Show and tell

One of the most difficult things to do as a writer is balance showing versus telling. If there's too much action and not enough interaction the reader doesn't connect with the characters. Too much introspection and the story doesn't move the reader along. They get bored.

It's the same with men and women. I have this theory that men hold tight to their emotions because their anatomy expresses their interest as soon as awareness passes through them. The female anatomy is not as easy to read so women tend to verbalize their thoughts. Men show, women tell.

Men are generally action oriented. They're in a near constant state of movement, even when just sitting around; pages turn, channels surf, and worlds are invaded. Women talk;about their day, how they feel, what they wore. Men eat. Women discuss the menu.

These are generalizations truly but for the most part the hero makes the plan and enacts it. The heroine discusses the plan, the emotional ramifications of said plan and then talks all the way through it to make sure that the plan has not changed.

Oftentimes men and women encounter a few difficulties in their interactions because of these generalizations. It makes for great fiction but rocky relationships. I'm exploring new characters in two different projects. In both cases the heroines are more introspective than the heroes. There's a lot of analysis on their parts as they explore all of the changes in their lives. The heroes picked up stakes and moved to explore new worlds when they couldn't fix what was wrong with the old ones.

It's not that men are incapable of talking about how they feel. They are more comfortable with showing. They bring flowers and chocolates, build a potting shed, or drive to the dentist. Women say "I love you".

If you're struggling to understand the opposite sex watch the man, listen to the woman. You never know what you might learn.

Merry Christmas

It's been three weeks since I finished reading The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. While I don't think you need to care for motorsports, I do think you need to appreciate dogs as the entire book is told from the dog's point of view. I don't need to tell you why it resonated so strongly for me.

Subject matter aside, it was beautifully written. A nice clean writing style that used every word. Nothing was wasted or extraneous. I was impressed with the way the author carried the racing metaphor throughout without overdoing it.

"Your car goes where your eyes go." Every driving instructor tells you that in driver's ed and it's true. If you're looking to the left, the wheels will drift in that direction. I've been looking forward with Casey and it's paying off. (thank you all for the words of encouragement) In racing winning is important but so is finishing the race. You never know when you'll need those points further down the road to the championship.

Right now my eyes are on my family and friends. The car is parked for the next week and I plan to enjoy the holidays. I wish you all the opportunity to do the same.

In that vein, Merry Christmas

Opening sentences

Nathan Bransford, an agent with Curtis Brown literary agency had a contest in which people posted the first paragraph of their novel. There were 1364 entries.

I had a difficult time deciding between Alex's story and Gabriela's. They're both good. Her's had a better opening but his was more recent. I tweaked the heck out of Alex's beginning.

I've always loved the opening sentence. It's rhythm, word choice and energy sum up Alex's mood and set the tone for the book.

By the time the Niagara River rushed northward, spilling over itself and careening off rocks in its haste to crash against the base of the old power generating station less than a mile from the crest of the Horseshoe Falls, its anxious roar was the perfect accompaniment to the mental state of the building’s lone occupant.

The other thing it did really well was slow down the action and jar the reader when the second sentence was from Alex's perspective. I cut it.

In the end, I was entry number 11-something.

Commitment

Writing non-fiction has it's own set of challenges when the subject is on-going. It's difficult to set writing goals when I don't know what each day will bring. I haven't written much in Casey's journal this week because I've been too busy experiencing it all.

Wednesday's vet trip took the wind out of everyone's sails. He suggested the atrophy in Casey's shoulder is too severe to be overcome. Suddenly the entire healing team deflated. Everyone was depressed and defeated.

I was angry. We agreed to give it one month of intense daily therapy. Swimming, acupuncture and chiropractic. Not to mention daily massage. The plan was to throw everything we had at the problem, surround it with positive energy and get the job done.

Yet everyone was talking like there was no point in continuing. It didn't help that he'd had his vaccinations and was unable to swim that day. The next day we were overwhelmed with vermin and had to resolve that issue. On Friday he was dry-heaving so three days of swimming were lost.

It was suggested to me by several sources that perhaps it was time to quit. What happened to giving it a month? It's a lot of work for Casey and I. Battling negative energy is a drain we don't need right now.

It's taking a toll on both of us. On our enthusiasm and strength. It's below freezing outside right now and the trip to and from the hot tub in the garage is an endurance race. Our swim today was lacking.

