeting Gerard Butler was optimistic but expecting him to instantly fall in love with her was delusional. He'd have to go out with her a few times. Which made me laugh.

It also dovetailed nicely with my recent thoughts about fans. Not the ones that blow around air and make you feel cooler, although that description could apply. I'm talking about the people who make it possible for artists, authors, musicians, sports figures and film people to make a living from something they love.

There's a strange love/hate relationship between those two groups. They each satisfy a need in each other, and seem to carry a great deal of resentment for it. I don't quite understand it. Admittedly the Keziah Fenton fan club is small at the moment and I'm not getting hate mail deriding my penchant for the colour purple(the actual colour not the movie or book of that name). There aren't a lot of expectations built up around my behaviour, personal life or productivity.

People sometimes mistake celebrities for the roles they play(even musicians and authors play at a public persona). It's easy enough to do I suppose. I certainly joke enough about the aforementioned gorgeous Scottish actor. I do realize the man has a private life that should be all his own and not fodder for speculation from a bunch of people who don't know anything about him other than his job.

My major concern about fans is the way they've been handled in all the NASCAR books I've been reading. Yes sports fans love to embrace the fanaticism aspect of their moniker. They decorate their homes, cars, clothes, kids and pets in their team colours. Some of them tattoo their bodies or shave logos into their hair. But I watched the cash flow at the track a couple of weeks ago and the disdain TV announcers, authors and sometimes crews had for the fans irritated me.

I wasn't feeling well that day and inhaling exhaust behind the pits didn't help so I spent a lot of time wandering the park observing people. Pit crews ogled the sweet young things in their tight tank tops and skin tight jeans then punched each other in the arm whenever one of them got a phone number. Vendors rolled their eyes at the guy with Die Cast cars glued all over his ball cap. The TV hosts re-read the same page thirty times rather than interact with the crowd in the audience. There was a definite us versus them mentality.

People lined the gate back to the driver's RVs hoping to catch a glimpse, maybe even obtain an autograph, of their hero. Some drivers obliged, some ducked. A couple even sent out decoys and slid out the side. It must be difficult to be in such demand.

I'm not being facetious. When I get home from a long day at work, I can go upstairs, pet the dog and relax. I don't have to run the gauntlet of people congratulating/commiserating/clamoring/waiting/expecting. I can wear sloppy clothes, no make-up and a messy ponytail. I don't have to fulfill anyone's expectations.

As someone who admires another's work, I try to remember the fine line between fan and fanatic. I can appreciate one driver's skill over another. One actor's style, look, persona. I can even share that admiration with other people. I'm not sure at what point that makes me an object of ridicule.

Actors need an audience. Drivers need to fill the stands. Authors need readers. They are symbiotic relationships and as such shouldn't be taken for granted nor mocked. They deserve each other's respect and until we've been on the other side of that relationship we would do well to remember that.

I know I'll do my best. I trust you to remind me if I slip up.

Writing Olympics

My friend Me drove in from Detroit, S the Ky-ropractor(so called because she adjusts Ky's spine) came from Niagara-on-the-lake and I came home after work so that we could participate in the first annual Writing Olympics.

The Opening Ceremonies and lighting of the orange pillar candle(for creativity and success) were followed by a nice glass of Italian wine and homemade spaghetti. We had tortilla chips and salsa as well as sushi for appetizers, which we didn't end up eating, in keeping with the International flavour of the weekend.

It took a while for us to settle into writing. The athletic Olympics were on the television as background noise mostly because we wanted to watch Michael Phelps win his eighth gold medal. I'm not really used to a writing marathon that full of distractions.

We talked a fair amount about our individual projects. While writing isn't a team sport, it can certainly benefit at times from external input. Our genres are vastly different. Me is writing romantic suspense, I'm writing paranormal and the Ky-ropractor writes non-fiction. Some very interesting parameters and writing styles to choose from. There are times when another perspective can help clarify a scene for you.

We had a very productive night. Three gold medals in all.



Me for Distance(self-explanatory), S for gymnastics(there are a lot of mental twists, flips and jumps that she has to go through to write this book)and a Gold in the Decathalon for myself as I'm usually doing nine other things when I write.

Today was a great day. I finally figured out how to destroy a forest, trick a demon and save two souls in the process. I talked it through with Me to see if she bought my machinations and it worked for her. This sticking point has held me back from the last five scenes in the book. It was a major turning point for all of the main characters.

