Actual Writing Content!

Currently, I'm in a battle with myself. This is nothing new--it's been going on for 33 years this Wednesday--but the situation has taken a somewhat grave turn. My elbows are so arthritic they're damaging my nerves. It's being treated more slowly than I'd like, but it's being treated. Even now I'm waiting for a call from my pain specialist's office regarding the next step.

The upside of this, of course, is that I'm writing (or at least rewriting) like a mofo.

Because I can't really type for more than maybe up to an hour at a time right now, I'm looking through my backlog of short stories, fixing or finishing them, and sending them out for consideration. It's nice to get back into that; I'd stopped for a long time due to time limitations and health issues. I've gone through most of the shorter ones and sent them out to potential homes (hoping like hell here), gotten two rejections so far, hoping for a sale before too hideously much longer, and decided to cut a 48,000-word short novel down to a 25,000-word novella so I might submit it to more places. Because I'm crazy that way. I don't want to lengthen it into a real novel right now, so I'll hack it into pieces. Yay, the joys of being me.

My hands are hurting, so I'm going to give them some downtime. I think the length and breadth of this is a public announcement that, yes, I'm still writing. It's not as long or much as I'd like, but I'm doing it all the same. Hopefully, medical science will make it possible for me to start spending four hours at a keyboard again within the year. As things stand, I'll take being able to eat without dropping it all over myself. (There are reasons I don't wear white shirts.)

Quick Post

Just a quick heads up (again) to say that I'm still alive. RL is going well--I'm happy in my personal life for the first time in many, many years, and my gallbladder (aka The Beast) is now floating in a jar of formaldehyde somewhere--and I'm hoping to formally get writing back on track again soon.

It's still suffering somewhat from the upset my life took in February. However, I've been meeting people in the profession, and I'm actually working with a good friend from Texas, helping him copy-edit a nonfiction book, which is pretty kickass. There's nothing in it save thanks and maybe a professional leg up (and, I'm promised, a roof and a bed whenever I'm out that way), but I enjoy the work and I very much enjoy the chance to work with someone like this. (Colleen, Linda, you know who I'm talking about.)

On the actual writing front, the book should be ready to market within a month or two, Elvis willing, and I'm finally revamping a novelette that's in dire need of attention. It's got a lot of potential, but it needs serious work. At least I've got people who can help me with the finer aspects of librarianship. (I not-so-secretly refer to the story as my librarians-as-gods story. You have no idea how happy this makes the librarians in my life.) Other than that, I'm just working on getting properly geared up again. No idea what I'll be doing or where I'll be ten years from now, but I'll be writing. Unless I've kicked it, which probably means I won't be doing much of anything. :P

Am loosely playing with the idea of going back to school for Fashion Design, of all things. It's something I'd enjoy, though, and there's no way in HELL I could stand four years of academics. Let me get my hands on something, and I'll be happy as a clam in silt. And if there's one thing I know my way around, it's a sewing machine.

Erk. Is midnight. I'm due up in seven hours. First day back post-op. Wish me luck!

That time of year again.

I've been dreading this event: the first bout of my biannual allergy-induced insomnia. The trees are mating left and right, and the mould spore is skyrocketing. It's not as bad as most years, but I'm putting that down to my lovely, lovely chemo. (No, seriously. Apart from a few side effects, I don't know how I ever lived without it.) I'd take a Lunesta, but they tend to just make me hallucinate.

On the writing front, I'm about 50 pages into a new novel. It's only being written for fun, so I don't know if it'll ever see print. Time and Colleen will probably determine that, though. I'm really enjoying it--I actually remember, for the first time in months, why I started writing in the first place. (It's been a rough few months, in case you couldn't tell. That's what happens when an undeserving oaf breathes down your neck, demanding to know why you haven't sold any books yet.) I'm at a point where I need to just go back and re-read from the start to figure out what happens next. I should probably do some actual plotting, too. Like I said, I'm writing it for fun. I love plotting by the seat of my pants.

I'm going to stick Neil Gaiman on for a while and see if it helps me sleep. Let's hear it for The Graveyard Book!

Writing Romance

I'm working on a Just For Fun novel to clear my mind of Larger Things. It's reminding me of why I never got into Romance. A lot of my writing includes romances, some of which could be described as epic. However, the romance novels I've read tend to focus on the sappy parts of epic love.

I'm more interested in the body count.

Maybe it's a good thing I'm going to be single for at least a while. When your ideal romantic movie is Bram Stoker's Dracula simply because (not enough) people die and there's blood everywhere, it might be best to keep to oneself in that respect.

Well, I'm cursed.

Last year, a story of mine was published in City Slab. A couple of months later, CS was sadly no more. Now, one of my stories will appear in the very last issue ever of the already missed and wonderful Realms of Fantasy.