As I was stepping out of the hot tub I heard a man's voice. "You're not giving up already. Why are you giving up so easily?" I quickly realized it was my neighbour's boyfriend talking to her not me but that was the full extent of the conversation I heard. Timely.

Every published author I know got that first contract, and kept it, because they refused to listen to the naysayers. Their personal vision of holding their own published book in their hands was stronger than those who dismissed that belief. They were positive, committed and determined regardless of how "realistic" that was.

I've been struggling this week to hold on to my personal vision of Casey running along the canal with Ky. I've given in a time or two to the edited vision others have of three legs instead of four.

This isn't about whether he'll adapt to that vision. It's about the commitment we all made to reassess in a month. The first week of January. That was our goal. Sometimes you have to continue, climb obstacles, find alternate routes and stop being realistic. The impossible is possible. Commit to it and follow-through.

If the expectations of others are holding you back, just bite through those restraints. Or get a friend to help you.




Casey's commitment to Beowulf's freedom entertained obedience class

Fine line

Every time I take Casey to the chiropractor she asks me if I've figured out why he's come into our lives. I have several answers; he's healing us, he's not limited by his disability,he doesn't recognize he even has a disability, not to give up even when it's hard.

As writers we show that which serves the story best. I don't know the end to Casey's story. I hope it's triumphant - with four legs running along the canal beside his brother Ky. When I write in the journal the victories that lead to that happy ending are the ones I record. The hiccups and obstacles that could lead to the loss of his leg are glossed over; not even written until they are hurdled.

Today was different. And I'm recording it here, without edits and as few slants as I can manage, for a variety of reasons. I'm no longer sure that my optimism isn't delusion. I'm no longer certain of his commitment to the battle. The big picture is still influenced by my will.

He cried in the car all the way to the appointment which isn't like him at all. He's great in the car, neither his bladder nor bowel needed emptying. Once there he sniffed around outside then jumped up to hug his beloved healer with both front legs. Inside her office he lay down on the adjustment table and whimpered. His shoulder hurt. A thorough examination revealed that on top of everything else, Casey has slipped his rotator cuff(that was not the technical diagnosis). A specific massage was added to the rest of his therapies. And this time when asked why he came into my life I answered, "Because he teaches me not to give up."

On the way out to the car, we were approached by a woman who does quantum healing from a distance. While I have little idea what that is, we agreed to let her work on Casey. She didn't need our presence, only his name and we're grateful for every positive thought sent his way.

Driving home, he started to cry again. I glanced in the back seat to see him lying on his injured side. "Silly dog. Get up and lie on the other side. It will hurt less," I told him. He immediately did as I suggested and stopped crying. Smart boy! I was so impressed he listened.

At home I changed, clipped him into his life jacket and jumped into the hot tub. This was the first time doing it on my own. I couldn't reach the jets and hold him. I forgot the timer. So he swam while I counted. Slower and slower until he just stopped.

No matter what I said, he wouldn't swim. I lifted him, turned him, stretched my arm to reach the jets. Nothing. He hung there limp and stared at me.

I sank to my knees and let him drift his weight onto my thighs. He tucked his head on my shoulder and we sat on the bottom of the hot tub. And I wondered if maybe he wanted to quit after all.

So I asked him. I told him there was no shame and that it was okay. That if he was tired, we could stop. If he wanted to give up the leg and run fast with three that we could do that too. I told him it was his body and up to him how we proceeded.

With just each other in the relative silence we sat together and I let him decide what to do next. I have no idea how long we sat there while the water boiled around us, bubbles popped around his chin and my arms. Mist hung over the garage and tears blurred my vision.

With a tentative kick, Casey slid off my knees and started paddling. Slow at first, then stronger, steadier, faster. I stood up and supported him. Cheered him and praised him.

There may be no quit in Casey but today he reminded me that there are times when you need a little break.

Creativity

It takes many forms. Right now as I revise one book and pre-write the next, I'm letting my brain free flow. I'm working on some knitting and crocheting because the textures open my mind up in a way that is beyond visual. I don't create patterns or stitches but the twist and turn of the yarn around the needle reminds me of story lines. Right now I'm using yarn that has a plethora of knots in each ball. I'm forced to stop, untie the knot then weave the ends in as I pick the shawl back up. As you know, I prefer to write in layers, clean up the loose ends when I'm finished. It's the same for yarn work. It's a personality trait, I'm sure. It's made me look a bit more closely at the two writing projects to see what I can work in as I go along.