We watched the NASCAR race from Michigan while I wrote a fight scene then we took a break with Wrath of Gods. Again. Because it's brilliant and I want everyone to see it even if I have to show it to the world one person at a time. It makes me want to be a film maker again.

However, I took that creative spurt and poured it into Nea's breakdown. The Ky-ropractor has left the Games to do more research. Me is in the other room working towards her ending. I heard her curse at a character awhile ago so that was entertaining. One more night then she goes home tomorrow. I plan to have this draft done by then.

These have been excellent Writing Olympics. I think we'll do it again in two years for the winter games and see what we can dream up then.

More kissing

A lot of people are reading my First Kiss post. Which is interesting because kisses have been part of my thought processes a lot lately. I'm having quite an interesting dream relationship with a man I've only met online. All of whom are now wondering if it's him. Unless you're quitting your job, cutting your hair and going off to Connemara to play a lawyer on television, it's not. At least that's what you did in the dream.

There was some good-bye kissing. But that was also the first kiss. There was no kissing until the latter half of the dream. To be perfectly honest, it wasn't that good. Too awkward, too much pressure, too quick. The second kiss was better. The third was a real kiss and the fourth was so wonderful that I can still feel it hours after waking.

I'm sure the whole kissing aspect of the dream was inspired by a conversation with a young friend of mine who has never been kissed. She's built the First Kiss up to such an ideal that she knows she'll be disappointed. I told her there are so many kinds of kisses, and rarely is the first one the best. Awkward, brief, too wet, nose bumping, glasses locking together, does-he-really-like-me? thin-lipped, over-analyzed first kisses are not unheard of. Once you get that behind you and relax the fun begins. But not for everyone. Some people don't ever like kissing.

Nea has never seen the appeal. If she wanted to spread germs, she'd send in thousands of rats to affect more people in one swoop. Demons are not noted for their sense of romance.

I'm in the home stretch of editing, should get it done this weekend provided the sore throat doesn't develop into anything more brain-fuddling. The very thing that saves both Alex's and Nea's souls is a kiss. A life-changing, True Love kiss. The perfect kiss of which I dreamt last night. That kind of kiss. I should go write it down right now. Except I don't want to share that kiss. I want to savour it, enjoy it and keep it for my own. Even though it wasn't real and came from my imagination. Strange, huh?

PS If you're a man who knows me online and you woke up with a sore throat and the imprint of lips on yours, let me know cause that would be strange.

Motivation

My love affair with motorsports is an apparent contradiction to the rest of my life. I was a tree hugging environemntalist before it was cool. My idea of heaven involves lots of trees, a lake or ocean and an assortment of wildlife. Doctor Doolittle and Swiss Family Robinson were my ideal living conditions growing up. Now I want to live on Nim's Island and not just because Gerard Butler is her father.

Yet, the one sport I have more than a passing interest in is the least environmentally friendly one out there. I don't have the statistics at my fingertips but I'm sure that one weekend of racing does more damage to the environment than I do in a year. Yet the sound of all those engines makes me crazy. I completely lose my mind. Where does that passion come from?

When I was little, my grandmother watched Formula 1 on Sundays. I can remember sitting on the arm of her chair cheering for one driver over another because that's who she told me was best.

Bright lights changed the dark track to a daytime setting on several excursions to stock car racing with my parents when I was a kid. We didn't go too often because the roar of the engines hurt my brother's ears. Spilled fuel filled my small lungs and I was hooked for life.

When my nephew was seven or eight years old, I took him to Toronto for the Molson Indy race. Nothing like spreading the addiction. The grin on his face the first time he heard the call, "Gentlemen, start your engines<" was worth every penny. We went every other year until three years ago.

That's when we went to a NASCAR race at historic Watkins Glen. Last year, he insisted on buying his dad a ticket to the race as a Father's Day gift. Now we are three.

I didn't take too many photographs as my camera decided to crash at the track. Maybe it was the pictures I was taking of the television cameras and photographer's lens. My envy made the little point and shoot feel inadequate and quit. My nephew used his cell phone so we have lots of pictures of the scenic setting. And some cows. No sheep. Sorry Stashaholic.

As I was flipping through the photographs I do have, I realized why I adore a sport that is so unlike the rest of my philosophies. Many great bonding moments have occurred with several generations over the scream of engines, whine of air guns and through a thick screen of tire smoke. Sunday is Race Day. I usually go downstairs to my parents' apartment to watch it with them, not despite my father's rants at the TV, but because of them. Racing means family.

