The Amazon Iowan

Editing? What editing?

2009-12-11T05:56:30Z

One early out, two snow days and one mother of a blizzard later, I am still mired in the opening scene. It's hard enough work under normal circumstances, but this week has not gone as I'd have liked. Now I only have tomorrow, and then the weekend will lead into a whirlwind of cookie making and Christmas preparation.

Thankfully The Daily Show has the antidote for this. They found out the nickname for the new energy program is "Cash for Caulkers." Hmm. I wonder what Stewart did with this one?

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c

The Most Immature Montage Ever - Cash for Caulkers

www.thedailyshow.com

Daily Show
Full Episodes

Political Humor

Health Care Crisis

Sarah Palin's Gay Romance

2009-12-08T22:31:47Z

I've alerted the site, so I expect it will go away soon, but before it does, go to this site where Hero is "reviewed."

Either I was once the governor of Alaska, or Sarah Palin wrote a gay romance. You decide.

(Screencap for posterity)

OMG Snow and OMG Thank You

2009-12-08T13:33:25Z

First off, thanks to romaine24 for the snowflake thing! It's very cute. :) (It's on my user info page, if you want to know what I'm talking about.)

Today, however, non-virtual snowflakes are going to fall on Iowa. Scads and scads and scads of them. Right now we have a pleasant, picturesque dusting. Starting this afternoon we will be getting 10-14 inches of snow. I know you in the Northeastern US say, "Pshaw!" to that amount, but that's a damn lot for us at once. I'd be excited for it out of sense of novelty alone, but—

WE HAVE NO SNOWBLOWER. We have one, but Dan didn't try to start it until Sunday, at which point it refused. He took it into a place yesterday to get it fixed, but we don't have it back yet. Also, the guy pointed out whole sections of the blade are missing. He says we bought the kind of snowblower you have to replace every 4-5 years. It's been about that.

So now we're looking at buying a new one maybe quick this AM. Not sure yet, but maybe. Dan is being mad that he has to deal with this at all, mad at the snow, mad at the dirt, and just generally mad. Anna is thrilled at the potential foot of snow. I'm mostly wishing this all would shut up so I could get back to work.

We open and close with thanks, though, because carylerg offered up her parent's snowblower (she doesn't need it, at least for this storm because a service is coming). Sadly, the roads are already questionable enough that we don't want to risk ending up in the ditch with someone else's snowblower, but the offer is very kind.

Off to see what happens next in the Great Snowblower Drama.

Live Editing, Part 3: It's Toast

2009-12-07T04:35:40Z

My body is revolting tonight, so after writing a whiny journal (which you, blessedly, will not have to read!) and popping a Vicodin I am ceding the evening to... well, I'm not sure who. To being cranky, I guess, which is a what, not a who. Today was not so much a day of rest, either: after hurrying to take a sick snowblower in to a place which could not fix it, rushing to fellowship (that's Unitarian Universalist for "church"), then dashing down to Des Moines to attend a Central Iowa Authors NaNoWriMo wrap-up party, then rushing to buy Anna more fish and then rushing home to see Dan quick before he went off to work (stint of five overnights, blarg, but this is his last)—well, really, even without my body deciding I should have only minimal feeling and much pain in my right leg and left shoulder, I don't think much was going to happen. Still. I wanted to keep up with the reportage on my attempts to edit Miles and the Magic Flute live!, so here is what I got done yesterday but did not have time to post.

I have 243 words of a new opening. I do not put any faith in this being the actual opening, but I do think it's a fantastic start, not so much because it is so witty or clever or well-turned, but because there's some gold in there. Take a look.

There were times when Miles Larson thought about what had become of his life and it was all he could do not to stop whatever it was he was doing and scream. This was one of those moments.

He was standing behind Patty’s Pawn Plus, a very nasty, horrid little shop on the edge of town, and he was scraping black, horrid gunk off the tray of a toaster oven. Three months ago he’d been one promotion away from junior VP at Atlantic Trust. Three months ago he’d been dating a lawyer who had made love to him regularly on white silk sheets. Three months ago he’d been living in a chic Atlanta condo plotting the next points of interest on his journey to the perfect life.

Now he was this. Now he worked–out of Patty’s charity—as the go-fer and fix-it man at a redneck pawn shop in Summer Hill, Minnesota, and he lived in Patty’s double-wide to boot. Now he took appliances Patty had salvaged from dumpsters and cleaned them up and tweaked them so they worked well enough to sell. Now he stood here in the freezing cold of an unseasonal October unable to pinpoint when it was exactly he’d last had sex.