Casey as a writing project is also moving along. I'm writing in the journal more often and with a deeper slant than merely reciting his therapy. The poor boy has one challenge after another and I can't help but learn from his response to all of it. There is no quit in Casey. As I'm the one jumping into the hot tub with him every day and holding his fifty plus pounds above the water slightly so that he doesn't touch bottom(puppies grow inches overnight)I'm directly affected by his determination. And it adds to mine. We've had to get quite creative to keep him in the hot tub that is not big enough to accommodate his length. I'll post pictures next time we take some. We're quite the sight. We're going to increase his acupuncture treatments as cutting back coincided with a step backward in his progress.

He's still such a happy pup. Full of energy and joy.

I have my hands full of creativity these days. And I am incredibly grateful for it all.

Critiques

Just when I figure out Bracken and Kelli's theme is betrayal, I get back the critiques on Alex and Nea's. I sent it out to several readers before I submitted to the editor. I want Hell to Pay to be the best possible piece of writing it can because the characters deserve that. And after the fifty-eighth read-through I'm no longer objective.

In the meantime I critiqued two full manuscripts for other writers. It's hard to shut off editor brain and read simply for joy sometimes. Every nuance and word choice is studied like it contains the recipe for gold. Characters are put through rigid examinations worthy of parole board hearings. The entire process can take as long as writing the original draft.

Three of the four readers who had Alex and Nea have returned them along with comments. Thank goodness they all liked the story. The most interesting aspect of the suggestions were how each person interpreted the story-telling. Two loved a particular technique and the third was lukewarm. I'm revisiting that to see if I can keep the elements the two loved while strengthening it to excite the third reader. It's all about what serves the story best. It's not like I can enter into a dialogue with each individual reader once it's published and explain what I meant in that scene.

Constructive criticism is invaluable. It's great to reach the reader and involve them within the story but when that fails to happen, the criticism is one more tool for unearthing the gold.

Writing, like life, is a never-ending journey full of adventure.

Connections

I had a burst of brain storming this week. I know where the story starts and where it ends. I know who both characters are and what they want. I even know how they oppose each other. The old Gift of the Magi conflict. I'm really psyched about these two. When Bracken stepped out of the forest into the scene with Nea and her mother in Hell to Pay, I knew his story was next.

I still don't have my setting. While I was location scouting in my brain, I got tangled up in some entertainment. When I followed them the plot took shape.

It started with Gerard Butler. As you all know, an interest in that fine actor led me to the brilliant documentary, Wrath of Gods. That film hooked me up Jon Gustafsson's blog Live from the Arctic Circle.

I've been playing over there for months, losing track of time in his photographs and running through his blogroll. None of it is research. It's all been for fun. I've been particularly fascinated with the genetics link, deCODEme. You might not know anything about yourself or personal history yet your DNA can reveal all. And what it reveals could save your life.

While I was researching Bracken ferns last week, I was focused on its environment and physical properties. Almost every hit on google mentioned it's carcinogenic component. Hmmm, aren't fiddleheads a delicacy? Seems a bit of a contradiction to me. More research is required.

Meanwhile, I've always known that Kelli was adopted. Last week I discovered it had something to do with her nymph ancestors who posed a very real threat to her.(still working on that part) So much so that her father had her sent to live with friends of his above the treeline - in Iceland. I wasn't trying to use Iceland as a jumping off place for the story but it made so much sense. Once I accepted that premise it naturally followed that she work for the genetics company as she knows nothing about her heritage. When she learns the truth about her origins, at the beginning of the book, she leaves all that is familiar (still not sure where she ends up) to search for her own truths.

All of this was running around in my head, bumping into ideas and themes but nothing stuck. Until I was driving home from work, listening to a CD by an artist I discovered through Jon's blog - Damien Rice. The song? Rootless Tree And with that all the pieces fell into place. Now it's just a matter of sitting down and writing it.

I celebrated by completing the circle to watch Mr. Butler in his latest flick, RockNRolla. Life is good.

Thanks Jon.

Spinning

My friend Stashaholic is visiting. It's a wild weekend of wool. We're playing with a variety of fibre then spinning it on spindles. Very old fashioned.

She brought me a book about natural dyeing to use as a reference for a book I'm writing about a spinner. I'm not writing a book about a spinner. According to a dream she had I will be. I would have laughed except that as I played with the fibre and loaded the spindle I lost myself in the interplay between the two. Colours and textures changed in the spin and I could feel a character take shape.

