Onward! Boo.

I dislike bad news. It's discouraging. It makes me wonder if anybody else in this world will understand my message.


Then, I remember Sylvia Plath, and as depressed as she was, she would have understood my message (in this book). At least, I think she would have. There is, of course, no way to say this with complete certainty considering her "message" was that ultimately life was too hard to take, and she's not around to ask.


Alice Sebold. She'd totally get it.
Who ever "Anonymous" was who wrote "Go Ask Alice." He/She would totally get it.
Ellen Hopkins. She totally got it, and told me so. :)


But, is this a message one should portray in a teen book? That life can get too hard? That's a pretty bleak message.


I ask it of myself and answer it in the same thought.


I know too many people, I have too many friends, who sadly, relate to this book.


I have to remind myself that publishing is not a one way street.


Sometimes, you have to come back around after traveling a totally different direction.


If this isn't my next book, there must be some divine plan as to why. That blows.
I hate that just as I was gathering some inkling of confidence it gets dashed.


Despite the fact it's not dead in the water, I'm not holding my breath.


In spite of this bad news, I do have some good news. School starts tomorrow, and I am now feeling rather like my main character in my next book. Lost, alone, misunderstood, unprepared, overwhelmed, but somehow, justified.
This should help me finish the first draft before Christmas, which is my goal.


As is my catch phrase whenever I hear bad news?


Onward.

Happy, happy, happy

I'm so very excited. The end of the summer is fast approaching, and I am well into Chapter Two of my latest book. Ahhh, the joys of writing.


Thanks to my dear friend H. who is one of my biggest fans, and also happens to love my kids as her own, who took my two little darlings for a few hours yesterday so I was able to come home and, "get a few things done."


Now, any normal house wife would probably, I don't know, clean something. Heaven knows I have plenty of housework to do.  I, on the other hand, abandoned the dirty dishes in the sink, left the garden over grown with weeds and wrote.  


I added more internal dialogue into Chapter One, and then added environmental description into the beginning of Chapter Two, because it being a futuristic moral dilemma piece, I needed to establish the setting. It makes it all the more fascinating to me if the main character has a moral dilemma in a society without morals.


Makes her a bit different, don't you think?
Especially given her history and former line of work...
I think I've given enough away already.


In the meantime, I'm basking in the glow of First Draft Mind Freeze, and I am happy, happy, happy.
Also, it doesn't hurt that school starts in three days.


Three days!!
:D

Poor Parenting Cesspool

It's a miracle. I sat down and wrote yesterday! I had to, I was itching under my skin and grumpy under the pressure of the untold story. What a release!


Thank goodness for Nintendo DS and poor parenting. I actually let my daughters play video games for several hours so I could have a moment's peace to write. Desperate times call for desperate measures.


I think the writing demon is appeased for a few more days. Perhaps next week, I will delve back into the poor parenting cesspool and let myself write some more.


Five. More. Days.

Bandwagon Here I Come

Okay, so maybe I'm a sell out, or maybe I'm just coming to grips with my own prejudices, but I took an hour or so this morning and converted my Sci-Fi YA Thriller into first person POV and it's actually more fun to write! Huh. Go figure.


It gives the opportunity to add voice, which in third limited is hard to do, and having it in first also solves the issue of accidentally slipping into third omniscient.  I have only the first ten pages (Rough! Can I hear rough rough rough draft?), but after reading them I have to admit, this is the story that is calling to me out of the three options I have.


The fantasy is too happy. What does that say about me? And the contemporary YA just isn't speaking to me.  Don't know why.


This Sci-Fi one, however, is dark, mysterious and full of all sorts of horrid possibilities and it's calling to me. Sad. But, I'm absolutely cranky that I can't start it yet. Cranky!


OMG would school please start?!


I've been interrupted three times by my youngest to a) cut up her old tights to "Make a shirt for my Pooh Bear." b) Fix her hair, c) Unbutton the back of her dress so she can change into her "tank tops" because she's so "crazy sweaty." Ew.


Six more days.
Six more days.
Six more days.

The Joys of Hidden Treasure

Sometimes, it pays to rummage through your garage for old books. I'm one quarter of the way through Janet Evanovich's "Hard Eight" and I'm totally digging this book.


The main character is a bounty hunter who isn't too swift at her job, yet you can't help rooting for her. All the secondary characters are a few watts short of a bulb, and you can't help but love every single one of them. The men are grisly, gruff but hot, and you can't help but get the sense they'd be a load of fun in the sack, even though they are mysterious and you have no idea why they do anything.


It's first person POV, with just enough author intrusion that it doesn't bother you all that much.