His hand that clutched the razor blade trembled, and Miles had to stop, shut his eyes, and clench his teeth in an effort to stop the bellow of rage always lurking inside him.

As openings go, I think that first line is a bit more melodrama than I want. Sometimes that's good, and I may go with that sort of thing in the end, but this story is not really melodramatic. It's more of a knife edge you don't quite see coming and yet when it actually gets you, you realize you kind of did suspect a little. It's creepy, it's dark, it's sad, but it's plucky, too. Some of that is in this, but it's too forced right now in my opinion.

I also don't like how tell-y it is. I do love the juxtaposition of his past life with his present, but I think I'd rather start him right away in action and have this stuff leak in through the scene. That could also be something he tosses out at Patty. It's okay for now, but it's not ideal, and I will cut any of that I need to.

BUT. BUT. What I love? That fucking toaster oven.

When I sit down with this again tomorrow, I'm zeroing in on that appliance and milking it for everything it's got. I love the image of him working on it. I love that he's out in the cold working on it, that he's used to being in Atlanta and now he's in Minnesota. I love the grimness of the task, the humiliation of it. I love the physicalness of it, and I'm itching to work with it, to see what happens when he messes with it. I can feel six or seven different possible scene arcs forming out of it, and I have no idea which one will work. Plus the theme of this is partly that Miles needs to repair his life, and to become humble: to accept the life in front of him, the people in front of him. It's so perfect I'm bouncing in my chair. I'm totally running with that toaster oven.

This is what I love about revising/editing. I love finding the way to a scene that works. I hate when I can't find the way, when I'm banging my head against it, or when I end up with false starts. Which this could still be. But the thing personally I have come to learn about writing is that no word is sacred. Some ideas are, but even those need to be somewhat fluid. For myself, however, I will never be resolute on keeping a turn of phrase or a line. Whenever I do that, I run into big trouble. For me the story is the STORY, the characters and the ideas. I want functional prose. I want words that are servants, not stars. There are genres that are about the turn of the phrase, and that's fine. I will never write that way, however, and I really won't read that stuff, either.

So I don't mind that I wrote 243 words and got a toaster oven out of it. Actually, I could not be happier.

Well, I'd be a lot happier if my body didn't hurt so much tonight. But a Skelaxin, a second Vicodin, and some heavy sleep will fix that, too. And then tomorrow it's just me, a Scrivener document, and a toaster oven. With snow outside my window.

Bliss.

Live Editing, Part 2

2009-12-04T20:46:00Z

This is part two of my "live editing" process of a novel. Part one is here.

After editing the first scene yesterday, I realized I wasn't going to get very far until I reread the whole thing. I didn't let myself do more than the occasional copy edit as far as changes; I just read through all 50,000 words to see how the novel stood up as a whole. My verdict? The opening 5k is weak, but after that, man, this thing takes off. Half-way through it I entered my most favorite of mental states, the one where I am all caught up and tense and anxious to find out what happens next—forgetting that I'm the one who wrote the damn thing. When I get to that point, I know I've hit something good. There were several parts where I choked up, and there was one where I cried.

That said....

It's rough. And in a twist, it's under rather than over-developed. Some of this comes because I wrote it in just over two weeks and with NO preparation whatsoever. None. This started as a Vicodin-induced dream, and I quite literally pulled every word out of the ether. With my NaNoWriMo novel, which needed hardly any editing at all, I was using characters I already knew for the most part, and I took all of October and part of November to do research. Nothing like that here, and it shows. Most of the characters take several thousand words before they really have any character to speak of. Plotlines start, then drop off, then show up again with new clothes on. Scenes start by saying "The first time X happened" and then X never happens again. At this point, the novel is a rough sketch. You could read it and maybe even enjoy it, but it's going to be a lot better with some polishing and rearranging.

So.

After taking this morning to be giddy and crazy about a first release, I sat down and made some notes. Actually, I stood up, and worked at my markerboard.

This image is pretty fuzzy (taken with my iSight camera, so give it a break), but this is how I started. I just wrote down the title, then decided I wanted to list the themes, the devices used to expose those themes, and the conflicts the characters use to explore them. I just wrote down whatever came into my head, but in the case of theme and conflict, I chose the element I thought best summed up the story in that regard and gave it a star. Normally I'd have just stopped with this, then erased or written on the bottom, but I knew I wanted to post this on the blog, so I typed it into Curio. This is what I got from that exercise.