We're on disc four of Most Haunted Season One. It's hilarious yet creepy at times. I could so set a book in that environment. So far there hasn't been a single haunted spinning wheel but lots of hooded figures. Last time Stashaholic was here we watched Wrath of Gods countless times so she could get a still shot of Sturla's sweater. She hasn't recreated the pattern yet but I'm sure that's simply a matter of time.

It's never a dull moment around here. My brain is circling closer and closer to the conflict between Kelli and Bracken. Both of their internal conflicts are shaping up. No one is a spinner in that book either, but they're both very tactile so we'll see how that works out.

You never know how one creative act affects another. Happy spinning to you all.

Never Surrender

When I was in film I wanted to make a movie that would change people's lives. Not a giant blockbuster that would bring me fame and fortune but a quiet little flick that had a profound impact on individuals. And I did it with my second documentary which is a good thing because making that film changed my life in a variety of ways; one of which was that I had to get out of that business due to health reasons.

It was a half-hour documentary about multiple sclerosis that came out at a time when the disease was terrifyingly misunderstood. The drug treatments were as debilitating as the disease itself and a diagnosis led people to despair. The film was entitled Never Surrender and showed three individuals and their families who were living successfully with the disease. Don't google it. You won't find it. The section with the state-of-the-art testing is hopelessly out-of-date and the film is no longer available.

I met one of my closest friends while making Never Surrender. I met a really cool band,just starting out, who agreed to provide music for the soundtrack. As their career grew so did their involvement with the Multiple Sclerosis Society of Canada. There were no websites, no google,no positive resources and very little awareness of the disease. My film came along at the perfect moment. It garnered a lot attention, won awards. But most importantly, it gave people reason to believe they could manage the disease and go on to live full productive lives. I still have letters from people thanking me for that.

So when I was diagnosed this week with a plethora of ailments I couldn't help but think of Never Surrender. The attitude behind that film came in handy. I've read up on things, talked to people I know who manage the ailments and done a fair amount of research. There are so many more resources today than when we made that film. And what influenced my outlook wasn't a film at all.

It was a book that had nothing to do with any of those things. It was a work of fiction about a woman whose coping skills were so self-destructive I knew that I'm doing well. I'm older, wiser and my situation is neither dire nor severe. It simply happened to be the book I was reading this week. Yet it changed my perspective.

I want to write fiction that changes people's lives...

Photographic memory

This is how I spent my week, with my camera in hand.

Autumn is still here in all it's glorious colour.



And I have a thing for trees.


So while I try to figure out where Bracken is going, and why Kellie can't allow that, I've been focused on Casey's therapy.


Today it was the hot tub. He's growing. I'm not sure how much longer he's going to fit.

How was your week?

Comfort zones

As I've mentioned before there are some authors - JoAnn Ross, Greg Iles, Maggie Shayne, Lisa Gardner, Jennifer Crusie and Susan Wiggs - whose works I buy as soon as they hit the stores. There's another author I've been reading since she was first published - Karen Marie Moning. You don't have to be a romance reader to enjoy these writers. They are all gifted as well as skilled when it comes to the written word. They never fail to enthrall and entertain me.

I'm savouring Faefever, the latest from Ms Moning. It wasn't a series I was expecting to fall into so completely but I have. The next one won't be out for another year so I want to take my time to enjoy the characters for awhile. The fast pace and constant danger don't lend themselves well to that plan. It's almost impossible to put down.

The thing is all the above mentioned authors can suck me into their worlds so completely that I feel like I'm part of the story. They're all known for brilliant characterization as well as intriguing plots. I was thinking about how they manage to make me care so deeply about the growth and well-being of their characters. The emotions are real and messy, not romanticized or polished.

Of course that realization took place in the shower and suddenly I was reaching for my bathtub crayons. Bracken's first scene took shape right there on the back of the shower wall - full of action that showed all of his emotion. He's leaving his comfort zone(thank goodness because I have yet to travel to Scotland) with a ticking clock bundled within his cloak.

I have yet to figure out how Kelli prevents him from reaching his goal or even why for that matter but I'm not too concerned. Once I look at her and how she feels I should be well on my way.

I write in layers. Every book is different from the one before. I suspect this time I'll be writing the emotion first, then the setting and finally dialogue. I have no idea where Bracken is going to end up but I think I need to write outside my comfort zone so it won't be here. My roots are in Niagara but it's time to pull up stakes, fictionally speaking, and check out somewhere new. I just have to figure out where in the world best challenges Kelli and Bracken to grow.