It's a fun read.


Have at it.


Hard Eight (Stephanie Plum, No. 8)

I HATE WAITING!

Patience, Skywalker. Patience!
-- Yoda, The Empire Strikes Back
Star Wars Episode V - The Empire Strikes Back (1980 & 2004 Versions, 2-Disc Widescreen Edition)


I don't suppose you could'a speed things up?
I hate waiting.
--Indigo Mantoya, The Princess Bride
 The Princess Bride (20th Anniversary Edition)


Patience is a virtue.
Not right now it isn't.
-- Evie & Rick, The Mummy
The Mummy (Widescreen Collector's Edition)




Ok, I need to chill out. Two agents have parts (if not all) of my manuscript right now and I realize people are busy, and the world doesn't revolve around me.  I also realize since I'm not distracted by writing the next one (how many days until school starts again?), the waiting is 100 times worse.


I'm having a moment of impatience. It's probably the coffee and chocolate cream pie I just had.


Shut Up, Lorianne!!


Argh.
It's too bad I hate exercise, otherwise I'd go running.

The 1st Person Trend

I finished proofing the rough of that technological text. Wow. It was like proof reading Greek.  The good news is, it's done until the next draft gets passed my way, so I have some time.  The bad news is that my kids are not back in school yet, so I don't feel I have the capacity (or the privacy!) to start on my next book. 
Instead, I'm reading.  I sat up and read a horrid romance/thriller I found in a box in the garage, and I plowed through it in one night.  Dreadful. I won't even bother mentioning it's name.
In that same box I came across a murder mystery and have started that.  Both books, by the way, are in 1st person POV...so my suspicions are correct in that 1st person is the new GO TO POV. **sigh**
I'm not sure how I feel about this, honestly. When done well, 1st person can be quite fun, but when it's bad, it's so terribly bad, it's like there is no in between. It's either wonderful (and by wonderful, I mean, it is able to supply enough visuals, description and internal dialogue -- balanced!!! -- and has a distinct voice), or it sucks totally. So far, I'm finding most recent 1st person sucks.  It's either all internal dialogue (Holy cow, do I really want to dwell in the caboose of the character's train of thought? Not really!), or all main character action and emotion, (Wait, I can't SEE what else is happening!), or it barely reads like 1st person at all (the character's voice lacks any personality).
Anyways, I'm no genius, and don't claim to have a perfect grasp on 1st person, but I find reading it so hit or miss, I get frustrated.
Frustrated that other people who write such horrid 1st person are published, and doing well enough to be in a paperback in my garage (sarcasm!) and here I am languishing to get a book published, and I hate to toot my own horn, I would have a field day rewriting those 1st person monstrosities!
Don't I sound bitchy today? Sheesh!
Me and my ego are going to take a break and do something else.
I think this heat is making me cranky.

Stuck

I worship music. I listen to it all day. When I write, classical plays, when I do dishes it's swing big band 40s.  When I'm in the shower, it's pop and dance. When I'm pissed it's heavy metal and rock.


I was a violinist before my hands gave out, so my obsession comes with an education, so occasionally I sound like I know what I'm talking about.


Anyways, sometimes I get a song stuck in my head. I've been known to wake up singing a particular song. This morning, it happened again.


So, just in case you care to share in my current song obsession, I've attached the link.


Who knows. Maybe one of you need to hear it.
I recommend cranking up the volume, because I can't stop dancing!


"Dead Man/Carry Me" from Jars of Clay

Countdown to Silence

I haven't been writing, I've been working on a freelance editing gig and my attention has been on that.  It's an extremely technological book, so I admit, it's been a bit tricky to comprehend.  But, I'm getting there, and I'm learning a lot about a subject I would not normally research, so it's always good to have learning experiences.


I hope to finish this by the first of next month. Then, school starts and I can get back to writing my own stuff, in silence.


Ahh, silence...And during the day when my brain is actually operating at full capacity.


Yippee!!


Can't wait!

I Miss Buffy

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZwM3GvaTRM&feature=related



It's my dream come true!! TY to who ever made this.


Dang, nobody writes dialogue like this anymore.
I miss Buffy.


And Edward is a creepy, manipulative stalker!


Go Buffy!


Look, I'm not obsessed, really I'm not. I just miss Joss Whedon.


Joss? Are you out there? Please write some interesting female characters for TV! I miss them!

Out of my Vulcan Mind

I finished reading "Impulse" by Ellen Hopkins, the author who critiqued my manuscript at the conference, and holy crap, that was awesome.