On that Curio map I also included both changes I knew I needed to make and things that I was concerned about but won't really know how to fix until I get into the thick of the thing. My game plan now is to start redrafting scene one later tonight, after I take a break and read for awhile. I am prepared for this to be a grueling process, because I don't have a clear vision of how this opening is going to look. I also strongly, strongly suspect that whatever I put down now will end up being changed once again when I have gone through the whole. Because the first scene is ALWAYS the last to lie down and behave for me. Always.

I will report back on how that goes, and I will also give you a peek at opening version 2.0 once I have it.

More on Hero, plus discount

2009-12-04T15:54:02Z

In my stupor of posting last night, I did not mention a few things about the book and the purchase of it that I should have, and I will correct that now.

Right now, this is where you can get Hero. It will be available at your favorite indie seller, Amazon.com, B&N, and who knows, maybe Borders--but not for 1-10 days. It will all depend on when they get it into their system, and the holiday season will make this more cumbersome than usual. I don't care how you order my book; if you order it in any way, I (and my daughter's college fund) thank you from the bottom of my heart. This said, if you are passionate about purchasing ethics/who makes money where, here is info for you.

Both my publisher and I get more money if you order directly from their site. DSP is still pretty new, and as such it grows a lot stronger with every dollar than most companies you're used to ordering from. We will take your money from anywhere you want to give it to us. But if you're indifferent or intent on knowing where your dollar has the most bang, this is the place. Also, get a 15% discount on Hero and other new titles from Dreamspinner Press by following the link to the GLBT bookshelf here. Sorry that I did not get this discount out in time for some of you, BUT it's worth noting that you can use it on any books on that table. (Maybe on all books at DSP? Why not give it a try!)
Because of point #1, if you order from DSP I can guarantee you rock star service. Something goes wrong with your order or your download? Email me (heidi dot cullinan at mac dot com) and I'll help you out by going direct to the publisher. Or email them. I promise a quick, efficient response.
If you are not comfortable with ordering direct from the publisher, amazon.com is the second best for return on money to both me and to the publisher. Ironic after my distaste over amazonfail (which is still there, btw), but this is the word from on high. So order from Amazon without feeling guilty.
Indie, Barnes & Noble, and Borders (if you can get it from them, which you won't online until they fix their system) are last in order of profit, but they are still on the list. Their distributor takes a big cut, and it hurts the publisher. The reason that paperback is so expensive is because this is a small press, and it costs them a great deal to print them. But again: a sale is a sale, and all are welcome. Use your holiday gift cards to order and don't feel bad about it. I'm going to be using the DSP discount to order some books of my peers, and that takes money away, too. But otherwise I can't afford to do it. So no feeling bad. Just order how you can, wherever you can. Within the next two weeks all you need to order Hero is the ISBN (978-1-61581-286-8). Have at it.
You can also, in a bit, order direct from me. I get to purchase hard copies at a considerable discount from the publisher and can resell them. I need to check the full details of this and will do so next week, but basically if you want to order from me, I can arrange this. Which means I can also write goofy or mushy things in the cover, if you're into that. You'll have to pay for the shipping, which I will figure out. And once I learn all this, I can be more hip with doing it in regards to future books. (If you want this option, leave me a note or email me at the address above.)

I think that's about it. If you have questions, just ask me. If I don't know the answer, I'll go find it and get back to you.

Hero is available for purchase.

2009-12-04T05:24:39Z

Right now just at Dreamspinner's site, but that's not bad at all, because both DSP & I make the most money when it's purchased direct from them. But yeah, I just got the email and went to the link, and low and behold, there is my book, for sale in paperback and eBook.

The eBook is cheaper. And you get it instantly in the format of your choosing. The paperback, of course, is cooler because it screams I AM A BOOK. I don't have mine yet, but trust me, you'll know when I do. There will be some sort of garbled blog post, I'm sure.

ANYWAY. Here. Go buy a book. Or just go and look, because it's a nice little moment.

Behind the scenes: Heidi "live edits" a scene, Part 1

2009-12-04T01:23:23Z

I've heard writers say that blogs and websites can be full of extras like a DVD, including cut scenes and director's commentary equivalents. You know, I really love this idea, and keep hoping it will catch on, because on the one hand, it's interesting to see someone's process, and on another hand, as a writer I find examining other writers' processes instructive. But I'm not stumbling on too much of this.