Next time you give a character a characteristic, passion or hobby that is so alien to their personality, think about my example and root it well. Make it believable. Give it a history that defies convention. People are more complex than we tend to write.

Thoughts

I was up an hour earlier than usual this morning so that I could take the rescued Quaker parakeet to the vet. Yoda spent six months of his life in a custody dispute before he ended up coming to live with me almost a year ago. It was supposed to be temporary. Stop laughing. I knew what I was getting myself into. Or so I thought.

He's been attack parrot the last couple of weeks. No one has been safe from his vicious beak. I had a sneaking suspicion about what ailed him but wanted confirmation from a trained professional. And to be completely honest, there is so much more I don't know than what I do know about birds. I could have been wrong.

The little demon has reached sexual maturity. It turns out he's two years old instead of the three I thought he was. Should have read his band.

Driving home I took Highway 8 along the base of the Niagara Escarpment. It was beautiful and if Yoda hadn't been abnormally subdued I might have stopped and snapped a couple of quick photographs to share here. I felt the stress of the morning drop away as I drove past orchard after orchard. I had forgotten how much I love the western part of the region. Alex has kept my focus in the Falls. I don't enjoy all the developments. It's all grape vines, wineries and monster homes, the occasional sheep or Highland cattle notwithstanding. For those of you not from this area, the old homes, stone outbuildings and ancient trees are exquisite. They soothe me.

With a demon bird in the cage beside me, I couldn't help but think of my fictional demon. We're getting to the end of our journey together. I wondered if Nea would have identified with her nymph heritage more had she been raised in amongst all those trees. It's more likely she was responsible for all the plum pox that destroyed so many orchards. She makes no apologies for that. I hope that given all she's learned she will make different choices in the future.

Driving always makes me think. I've been accused of over-thinking things. Isn't that part of being a writer? One has to view each scene, action and emotion from every perspective in order to understand the characters well enough to tell their story. I don't think I'm the only one who does that.

Perfect day

Have you ever had one of those perfect days that defies description?

My friend Stashaholic is in town for the long weekend. We've known each other too long to count and while we're vastly different in our approach towards life, we're eerily similar. My parents call her their other daughter(they have several).

I didn't sleep much the first night as she felt the need to tell me(the person who never watches the news or reads the paper) about a horrific murder that has made headlines around the world. Canadians don't have much a violent history but when we do commit murder we make up for it in spectacular ways.

The horror hit me repeatedly throughout the night. When I woke up in the morning I wondered what I was doing with a fictional demon who was no where near as gruesome as this real life person. I ended up writing dialogue all over the back of the shower wall addressing that issue.

A few cups of tea later, Stashaholic proposed we go to a yarn store in Fonthill. I was lukewarm. We had been invited to a friend's house for Sushi and wine later and it was going to be a rush to get from one place to another before the winery closed. My sense of adventure was challenged (perhaps even mocked) so off we went.

Google maps let us down consistently throughout the day. The store doesn't have a website and I had forgotten to write down the phone number but we found our way. Eventually.

Stashaholic was thrilled with all of the variety in wools. Possum, corn and milk were all new to me but by then I'd decided to embrace her addiction to texture. It was fun. The darling man who followed us from room to room kept the shop open a bit late to accommodate our dithering. She bought some gorgeous stuff and sent me home with a hank of plant dyed wool.

We meandered from Fonthill to Niagara-on-the-lake to check out Frog Pond,an organic winery. More wrong turns, messed up directions and much laughter. We passed sheep. Twice. The same sheep. I'm not sure if this is when Stashaholic's plan to get some Icelandic fleece was born but it took root as we drove the countryside. At some point I'm going to have two pounds of fresh fleece in my spare room so we can clean it, card it then spin into wool for sweaters. She's already done plenty of research on that subject.

We tasted the wine, purchased a couple of bottles and began the journey to my friend's house. More country roads, a rainbow, and a Quest for hairy beasts(Highland Cattle)and more laughter. We stopped at an Irish tea shoppe and sat out the torrential downpour. Too bad I left the car window down for some air.