Editors, please take note. My writing may be good, but there's a chance it will be the kiss of death. I can only take heart that ChiZine and Baen's UNIVERSE are still going strong.

Fannish encroachment

In a 145K-word book, is it too much to have two (possibly three) subtle fannish references? One is unintentional, one is deliberate, and the maybe is deliberate and comparatively very, very obscure. (I can't remember if it got cut or not. Don't think so, though.)

Bah. Who knows? I'll poke Colleen next read and see what she thinks.

The temp today has dropped from nearly 60F to below freezing. I'm really, really glad I decided to take my car into the shop in mid-afternoon rather than evening or, worse, tomorrow morning. Eek. Nothing wrong, AFAIK--just lube, oil, and filter, a tire check, a squeaky belt, and a possible blown fuse. My poor car. There's so much crap in it, including a pimp hat and a random Halloween cloak of indeterminate origin.

Back to writing. I'm about edited out for the evening, but I've got through a LOT in the past 48 hours, including a scene that needed to be reconstructed from the ground up.

**looks out the window** I fear this is a night for Postum and ramen. Mmm, ramen.

Website Stuff and Things

In order to put off cleaning the kitchen (hey, I'm doing laundry, at least), I've made some actual updates to my website. I still need to seriously update the links page--adding all of my fellow Colleen clients, unless anyone objects--but I've got my Works to Date updated, as well as some bio info. Most of the bio info is about the cats, because the cats are, obviously, the most important thing in my life. (Baby's asleep by my chair. I don't want to wake and enrage her by saying anything else.)

In other news, I've washed every dirty towel in the house, thrown some blankets in the washer, and completely ignored the train wreck in the kitchen sink. Given that I just took my mtx (methotrexate) dose last night, I think I'm doin' pretty darn well.

In sewing machine news, I'm trying to decide between an amazing sewing-only machine, or a fairly bare-bones sewing-and-embroidery machine. The first comes with a walking foot (yes, this is a big deal), but the second is an embroidery machine. Machine embroidery is crack. I want a high-end sew-emb machine, but that'll have to wait until I've sold some novels.

Which reminds me, I need to get my butt in gear. Editing, ho!

Actual Word Count

I'm almost 2,700 words into a re-write of a novella. I'm paring it down to novelette length. This doesn't sound like much, but it's the most new writing I've felt up to in months.

Ending now. In the zone, and I'm not very pleasant to be around right now.

Open Letters to the Most Important Person In My Life

Dear Self,

Eight. Thirteen. See the difference? Please note that someone who is the latter should not act like the former. Now go back, re-work about six chapters, and fix this thing.

But go easy, mmkay? It is Tuesday, after all.

No real love, but a bit of lenience,

Me

***

Dear Self,

It's Tuesday. You know what that means. No running out to get yarn (never mind your pile of knitting waiting to be finished--on deadline, I might add). You need to eat some breakfast, but go easy. The last thing you need is to play Vomit Cannon in the living room. Crowley is much better at it, and he's cute enough to get away with it. (Especially when you're in the middle of saying, "How did they ever fit so much handsome into one cat?" Seriously, where is a video camera when you need one?)

You know full well you're exhausted. Now go and rest. Keep the yoga and the eating to a minimum, since you're feeling urpy again. And please, stop laughing so hard you cry. Cat puke isn't that hilarious (okay, it is), but remember, you're the one who gets to clean it up.

GO REST!

Me

It's the Great Omen, Charlie Brown!

When the frost is on the punkin
And the comet fills the sky
And the Great Pumpkin Empire rises
Then you and I will die.

This has been running through my head all frickin' day. I think it's a sign that not only is Halloween near, but I haven't remotely reached my fill of horror movies. While I'm sure Charles Schultz would have a coronary at the idea of the Great Pumpkin rising to signal the end of the world, it makes perfect sense to me. Seriously, has anyone ever checked Linus for birthmarks? He's a weird little kid at the best of times. There's no telling what he's really up to.

Must get back to editing. I'm under orders to take my time so I don't work myself to death (literally), but I want to get through the stuff that works so I can meander along with everything that doesn't.

The medication seems to be doing something. Not a lot yet, and it'll take another few weeks to really work, but I ran errands today and don't feel ready to die. I've put all my bras in the washer to ensure that I don't leave the house again, but I'm still human. This is definitely a good thing. Now if the mould spore would just die forever....

Off to work!

My short story, "In The Flesh," has been published at a brand-new webzine, Drops of Crimson. Go read, then email Jenn (the editor) to let her know how awesome a job she did. The site looks great, and I'm frothing to get to read all the stories.

Go! Now!

A heart attack I did NOT need

I just saw what appeared to be a ms page on my printer. A few days ago, I finally submitted a story that I've been struggling with for over two years. It's been written in whole twice, edited, revamped, and finally got down to a (hopefully) finished product of 14,700 words. The whole thing is 65 pages long.