I get why, because it's a bit The Great And Mighty Oz revealed as a bumbling fool behind the curtain, and it requires some exposing of flaws. Well, as for that, I am full of flaws. Chock. Full. So I'm cool with that. And in that spirit, I'm going to try this and see where it goes. I would have done it with the NaNoWriMo novel, but it just didn't need the kind of editing that would be interesting. So I'll try it with Miles and the Magic Flute, which is in finished draft form but needs some serious hot oil help. My plan is to post the entirety of the first scene in its rough draft state, and then I'm going to MST3K my way through it, picking it apart, appraising it, and eventually laying out my plan for a redraft.

The scene in full can be found here. It's about one thousand words, and the story as best I can give it to you is this: Miles Larson has come back to Summer Hill, Minnesota after being laid off unexpectedly from his job. He is living in a trailer with his friends Patty and Julie, lesbian partners who run a pawn shop on the outskirts of a very small town. Unhappy and with a considerable chip on his shoulder over the turn his life has taken, Miles is having a hard enough time adjusting to reality without it bending on him all the time. Because something strange is going on in the forest beside Patty and Julie's trailer. It's a frosty Minnesota October in Summer Hill, but in that forest, it feels like summer. Miles would also swear someone—or something—is in there with him. He writes his perceptions off as paranoia and signs of his deteriorating sanity, but then a strange silver flute appears at the pawn shop,

and everything changes.

Now when he's in the forest, he doesn't think he's being followed, he knows it—hell, he sees it, because a huge, scary beast-man is coming at him, looking ready to tear him apart. And when a striking, white-haired man on a silver sleigh appears to rescue him—well, that's when things get interesting. And very steamy.

Now I'm going to pick it apart a bit, after the cut.

*

Sometimes Miles thought the forest was strange.

*I'm not wild about this as an opening. It's not really catchy, and it doesn't sum anything up. It sort of sums up this scene, but that to me is just further a sign of how weak this scene is.

He’d thought it was weird in high school, too, but he’d chalked it up then to being young, stupid, and drunk. He was sober now, and he wasn’t young anymore. Stupid he’d claim, but not this stupid.

*Not sure where I was going with this, but I don't even know what I meant here now. Cut.

It was the light. The yellow-pink light in here didn’t match the dull, blue-grey light he’d left when he’d shut the door to Patty and Julie’s trailer and huddled into his thin jacket against the unseasonably cold October air. And that was the other thing: it was warmer here. Not much, but enough to notice. He tried to tell himself that it was because the trees were close and blocked the wind, but something in his hindbrain insisted it was more than that. It was cool here, but there was no frost. There was no bite to the air, not like there was as he’d woven his way through the trailer park. The air felt lighter here. The foliage was stunned by the same early frost that had killed everything in southern Minnesota, and above his head the leaves were well on their way to turned, some of them gone all ready. But it didn’t smell like autumn in the forest. It didn’t smell like rotting leaves and cold. It smelled of grass and sun and dirt. And it felt like summer.

Miles stuffed his hands deeper in his pockets and frowned at the trees.

It had to be his stupid imagination. God knew he was one breeze away from a breakdown, and at this point he had to hope it was only emotional and not mental. Yesterday Julie had caught him with his last severance check crumpled tight inside his fist, and she’d had to go get Patty to shout at him before he came out of his stupor enough to let it go. He didn’t even know why he’d done it, not even now. He only remembered staring down at it, lying on top of the stack of rejection letters from this week’s attempts at finding a new job, and the next thing he’d known Patty was asking him in pointed tones if he wanted to feel the backside of her hand. They’d been nice about it after, even Patty, but it had bothered Miles all night, and at five he’d given up sleeping. He’d tried to walk, but walking in the trailer park only made the strange misery-rage inside him worse, and he’d ended up here, in the forest.

*I like what this is revealing about Miles, but what I'm realizing as I read this for the third time is that this scene has no push. No antagonist of any kind, and it shows. I'd be fine with Miles thinking all this stuff, but he needs a push. But who? I think I know who it needs to be, but that's a spoiler. What would it feel like to Miles, though? Ah. The forest. But a specific part of it, perhaps. Hmm...

He sat down on a stump, braced his elbows against his knees, then gave in and buried his face in his hands.

When he lifted his face again, the forest seemed a lot brighter, which on the one hand made perfect sense, since the sun was coming up, but somehow to Miles it seemed even stranger than it had before. These weren’t the colors of a cold October dawn. These were the colors of summer.

At twilight.