In my discussion with Ms. Hopkins during our "session" we analyzed writing about disturbing subject matters while not becoming consumed by the subject.  She said instead of being the character while you write, try channeling them instead.  I find that to be sound advice, but I'm not sure I'm able to do it yet. Perhaps it will come with practice.  I become the character, that's how I know how he/she feels, moves, reacts, I suppose it comes from my years of studying acting. Meisner method at work on a laptop! I can hear my acting coaches echoing in my head, "Good work!" -- which in acting speak translates to "Nice try." Hence, why I'm a writer and not an actor.


Speaking of channeling and not being, I attempted this method and sat down on Friday to write the rape scene from the YA drama outline, and I couldn't.  All I managed to write was the dialogue.  I will have to go back and fill in the action and internal dialogue later.  I guess I was delusional to think I could channel a rape with little girls playing Zhu Zhu pets at my feet.


Two more weeks until school starts and then I will have my writing days back.  I'm trying not to take my creative frustration out on my girls.  It's not their fault I can't concentrate.  If I had a superior Vulcan mind I would not become distracted by the peeps, giggles and sound of mechanical hamsters scurrying about my kitchen floor.  


Sometimes it sucks to be human.

Coffee: Curse or Blessing?

I fell into the coffee trap last night.  I had a cup at 6 pm, which is way late for me.  It usually keeps me up until midnight, and this is what I was counting on. The plan was, after taking a few days off from proofing "Shut Up" for several days straight, I'd write a scene from my next book.  The problem was, I couldn't decide what to write, and nothing was "speaking" to me.


I read the fantasy first draft, and the rewrites are so insurmountable I somehow didn't have the patience for it.  Then, I opened the Sci-Fi and read a few pages and wasn't in the mood to wade into such deep dark waters after proofing the "depression book" for so long.  So, I pulled out the outline for my other one, a typical YA drama and read the outline, but I had no idea how to start it, so I ended up writing nothing and watching cable TV and reading until midnight, then tossed and turned for an hour. 


And then, it came to me...


I had a similar problem when I started "Shut Up."  I couldn't start at the beginning for some reason. I had to write the springboard scene first, and then the climax scene, and then work my way backwards and forwards and then fill in the blanks later.  It's ridiculous, I know.  But, as I was tossing and turning last night willing sleep to come it occurred to me which scenes of the typical YA drama needed to be written first.  Now, don't get me wrong, when I say 'typical' I mean the rape scene and the mental breakdown scene, so these are not typical and normal, well, maybe for me they are, but if I put my character in those scenes, I will be able to fill in the rest leading up to and happening after.


I guess it's a strange process.  But, if it works for me, I'm not going to knock it.  


Now, the problem is that right about the time I decided to just get up and write the rape scene I started to get sleepy.  I wrestled with it and tossed and turned for a few minutes, debating, knowing full well how puffy my eyes would be, and how caffeine dependent I would become, if I indeed got out of bed in order to write this scene which was going to wreck me. So, in the interest of self-preservation, and for the welfare of my children, who are stuck with me all day today, I chose life over art and fell asleep.


I hope the opportunity to write something comes today. So far, the girls have interrupted me three times since I started writing this blog (perhaps you can tell), and I'm not sure I want my 9 y/o appearing over my shoulder and reading phrases from the screen and saying, "Mom? Why is the girl crying and yelling 'no' over and over?"


Or, true story when she was 7, she appeared over my shoulder while I'm reading the news and asked, "Mom? What's a suicide bomber?"


Try explaining that to a 7 year old.


I think I just answered my own question.
Looks like I'm making coffee with dinner.

Blurred

I've finished the last proof.  With each read I come to love this book even more.  It still makes me cry.
That's a good thing.


Now, if only the process of writing about depression hadn't been so danged depressing! Dang, I need a drink. :)


Lord help me, I'm being considered for an Editor position for an online publishing company.  This whole field is really taking off, and I'm not sure if I want to jump in blind.  As of now, I'm a little blurry at best.


Blurry because of proof reading the ms for four days straight and because I'm not sure how or if this new job will work out.  It's still in the interview process as of now, so I'll let you know.


Thank you to all who gave me feedback on the excerpts, some here on the blog and some by email.  Your encouragement and personal stories relating to the book means a lot to me.  Some understand why more than others.


I'll leave you with some lyrics from a very important song, at least, important in regards to this book.
After my brother heard what I was writing about he sent me a CD filled with music and one of the songs was "Simon" from Lifehouse.


It's one of those moments in a writer's life that I hope each and every writer gets.  When you listen to a song that is EXACTLY the song a) your main character would sing, b) that would be your main character's favorite song, c) you would like to sing to your main character.