Thanksgiving

It's Thanksgiving weekend. The leaves have turned orange, red and yellow. The fish in the pond are sluggish. The tomato plants are leggy and ragged. I sat outside with Hell to Pay yesterday and started the final read-through. I didn't get very far. It's so warm outside and the dogs wanted to play ball. Or dig in my garden. Or share chestnuts with me. They were so active that I decided to take a cue from them to live in the moment and enjoy the bonus nice weather while I could.

At dinner later that night, my nephew informed us that he'd like to go work in Australia for a year. This is not the first time he'd said that. It's a plan I heartily encourage. By traveling a great distance to leave home and all that is familiar, he'll truly learn his strengths and desires. The experience will be life changing. I was only eight years old when we moved back to Canada from Germany but those three years taught me valuable lessons that still hold true today.

Living so close to the border, we are heavily influenced by the United States. Our cultural identity can be overwhelmed at times. Listening to my niece's interpretation of Thanksgiving was one of them. Ultimately whether the holiday was started by the Pilgrims and Indians or as a celebration of the harvest isn't as important as giving thanks for all that we have.

I've been particularly blessed this year with great friends and a good family. There have been some tough times and these are the people that have helped me keep perspective or brought me back from the brink of insanity. These are the people who inspire me to keep going when all I want to do is lie down for a month or two. These are the people who point out the irony of injuring my back while setting up a hot tub. Who fly across the country for a house-warming party. Who remind me that spinning and knitting are valuable talents. Who show me the world through amazing photographs and brilliant films. Who bring different cultures into my awareness. Who spend most of Movie Night sharing their own healing trials so that I can benefit from their experience.

These are the people who bring laughter and sorrow, wounds and healing, challenges and rewards, anger and love into my life. These are the people who bring out the worst and the best in me so that I'm as well-rounded as I am.

These are the people for whom I give thanks. You are these people.

Thank you.

Autumn colours my world

There is something about Autumn that has always appealed to me. I suppose the vibrant colours are a huge part of it. Perhaps it's the beginning of the school year. Or maybe the fact that we always moved at the end of September(the military wasn't worried about dependents or their education) It's been a long while since I was a kid getting a hair cut and a new wardrobe to impress the kids at the new school, but the smell of wood and lead as I sharpen pencils is as important today as it was back then.

I like to start new projects in Autumn. It's the season of pre-writing for me. I go out with my camera, play with the colours and lighting and think about the new characters. I imagine how they'd be spending the day, how they feel about the crisp Fall air; the scent of apples, grapes and decay. I wonder whether they enjoy the quiet or abhor it.

It's a season full of opportunities, beginnings, and reflection for me. This is the time of year I fall in love, start fresh with my exercise regime and celebrate the harvest. I try new foods, listen to unfamiliar music, play with textures. I absorb Autumn through my pores and my senses are sharper than at any other time of year.

We bring in the summer's harvest, fill our storehouses and prepare ourselves for the long months of dark to come. While the plants become dormant, the animals hibernate and winter winds keep us indoors, it is Autumn that provides us with the tools to survive. Mulch the flower beds; carpets of leaves and nutrients leach into the ground to feed the roots.

My roots, both literal and figurative, are sustained by the excitement and vibrancy that is Autumn. I stretch and grow and breathe deeper now. I suppose some would consider me to be in the Autumn of my life. Great. This is when I feel most alive. Alert. Exhuberant.

I have no desire to fly south.

Tangental thinking

My brain is all over the place. Not literally. No need for shovels to clean up the mess. But my thought processes are not linear. I don't think they are at the best of times. It seems worse at the moment largely because I'm between writing projects. I'm unraveling from Nea and Alex. Bracken and Kelli don't have their hooks in me yet.

Casey's physiotherapy is a full time project in and of itself. When we're not actively engaged in massage, chiropractic, acupuncture or hydrotherapy we're reading, researching or playing with him. He's a puppy and full of energy who hates his new splint. It means he can't sleep on his back with his front legs over his head. He likes to dig. He likes to pounce on Ky.

I managed to squeeze in some reading time this morning and whipped right through the latest Tess Gerritsen. It was brilliant as usual. Archaeology is a fascinating subject and I'm enthralled by the ancient past.

It's an interesting contrast to the Hadron Collider. It's an incredibly complex machine that hopes to recreate the milliseconds after Creation. It's also fascinating and fraught with opportunities for disaster. Conversely, the possibilities for knowledge are incredible.