*Yes. This is the forest responding. But there needs to be a beat above that articulates this. Subtly, but it needs to be there. It currently is not.

Miles frowned. He stood, warily, and after a moment’s hesitation, walked deeper into the trees.

There had to be some sort of weather phenomenon here, some trick of geography, because the deeper he walked, the warmer it became. The trees were still losing their leaves, but the sun shining through them frequently made him think he saw buds and flowers on the branches. He could hear the soft rush of water in the distance, but he never saw a stream. If he were in England, he’d think this was some sort of fairy trick. But this was Minnesota. The Lutherans would have guilted any fairies out a long time ago.

Still, the place eased something inside Miles, and after awhile he stopped again, this time leaning against a tree, staring off into the sun poking its way through the grey thickness of the trees, casting them in a warm, rose-and-purple tinted glow.

*Yes, and here there needs to be another beat. Because why does he suddenly talk to himself?

“I just never thought this was where I was going to land at thirty-seven,” he whispered. He stared out into the woods, letting his eyes unfocus, imagining that small white flowers were drifting down in the shafts of sunlight. “I thought I’d have a good job and a killer apartment. That I’d be looking at a promotion, not shoveling my way through job applications that don’t get me anywhere. I thought I’d be adopting too many dogs with my boyfriend and planning vacations to Spain.” He tightened his hands inside his pockets. “I’m better than this. I deserve so much more than this. I didn’t leave this stupid little town only to come back and take a charity job at the lesbian pawn shop.” He shut his eyes and felt the pain and hurt well up inside him. “I’m more than this. I don’t belong here. I don’t care if it’s arrogant to think that way. I don’t. And if I could find the way to get out of this miserable life and into the one where I belong, I would.”

Even with his eyes closed, he felt the light shift, which was why he opened his eyes, just in time to see the rosey-purple fade entirely, replaced briefly with a deep, almost menacing indigo. For one second he could have sworn it was night, and something deep inside Miles went cold and whispered, danger.

But then a single light flashed, bright and white and pure, and then the light shifted again, becoming at last completely, utterly normal. The forest looked as it should: grey, pale, and cold.

*And here's the third beat. Which is an escalation, and it puts him over the edge and makes him leave. It should have been drawing him in until this point, and this pushes him off. He thinks it's over. But he has inadvertently started something and drawn the flute, which he will not realize until much later. Maybe he'll never be conscious of it, but a reader on a second pass-through would go, "Ooh, this is when he draws the flute!!!" and so on.

OR this cold is the other antagonist. Hmm. That's worth considering.

And it felt cold, too, inspiring Miles to huddle deeper into his jacket and weave his way back through the trees to the trailer park. He tried to tell himself that he’d just imagined all of it, that he was overtired, that there had been no funny light, no warm air, no odd smells. He just needed to get back to the trailer and try to get some sleep. That was all.

But as he came through the clearing that marked the edge, he could have sworn he felt a feather-light touch against the nape of his neck, and when he turned towards the source, he could have sworn he felt something soft and warm and damp against his cheek. Like a kiss.
Apparently I could do with some medication as well, Miles thought, and hunched his shoulders high up to his ears, practically running the rest of the way to the trailer.

*Yeah, there are two forces here. So that's actually even better. We see Miles and the forest, but we also have invisible antagonist A and antagonist B, whose presences are felt within the forest. So I need to rewrite this with antagonists in.

Rockin'.

*

So, if you have enjoyed this little exercise, tell me here, or on twitter, or something, and I might do more of them. Well, maybe I will anyway. I actually got a lot out of this. Off to ponder....

Post NaNoWriMo, or, Days of Dullness and Depression

2009-12-02T16:19:08Z

People often stare at me and regard me with extreme suspicion when they find out how much I write. I never know how to respond. I usually murmur something about how I don't have a formal day job, how I don't watch TV, or I just titter and change the subject. The real reason I write so much? Because I can't stand not to. Life when there is not fiction simmering hot in the back of my brain, when the door to a story is not open, is hands-down the worst version of the world I can imagine, so I don't stay in that state long. I will be opening up Miles and the Magic Flute for editing by the end of the week, and after that it will be a knock-down fight between STB and TSV. But right now is the fallow time. It's time for horribly dull things like laundry and dishes and organizing. It's also time for awkward things like pimping myself on Facebook because Hero is out on Friday. Which is a good segue to direct you to my fan page. (Whore, whore, whore!) Soon I'll start Christmas shopping, and cookie baking, and that's all good stuff. BUT. Right now, it is the time for mourning. A novel has come. A novel has finished. It's like that moment when you get off the roller coaster ride you stood in line for three hours for. Yes, it was wonderful. And now it's over. You have the sad.

