Ho, Ho, Ho and a Bottle of Rum...Oh, wait...

With the holidays here, and the children home, and my husband under foot, and people to feed, places to go, etc. etc. etc...Needless to say I have gotten very little work and/or writing done. Some! But not a lot.


I worked for an hour or so on the "Shut Up" switcheroo to the Adult market, but it still has a ways to go and I don't anticipate much more (well, none really) progress until the kids are back behind bars...I mean, at school.


Until then, it's me, Santa, a bottle of rum, and a mixture of catch phrasing.


Happy Holidays!

Winter Lag

The holidays are fast approaching and work has gotten a little busy again, so I am having issues finding time to write.  Today, I spent about two hours rewriting "Shut Up" for adult, concentrating on voice.


Slow going, but moving along.


I have started reading a new book, but am not loving it.  Of course, after "The Help" I think everything will fade by comparison.


The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (Millenium Trilogy, Book 1)

Story Breakthrough

It doesn't happen all that often, so when it does, it should be mentioned.  As I wrote before, I'm in the middle of rewriting "Shut Up" for the adult market.  It was going rather painless this whole week, and it's been really fun.


I noticed today that there was a deliberate choice on my part to leave certain aspects of the story out, in order to simplify and streamline the book for young tween readers.


This is no longer necessary, and I'd forgotten until today that I'd done that.  In reading it, I got stuck on one particular section, and I couldn't figure out why.


Was I feeling unfocused? Not really. I'd had Starbucks this morning so I was buzzed out on mega-caffeine and sugar.  Was I burnt out of the writing process? I've been working every day this week, maybe I need a break? I took a half hour and did something else, but when I came back, I back tracked and got stuck on the same section a second time around.


What was it about this section that was stucking me? I realize I just made up a word.  This is the new "voice" for Mary, my main character, she makes up words...It's kinda fun.  Anyways, I sat and re-read, and re-read, ate, took a phone call, re-read it again and EUREKA!!  It's too quick.


She's unhappy, she gets picked on, she's miserable, she's abused, she's suicidal, then suddenly, things shift, and she's not so unhappy, she's not getting picked on, she's not miserable anymore and then WHAM! Something shifts again and she's back to suicidal.  That whole section of happiness needs to be stretched out and flushed out and worked on so that when she loses it again, the reader loses it too.


I skim right over that very interesting and important aspect of Mary's life, and not only will it require a rewrite of this particular section, it will require me to go back to what I've already done, and start it there.


I also found a sub-plot I'd skipped in the interest of simplification and I don't need to do that anymore! Insert sub-plot D.  Hurray adult market where complexity and multi-layered, overlapping issues abound! I can mess up Mary's life on a whole other level here, and I am so excited I can't even write.


Some major thinking is going to have to take place.
Or, as I always say, I need to stew.  The stewing might take a few days.
It's all good.
I know exactly where it needs to go.

Disturbing Freedom

Two days into revamping "Shut Up" into an adult novel, and the transition is moving along nicely.  It's very very very nice not having to censor myself at all.  Ahhh, freedom to cuss! How nice.


In the process I've also created new chapter breaks, and changed the voices of my main characters so they are more distinct and different.  Since this story is loosely based on my own family, in the first few drafts I found it difficult to separate character from actual person, but seen as how I am now on my 8th draft, the characters have taken on voices of their own, and are so very different from my actual family they are unrecognizable.  That's a good thing.


Both creatively and personally, there are multiple benefits.


I somehow have also added about three thousand words, and I'm not sure how that happened.
I'm finding areas that need to be filled in, fluffed up, and reworked, and in doing so, I've now upped the word count and I still have several chapters to go.


Perhaps by the time I am done I can get it over 40,000 words, which is still pretty small for an adult book.  I wonder if this will be an issue.


I received a note from a colleague quite a few drafts back that I could take the book even farther, (much like in "Room" -- there's the section about what happens to the characters after they leave said Room).  So it is entirely possible I will try to do that when I am finished with the existing chapters, but I am unwilling to commit to that just now.


I read a little on my lunch break of "The Help."  In it, there is a female character from 1960s Mississippi who has written a letter to an editor in New York, asking for a job.  The editor tells the girl to get a job at her local paper and to write about things she finds disturbing.  Only then would the editor be willing to read her work.


I don't know why but when I read that I burst into tears.
Perhaps it's because I beat myself up (as friends and family do too) for writing about things that I find disturbing and it's always such a relief to hear that THAT'S WHAT A WRITER IS SUPPOSED TO DO!


I'm pretty disturbed, so I must be doing something right.
My only hope is that someday the reading public may become disturbed by my writing too.


I'm odd.
I know.


The Help

Excerpt from my novel "Shut Up"

As the street flattens and turns a sharp corner toward the elementary school, my eyes catch sight of the front of a well-kept two-story brick house.  The sight of it hits me hard.  My feet freeze to the sidewalk, and my legs jar to a halt.  The brick house was the first place we’d lived when we moved to California. It was our dream home, Mom had said, at first.  But then, Dad lost his job, and soon thereafter, we lost the house. 

     I hate where we live now, in that beat up old rental hole.  It smells like a sweaty shoe and is embarrassingly outdated.  Mom didn’t want us kids to change schools when we moved, so we took the first piece of shit rental we could find in the neighborhood.  But, the rental, or “The Pit,” as we call it, is a far cry from the picture perfect happiness mocking me from the corner lot at the bottom of the hill; with its tree swing, forest-like back hill perfect for making forts, fruit trees, and brand new carpet.  The perfect house digs a hole into me and leaves a crater the size of Texas. 

     We’re renters now. 

We’re renters in a neighborhood plagued with Mercedes, golf courses and mega-money.  And here’s us, tooling around in a twenty year old Chevy station wagon.  Me, wearing Gwen’s decade old hand-me-downs, and now, a member of the family is knocked up at seventeen.  We might as well wear tee shirts announcing ourselves as “Poor White Trash.”

            I fight the urge to cry or throw rocks at the brick 


house. There it stands, ultimate perfection and family peace, and


someone else’s BMW is parked in the driveway.

Buried in Words

I'm helplessly distracted by life.  There's gifts to buy.  Decorations to set out.  Children to raise, who have homework to complete.  Colds to be overcome.  Pets to be cared for and regularly fed.  And oh so many books to read.


It reminds me of when I was in college. I had to stop buying books to read because I would stop studying in my free time and read instead.  Many might say my time would have been better spent reading, but at the time, I was trying to graduate, so you know...Priorities.


Now, though. I've put myself back into the same position.  Quit bothering me with life, I want to read!  And with this reading, out goes the writing.


I've spent a few hours this week revamping "Shut Up" as an experiment, and even spent a few hours reading my own work, the dystopic YA, just to see if I stack up against what I'm reading now, and luckily for me, it's all good.


Now, if only I could read and write at the same time.


Tsk, tsk.