For some reason both make me think of my great Grandpa Fenton. He came to Canada with all of his worldly possessions in a trunk which now holds my craft supplies. He had a sharp mind and a strong curiosity. At least we know who to blame for my constant questions about the past and the future. Sometimes I'm even interested in what's happening right now.

A good day

Elen posted a great picture of a puppy with a stick. It reminded me of a good day with Nikka and Ky this summer. Maybe this will tide Merry over for a few days while we scramble through Autumn preparations.

Autumn

I was just going over the ending of Hell to Pay the other day when it promptly disappeared in a puff of logic. Five points if you correctly identify the source of that quote. Fortunately the answer was right there in all of the contradictory and confusing dialogue. This is a heavy work week for me so I'll be lucky to get that straight-through read I want before I pass it off.

My brain has been busy problem solving several things this week. Casey is responding well to his treatments. He's now aware that he has a paw on the end of that leg even if he hasn't got the strength to stand on it. It is now officially Autumn in Canada and it's too cold for us to continue swimming in the unheated outdoor pool we've been using up until now. Pity because he's actually paddling with that paw. I'm working on a way to continue with hydrotherapy without risking hypothermia.

Kellie and Bracken are doing the pre-writing dance. I have a good sense of who they are and how they interact. I have absolutely no idea in what context they meet or how their goals exclude each other. I'm working on the Conflict Box that Crusie/Mayer discussed in their online writing workshop last year.

The house renovations are finally all done so that's one less distraction. I've figured out how to use the gorgeous new camera so pictures should show up on the blog while I contemplate all my writing options.

Autumn is one of my favourite seasons. I love the smell of the earth as it tugs the blanket of decay over itself in preparation for the ice and snow. Colours are both vibrant and subdued at this time of year and everything is so crisp. The crunch of apples, crackle of leaves and snap of wood in the fireplace.

It's a good time to gather everything together for the coming winter. Plot ideas, characters and conflicts are necessary to the story I plan to tell around the hearth while the cold winter blows. Metaphorically speaking of course.

My new project

I've got three projects to choose from. An old manuscript that needs a major overhaul. Bracken and Kellie's story which has a major question mark as to conflict. It's strange. I have internal but not external. I even have an inkling as to resolution so I'm working backwards from that.

Right now, I'm working on a non-fiction project. It started quite suddenly last Monday (did you hear the whoosh?) and derailed my last deadline. Life doesn't always play fair.

I'm documenting the care and rehabilitation of this little guy.

Casey is undergoing extensive alternative therapies to save his damaged leg from amputation. He was seriously injured after being hit by a car and suffered severe nerve damage in the front left paw. As he's less than six months old, and has deep nerve response, we're guardedly optimistic about his prognosis.

Deadlines and committment

One of my favourite quotes comes from Douglas Adams. "Deadlines. I love the whooshing sound they make as they go by." I just like his irreverence. Deadlines make me comfortable. I need that goal to work towards. Otherwise, I'd spend all my spare time on the couch listening to the rain and reading. That's not entirely true but it's accurate today.

I blew off two deadlines this week. One was for the library course. I thought the registration deadline was Friday. Instead of confirming that date, I signed into the website Tuesday night, three hours after the deadline passed. The good news is I'll have lots of time this Fall to work on my next project(still trying to decide which to go with), send out some queries and play with my new camera. The bad news is I'll have to take two classes in January in order to complete the certificate within five years.

The other deadline was to finish inputting and polishing Hell to Pay by Wednesday. I really worked on it. I could hear Wednesday whooshing up behind me. I ducked and wove but it still pushed past. I tired to catch it but no luck. It's frustrating. This Wednesday looms in my rearview mirror but I think I'm far enough in front to win this race.

No one has given me the deadline. It's self-imposed. I am committed to finishing this book. Dedication. Persistence. Commitment. They're all catch words of success. Everyone wants to know that you can deliver regardless of what life tosses your way. No one wants to hear the excuses, although they can be entertaining.

Mine aren't. There are only so many hours in a day and I spent too many of them on Monday looking for songs by Damien Rice and drooling over other people's photographs. Procrastination is a very bad trait I possess in equal parts to the persistence, dedication and commitment.

The real reason I dallied that day was my reluctance to let Alex go out into the big bad world without me. We've been together a long time. I'm going to miss him. But it's time to let him go. I have no doubt he'll do well. Maybe he'll drop me a postcard from time to time. I've enjoyed traveling the world with him.

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.