My twitter feed is full of other writers mourning their loss. Our local group, the FATABULOUS CIA AUTHORS, is experiencing not just End of Novel but also End of Local Write-Ins. Every night for the month of November there was a group of friends and fellows getting together in coffee shops, writing, laughing, cheering, and dancing for Demon TV. Now it's over. It's like when you get out of college and suddenly your 50 best friends do not live down the hall and wave at you in the bathroom. It's awful. And really, there's not much to do but sit with that and wait for it to go away. The best cure I know for End of Novel is to start a new story, but you can't just put one down and pick up the next one, not quite that easily. You can, but it still takes a few days for the excitement to start again.

So my best recommendation is a distraction. To that end, until you go Christmas shopping, until you start baking, or until you open a new document and start a new "once upon a time," here are some things to do. In honor of my NaNoWriMo novel, here is Lady Gaga's "Poker Face."

EMBED-Lady GaGa - Poker Face - Watch more free videos

And because she's referenced in Double Blind (that's my novel again), here's a little roller disco loving.

Really, how can you be sad when you're in Xanadu?

Okay, yes. Your novel is still done. So is mine. You can't skip the DDD days, because End of Novel is always a downer. But you can always go reread it, and you can hum along with Oliva and Lady G while you do that laundry you put off for a month.

If nothing else, know I'm right there with you, waiting impatiently for that door to Story to open again.

Double Blind: Chapter One

2009-11-30T19:33:39Z

It's not Tuesday, but I'm ticking items off my to-do list, and this one is on it. Here is the edited, probably final or close to it opening to Double Blind. It's coming to you as a link and not a past because LJ and pasting are being stupid right now.

Here is chapter one. It's PG rated. Well, there's some cussing. There is flirting and gambling and drinking. But that's all for potential objectionables.

Now I have to go fix something at the end, and then it's beta time. Cate, you're on the list. Anyone else aching to read this in raw form should speak now.

NaNoWriMo 2009: In Summary

2009-11-28T15:54:56Z

What I learned this year in NaNoWriMo, by Heidi Cullinan

Just keep swimming. Write, write fast, write often, and whatever you do, do not fucking stop to think about it. That way lies death.
Plot is death. Go ahead and think you know what the plot is, but mostly you don't know and you shouldn't. Pretend you're in control to the degree you need to believe it, and then just do lamaze when your control falls apart. The best parts are the parts that arise out of the moment and your desperation to make it work. Just like in real life.
When in doubt, the characters should have sex. Really, it works every time.
Don't worry about the stuff that contradicts itself and/or defies logic. You honestly will figure it out later. Because in the kind of stories you write, the emotion and the relationship is the main gig. Everything else serves it and will morph appropriately to fit. Yes, even reality. Because nobody is actually going to read this story for that stuff. They're here for the boys and the ride they take. Everything else is secondary.
Stab the fucking rules of all kinds in the neck and let them bleed by the side of the road. Even if they're good rules, they're not good in a draft. Also, you're very smart, and you'll subconsciously follow almost all the ones that you need to. The only thing that matters is the story.
No assessments as to story worth, structure, or anything else should be made during drafting. Everything I thought about the story while I wrote it was nearly universally wrong, and every single complaint was either wrong entirely or wrong enough that it should be jettisoned. I thought the pacing was bad. It is not. I thought the characters were too weepy. They are not. I thought it took too long to get to the climax. It does not. I thought the external plot was implausible. It needs some tweaking, but it's not, not for this story. In short, if I'd have listened to my own nags, I'd have quit or edited stuff that worked.
A support network is the most beautiful thing in the world. I had support in lots of ways. I exchanged daily or semi-daily posts with my brilliant, fantastic, wonderful beta reader Sue, and she sent me her draft in kind. Sometimes her little "love this" comments were what pushed me on to the next scene or to the end of the one I was writing. Reading her work was like a reward, and she taught me things, too, like to not go look up the street but say [some street] and just keep writing. Also, to describe some things in more detail. And to keep being brave. I also had the support of the Central Iowa Authors, on twitter and live and in person. I so passionately love the CIAnano group. I love going through the edits on this and thinking, "I wrote that at Smokey Row." "I wrote that part at Borders." One of the hardest scenes to write was at the big CIA Stakeout last Saturday, and I wrote it IN PUBLIC between Kyl and our ML's husband. When Sue read it, she said, "How did you write this without breaking down?" And I thought about it, and I really believe it was because I was sitting next to friends and surrounded by love and support. Yes, I had to stop and breathe a few times, but mostly I was okay, because I felt very safe. That is so hard to get with even one person, but to have a whole group like that? And they're so supportive for my release next week, and so excited, and I go there and feel like I'm home. Thanks, Sue, and thanks CIA. And lest we forget, many thanks to amazon_lj_nano and all the fun I had putting in your cameos. Which I need to go update, I'm realizing now. And Dan. We will never forget Dan, who did too many dishes, and listened to me babble, and then when it was done and heard it was mostly intact as a draft, begged to begin reading it.