At one point I'd seen a man standing beside a metal sculpture of a man that looked like a great picture. Stashaholic kept asking if we were going to go back to see the alligator which threw me off because it was clearly a man. Another circuitous route and we pulled into the driveway to realize we were each looking at something different. The sculptor came out into the yard and shared his creations with us. The details were incredible. Personality glinted in metallic bugs' eyes. An iron dragon shimmered and clawed his way up a tower. And the artist himself stared at us from Don Quixote's face. He was a character.

By the time we got to my friend's house for sushi, I was savouring the day's adventures. I'd been so reluctant to embark on anything that morning but as the day unfolded I discovered so much pleasure in all that surrounded us. Every day things that so many of us take for granted.

We reached each of the destinations but the journeys defied structure. Most of my joy came from rolling with the experiences as they occurred. We talked about life, about writing, knitting, spinning and wool. Relationships, friendships and careers. Our conversations were as linear as my driving, yet they always made sense to us.

There are times when you just have to throw structure aside and simply experience life. I wonder how that will work with editing.

Niagara Falls

There's no way I can ever top the photograph that's in my header for sheer breathtaking splendor(but that doesn't stop me from trying). I stood on the stone wall that separates man from nature to get that shot, then cropped out the trees in the periphery. The river truly roars as it dives over the edge.

We went to Niagara Falls last week and as I predicted we did discuss some plotting. I'm in the home stretch as far as editing goes so it's merely a matter of fine-tuning.(I'll be looking for delta readers soon, just so you know) Walking the terrain helps with that.

I waved at the people on the boat, with little idea that I would be down there myself soon enough.

Look at how far downriver one starts the Maid of the Mist tour. It gives you a good sense of the size of the falls themselves.

Here is the American Falls which are also breathtaking. There's no way to get anywhere near this close to the Horseshoe Falls. The undertow and back eddies strain the boat's engines as it is. I've lost a camera in the past to the spray so this time I kept mine safely hidden beneath the plastic poncho. Being at the base of the falls is exhilarating, terrifying and beyond description. It was also incredible research. Talk about walking the terrain. I rode it out. It should make the last scene of this manuscript impossible to put down.

I'm hoping I've described the falls well enough that you'll feel like you've experienced it for yourself. If not, we now have Niagara's Fury to simulate it for you.

Random thoughts aren't always as random as they seem

My company is here from Indiana. We're going to Niagara Falls tomorrow to admire Alex's house. It looks so different in the summer than the winter but I still get a great feel for the energy of the place. I've been editing every day and see no reason to stop for guests. Fortunately they're the kind of people who understand that drive. We'll likely discuss scene blocking while at the Falls. I'm blessed with my friends.

We watched Wrath of Gods last night. A couple of people came into the room late in the viewing but were sucked in right away. If you still haven't seen this film about the challenges of making Beowulf and Grendel, hound your local video store to get it or order it yourself. You'll thank me later as I did Zingera and Jon.

Yesterday was such a random thought kind of day while I was prepping for company. My stomach was upset and because you rarely see a chimp running around complaining of such ailments I started to wonder about the diet of chimpanzees and how it differed from humans. Not that I want to eat trees, leaves or small birds but there might be something to the whole fruits and veggie diet. Are chimpanzees actually healthier than humans? This articlediscussed the role diet played in evolution. Genes in the liver changed as radically as the diets the lab mice were fed. It was mostly scientific stuff but my brain went off on a tangent about altering genetics. It wasn't writing related so I left that thought process and went elsewhere.

To Jon Gustafsson's blog as he has some incredible photographs on there. I write a lot from images. While Iceland and Niagara Falls have a huge geographical distance the beauty of both landscapes inspire me.

Once there,I played in a couple of his sidelinks, even though I'm familiar with Wrath of Gods. And ended up right back at my chimp gene thought process. Too bad I don't write thrillers because my brain took the two webpages and ran with them. There were lots of what ifs and why nots and near misses in the evolutionary ladder that would have made my conspiracy driven nephew proud. The funny thing is, I can't really let go of the possibilities.

The study of genetics seems so straight forward but the variables are much bigger than any of us non-scientific folk can imagine. In a strange way, this is the basis of Nea's motivation. Her behaviour is not as much a result of her upbringing as it is her parent's identities. Their genes influence her in almost every way.

Maybe if she ate more fruits, leaves and termites, Nea could change her genetic make-up. But I doubt it. She wouldn't be Nea.

Funny how one thought just leads into another until the end of the day comes and you realize you spent way too much time on other people's blogs, websites and films when you should have been editing your own stuff. Oh well. I enjoyed the strange journey yesterday.

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.