In my case, it was C.


Simon
By Lifehouse


Catch your breathe. Hit the wall. Scream out loud, as you start to crawl.
Back in your cage.  The only place. Where they will, leave you alone.


'Cuz the weak will seek the weak until they've broken them.
Could you get it back again?
Would it be the same?


Fulfillment to their lack of strength at your expense.
Left you with no defense.
They tore it down.


And I have felt the same.
As you, I've felt the same.
As you, I've felt, the same.

One Blind Writer, and Two Messy Mice

So, I'm on day four of the POV shift, and thank god it's so much easier going from 3rd limited to 1st.  From 1st to third was hell.


I am done with the first pass, now going back today (if my eyes can take it, Lordy, I'm going cross eyed with all the proofing), to fine tune voice, word choice, and to miss any POV shifts from before.


My girls are cooperating, (of course, now that I've put that in print they are going to thunder down the stairs demanding my attention), and keeping themselves busy setting up play areas in almost every room of the house, then getting angry at me when I demand they remove the zoo animals from the bathroom so I can use the toilet.


I am trying to get this done ASAP because I have a freelance editing gig coming up quick, and I was hoping to get my stuff done first.  Though, I must say, it's a lot easier finding someone else's typos than my own.  I can't tell you how many times I post something on this blog to read it hours later and have to go back and fix typos.


Nobody's perfect, I realize this. But, nevertheless, I find typoes annoying.


Yes, I realize I have a typo above.  Just some writer humor.


Ha.


Wish me luck on the proof reading.
I think I might go do something else for a few minutes to give my eyes a break.
No offense.
But, I'm really really tired of looking at this screen.

Excerpt from my YA novel, "Shut Up"

I thought about the aspirin under my bed almost every day, especially on days when the picking from Gwen got more terrible than normal.  I sometimes hid in my room under my bed, holding the bottle of aspirin tightly, turning it over and over in my hand, listening to the pills rolling around inside, and breathing quietly so that Gwen or Rose couldn’t find me.  I would lie under there and hold my breath to see if I could die that way, without taking the pills, but I always ended up gasping for air after only a few minutes.  Then, I would get mad at myself for being such a weakling that I couldn’t even hold my breath right.

No Man's Land

Alright, here's a pickle.

Put a 12 year old girl in the middle of a family member's teenage pregnancy, add a Creep who makes sexual advances and comments to her, then add physical abuse from a parent and an eventual suicide attempt and you have a book that is neither young adult or middle grade.

I got 2 suggestions from writers to make the heroine 14 years old. I considered it very seriously, then realized one of the points I was trying to make was that she was far too young to fully understand what was happening and if she was 14, you damn well better be sure she'd understand most of it.

Then I asked an editor if it was a middle grade, to which she said yes, but then I realized afterwards she only read the first 10 pages and was unaware of the alternating POV (several chapters as told by an older brother) and about all the abuse and such, which comes out several chapters later.

So...I'm back in no man's land.

My guess? It's YA because of the subject matter, and even though editors and other writers say it will be easier to sell if I make the heroine 14, I'm going to make it harder on myself and keep her at 12, because, well, I like a challenge? I'm stubborn? Or, I really want to make the point that young kids are dealing with more than they should? Really, I want a teenage kid to read it and realize everything they do affects everyone in their family.

Alright, you be the judge.

There's an excerpt a few posts down.

I'd like to hear your thoughts on the matter.

Brainstorm Idea #567: Propping Up Eye-lids with Q-tips and Scotch tape?

Conference done.

Exhausted.

Raw.

Can hardly form complete sentences.

Already working on my manuscript rewrites.

That's exciting.

Working on getting agent armed with new information.

Wish me luck!

Excerpt from my YA novel "Shut Up"

One night, Mom got so pissed at me for not going to sleep and for talking to Rose, she stormed into our bedroom holding a wire fly swatter in one hand. She slapped the light on.

“All I ask of you is one thing!” Mom had a wild flare in her eyes, with dark bags under them. She looked like a crazy muppet. She waved the fly swatter around like it was a part of her arm. “One thing! How hard is it to just listen to me?”

She stomped to me on the lower bunk and ripped back my sheets.

“Mom! No! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I curled into a ball, covering my head.

“Go!…To!…Sleep!…” With each word she slashed me across the back of my legs with the wire fly swatter handle.

I didn’t hear a word from Rose, who was in the bunk above. The back of my legs burned like I’d sat on a barbecue.

I heard the light switch slap off and the door slam.