So this is what I've learned this November. My goal now is to finish putting in the corners and the support beams and clearing out the heavy equipment so I can knock up a synopsis and blurb and send this to Dreamspinner. Because I want another publishing date, goddamn it. No, two isn't enough. I want another one. I want to see Randy's cover, man!

There will be a chapter one teaser as soon as Dan gets done pointing out where I said black when I meant red and called the characters by each other's names. For now, a post to my fellow amazons, and then back to the edits. Well, and maybe a shower and a coffee refill.

NaNoWriMo 2009: The End

2009-11-25T22:18:12Z

Houston, we have a Happily Ever After!

Last word: "forever."

Final word count: 140,127. Unless you're NaNoWriMo, who says it's 139,235. Either way, it's THE END.

NaNoWriMo 2009, Day 25: The End Comes Today

2009-11-25T11:43:31Z

I hope it's not an omen for my typing skills for the day that the title above was briefly "The End Comes Toady." Also not an omen for the end, because boy is that not the resolution I'm going for.

Had to go to bed last night with one of the heroes hurtled headlong into the black moment and the other one close behind. Just couldn't do it. I figured I'd end up back here as soon as my brain could get me rested enough to function again, and so it is. So as soon as I finish this cup of tea and switch to coffee, on we go.

At this particular moment, the resurrected casino is in full swing, with mobsters and high rollers and showgirls (and boys!) dancing in the aisles and flash mobs appearing to do disco between the tables at regular intervals. The slot machines are gone and the poker tables are in the forefront, and people are lined up around the block because Someone Very Special is performing in a few hours. Of course, the one hero just left because he thinks the party is over for him, that he has to give up the other hero.

WE KNOW IT'S NOT TRUE. But it's still a fantastic ride to worry that maybe, just maybe it isn't. Off to go finish it.

While listening to Olivia Newton-John sing "Heart Attack."

Special Delivery has cover art.

2009-11-24T18:39:27Z

ETA: Had this under friends-only until I had official permission: here's the cover for my second book, which will be out in February. I think it's absolutely gorgeous.

Cover artist is Anne Cain.

NaNoWriMo 2009, Day 23: It just keeps going and going and going.

2009-11-24T05:19:48Z

118,713 words. Not done yet, but I think I'm heading around the corner. We're ramping up to the conclusion-ish part. But this puppy's going to have 130k before it's done, I'm starting to think. Holy cats.

I like it, though. Surely it needs some trimming, but it's still as fun as hell to write. I just love every last one of these characters. Some of it might be kind of crazy, which I'll sort out later. But I'm having such a good time. Still want it to end, though, because I don't want it to be too much of a mess. I want it to be readable, and I want it to be something I can put together before too much Christmas happens so I can send it off to DSP and forget about it entirely. Of course, there's poor Miles waiting for the same treatment.

It's been really, really good to be drafting so much, though: the whole of the past two months, that's all I've done, except for the brief pause to do edits and galleys on Hero. I'm eager to have finished not just one but TWO drafts. And yes, I'll admit it: it's really, really nice to have somewhere to send them. My goal for 2010 is to find a place like that for the Etsey books and STB.

I keep trying to close this with something witty, but my brain is kind of blitzed. I guess I'll go with commenting on how amazed I am at how it doesn't matter what story it is, I always start with one idea in mind and find something else happens entirely. I thought this book was going to be about poker and Randy being super-seductive and maybe there being some struggle with Ethan's old flame. It's turned out to be about gangsters and Vegas and safe spaces and fate vs. odds. There's poker, and Randy will always be Randy, but he's the one who is vulnerable, not Ethan. I knew I wanted Sam and Mitch to come back, but I thought they'd be a cameo shot, not so integral to the plot. I never knew Sam was going to play such a big role again. I suspected, after what Sam, Randy, and Mitch did in Special Delivery, that there might be some menage, but I never, never, never dreamed that their relationships would play out this way, that their unions with each other would end up meaning so much to their emotional arcs. Hell, even the plot arcs.