You have not experienced heart-stopping horror until you think you left out the last page.

Fortunately, it turned out to be this year's holiday fruitcake recipe printed on the back of one of my old unused printouts--of a completely different story. It's all too strong of an illustration of what this week has been like. At least this bit turned out for the best.

Now I'm going to go play with my Wii and hope I get a new couch (and some other, slightly more mysterious and potentially horrible things) today.

Um, wow.

Realms of Fantasy just bought my short story, "Nell and the Devil."

Holy crap. I totally expected Shawna to pass on it, but, eek. This story is significant for a couple of reasons:

1. It's the first fairy tale I've ever sold, and one of the purest pieces of fantasy I've ever written.
2. It's my third professional short story sale, which means I'm very close to (finally) qualifying for Active SFWA membership, and equally close to the end of my Writers of the Future eligibility period.

I'm a little stunned right now. Also, I'm thoughtful, and this sale kind of makes me want to just pull in the old belt and see if we can just live on the Import's salary for a while. I had a horrific job interview today (for reasons I won't go into), so this kinda makes me think I should just try to go the writing-and Etsy route for a while. I'm crafty. I make cool stuff. Hmm.

Needless to say, I have much to think about now, and a .doc file to send off!

Third-gender, third-person pronouns revisited

I have tentatively given into agent (and editorial) suggestion. After much experimentation, I have finally settled upon il - ilu - ilish - ilishtum, which conjugates in the same way as he - him - his -himself. You have no idea how much my teeth are grinding, but if it helps sell the book, so be it. Right now, I'm gripping my head, hoping with all my might that I don't lose half my readership in the first chapter.

Thank you, John Huehnergard. Without your in-depth and easily understood knowledge of a murderously complex dead language (which I happened to usurp for my nefarious purposes), I'd be hanging by my fingertips right now. As it stands, I've got at least one finger wedged into a fissure at the edge of the proverbial cliff.

Tonight definitely calls for a drink.

ETA: make that iliš. It's pronounced the same way as ilish, but is far less visually distracting IMO. Ah, special characters. How did I know it would eventually come to this?

I still want my beer.

ETA2: Aaaad now ilu is ilum. Will the madness never end???

Wow.

On second look, this isn't the screwball comedy I'd intended. In fact, it's quite possibly the blackest comedy I've ever written. Still gonna submit it. It'll be a tough sale, but, hey, it's done. No sense in stuffing it straight into the trunk.

So. Yeah.

How the hell do I keep my mind off the Novel From Hell now?

Amazing what you can do with a little determination.

The rough draft of the comedy that's been languishing on my hard drive for months now is finally complete. It gets a little serious at the end, but that's okay. It suits the story. And it's still funny overall.

I'll give it a second read in the morning, after I take the trash out. For now, I'm goin' to bed.

Made of Daft

Dear self,

You have three weeks to rest your brain and work on some blunt comedy. You know perfectly well you've been comedy starved. So why is it that you insist on going, "Oooooooh, that'll help the plot!" regarding the Hellogy every thirty seconds? You've already written half a page of new dialogue AND advanced the Nefarious Plot (as well as the story's plot) a dozen times.

See that short story you've got up? Work on it. Also? Eat something, then get a shower so you can run to the library for ten minutes. You also need to fill in your bookstore application, because that would be the best job EVAR and you know you're good enough to get it.

Now put away the novel, and work on something else. All right? Good little addict.

More annoyance than love,

Me

Unexpected Gifts

Today, Colleen (my lovely agent) asked me to send her my current edit on what is quickly becoming the Novel From Hell. She said it'll take her a few weeks to really go through it as thoroughly as it needs to be seen.

This afternoon, K. D. Wentworth gave me my annual, "You've come so close so many times, I always think, 'this quarter she's going to win', and you really need to keep entering," Writers of the Future lecture.

Despite the religious nature of a lot of my writing, I'm an atheist. I believe strongly in coincidence.

This one is too good to ignore.

An Open Letter

Dear Aspiring Writers,

When writing your first good novel, make sure to keep it as short as possible. I didn't. Now I'm learning the hard way how to completely restructure two long books to fit into one short one. I'll be finishing the sherry tonight and considering getting another bottle--cooking sherry, if necessary. Also? Figuring out how a girl in Victorian London would show her pr0n collection to a boy she's not remotely interested in is harder than it sounds.

I shall now return to editing, all the time fighting to ignore the suddenly clarion call of laundry. While the Import is ecstatic over my new interest in housework, it's not terribly mutual, and I'd like to hide under a rock until it passes.

Love,

Me

Oh, fu....

I've changed the first paragraph to conform with a major change to the tone of the book. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ohhh, this is going to be interesting.

Editing: A Great Deal, Though Not Exactly, Like Performing Open-Abdominal Surgery On Yourself. *flappy hands of horror*