In the dark, I cried. I didn’t dare move. When I finally stopped bawling, I heard Rose moving.

“Mary?”

“Shut up!” I whispered. The back of my thighs hurt so badly I reached around to touch them. They were warm and wet. I knew I hadn’t pissed in bed, so I got up and turned on the light. When I swiped my palm across the back of my thighs, they came up red with blood.

Holy shit.

I craned my body, trying to see the back of my thighs. Three large, bloody handle shaped welts were across them, two on the left, one on the right. I’d been spanked many times before. One time, Mom had broken a wooden spoon on my butt, which had caused a large yellow and purple bruise, but there had never been blood.

I stared at the palm of my hand, frozen. If I crawled back into bed I would get blood on my sheets and would most likely get punished for that. So, I did the only thing I thought I could do. I opened the door, and called for my mom.

“Mom?” It barely came out as a whisper. I cleared my throat a little and tried to sound like I hadn’t been crying. “Mom?”

I stood holding my palm in front of me for a few seconds but I didn’t hear any voices from downstairs, though I could hear the T.V. was on.

“Mom?!” I raised my voice just a little. “Mom?! I’m bleeding, what should I do?”

Rose shushed me loudly. “Don’t call her back!”

“Shhh!” I hissed back at her as I stood and waited for Mom to come upstairs and help me. I waited five seconds.

Nothing.

Five seconds more.

Nothing, still.

Too afraid to yell any louder, I tip-toed down the stairs, listening. I heard harsh whispers from the family room.

“What’s the matter with you, a wire fly swatter?” Dad sounded angry, which surprised me.

“It’s nine thirty, Dennis. And she has school tomorrow!”

“So, you think beating her will help her calm down and go to sleep? How does that make sense?”

"I don't know what else to do!" Mom said, and she sounded like she was sad.

There was an aggravated sigh from Dad, and a rustling of movement which sent me back upstairs with a scramble.

I tried to see the cuts in the bathroom mirror. But it was too dark, and I didn’t want to turn on the light. Instead, I rolled off a chunk of toilet paper. The cuts had already stopped bleeding, though my hand had smeared the blood across my pasty skin in streaks. I wiped my hands off, and patted the back of my thighs, then put the bloody tissues in the toilet. I didn’t flush, not wanting to give away that I was out of bed.

When I lay back down, I rolled onto my stomach, to avoid touching the sheets with the blood. Rose leaned over from the top bunk.

“Mary?”

I turned my face to the wall and yanked the sheets over my head. “Just shut up, Rose.”

I was numb. I didn’t know what to think anymore. Despite the burning on the back of my thighs, the rest of me was empty. I felt glad Dad said something, but at the same time, I was so afraid of mom hating me. What if Dad sticking up for me made her hate me more? It was an odd jumble of feelings in my poor stupid head. I could seriously cause my brain to implode and shut down.

One thing was for sure, if only I’d not been talking in bed, none of this would have happened. I was being punished, again, for opening my big rotten mouth. If only I could sew it shut.

It seemed like the room got darker. I felt worse than I’d ever before, before Gwen had left, even. I wasn’t a part of this family. Not really. I was lower than the dog. Nobody really wanted me there. I was useless Mary. Ugly Mary. Stupid Mary. Nobody Mary. Nobody.

What else was new?

Conference Day 2

Tired.
A little overwhelmed.
Anxious to get started on the rewrite notes for my manuscript.
Met some truly great people.
Schmoozed a little.

Two more days of this and the thought sends my brain into a slight panic.

I find, so far, that while at the Conference I'm slightly distracted by my constant need to pee, eat, and drink more coffee.
I guess when you get right down to it, we're all only toddlers who need to use the potty, and who get cranky when we're hungry.

The coffee part, well...That's my tired old lady self.

The one thing this conference is doing, however, is teaching me a few things about myself (ie. I'm a good writer, but still young to this industry),and it's giving me reassurance that my manuscript CAN get published, if all the stars align, you hold one foot in the air, and position your tongue just so. First, however, I'm going to go back to an older draft and do four (among other) major things.

1) Revert back to the 1st person
- Toy with present tense too
2) Revert back to chronological order story telling
- Must be sure to ask my class instructor if she agrees with that
3) Must take story out of the 80s
- Shouldn't be too hard
4) Must make 12 year old 14 so there is no question about genre
- Damn, that changes quite a bit and takes away one of my personal likes about the manuscript, which demonstrates the complexity of family dynamics, in how older siblings do indeed cause younger ones to experience certain issues far beyond their maturity level. But, oh well. Hmm, must give this point some further thought.