I never knew I could write so much about a town I've only visited for less than half a day. Or motorcycles and how to ride them and poker and how to be an expert at it, or marijuana (which I've never smoked, but there's a whole scene with it), or hell, half the novel. I'm just amazed every day I sit down that I can write a story that is all from me, and I know where the source is for almost everything in it, and yet talk about not writing what you know.

Also, I had no idea I would listen to this much Madonna while I wrote. I've tried to put her songs in before, but they never took. These just walked in and took over. And so much Hard Candy, too. I don't even like that album! But now, here it is.

Anyway. That's day 23. I continue to make stuff up, and the continues not to end yet. Tomorrow I suspect there will be more of the same.

NaNoWriMo 2009, Day 22: Walls without end

2009-11-22T16:03:16Z

Notes to self:

Worrying about pacing when you are writing your first draft is a very dumb thing to do. If that's a harsh statement, fine, dial it back: it's not helpful to worry about pacing when you are writing your first draft. But it's caustic, too. It slows you down and screws you up. Yes, fine, it means more work later. Deal with it, Cullinan. Sure you got a pass on Special Delivery on that one, just like you asked for. On this one you didn't. Cope. You don't get a pony every Christmas. And anyway, you might find you like this way better. You usually end up happy with the road you took once you're back at the inn again. Also, if you DON'T ignore the bad pacing and bad sequencing and get to the end, you won't ever get to fix it at all.
Yes, maybe the boys are too angsty or sopping at times. You can edit that too.
This whole list is going to boil down to "finish and then you can edit." Really, you need to keep going? Okay. Oh, you want to address THAT one. Fine. New number.
Yes, the story will end. Yes, it will end before 200k. You're being dramatic. Stop. Yes, it's feeling like the rewrite of STB you had to abandon because it would not end. Yes, it's because you used more than one POV this time. Yes, it's harder this way. But yes, it will end, and sooner than you think. You have that little outline there--and it works, you know it does. Of course you won't stick to the outline. You never do! But it will help you get to the real ending. Just keep going. You want to be done by November 30, and you're closer to that goal than you think you are. Or, rather, you are as close as you think you are and not as far away as you're afraid you are.
Just keep having fun. It's okay to have fun. It's okay to write stuff you cut. It's okay to have to rewrite whole sections. It's fine. Just stop typing this entry and go write. Don't try to be first in the class and hardly have to edit. Don't do anything but write the story that shows up when you sit down. You'll edit later. You'll rewrite later. You'll go batshit crazy analytical. Right now you are writing the most fun, most engaging characters you've written since Charles. Just go party in Vegas for another twenty thousand words or whatever it takes and pay the credit card later. You have more credit on this one than you give yourself credit for.

(This post, of course, revealing that while I am so glad that other one meant so much to other people, it was aimed squarely at my own head as well.)

12,251

2009-11-21T04:15:52Z

That number is my word count for the day.

No, I have no idea what sparked that, outside of a desire to get this story to THE END. My total word count is over 100k. This is a still of my progress graph. Can you tell when I got copy edits, had an 8 year-old's birthday with two parties, and then got galleys? I bet you can.

I can feel the Big Climax coming up around the corner, but it's still coming up slow. I bet this goes to 120-130k as a first draft, and YES it needs some editing. Anyway. It's coming along. It's also a shitload of fun.

Oh what the hell, let's end with a teaser, and then I need to go do dishes and fold clothes. Let's see, what to post? Karaoke to Lady Gaga? The demon statue and his strained fig leaf? You are not, alas, getting the best stuff I wrote today, which featured four naked men. Oh, okay. You get shopping and Sheep Launcher, and Randy who always feels the need to "help" when men go to try on clothes.

*
But to his surprise, Sam bore himself pretty well. Randy had been bracing, Ethan knew, for another meltdown, and even when one didn’t happen it was clear that Ethan was still ready for it, whenever it should hit. But it didn’t. Sam was very quiet, and he wiped tears away every now and again, and he leaned on Randy as he drove them all back through town. But he didn’t melt down.

“Well,” Randy said at last, a little too brightly, “what will we do with our day, boys? Still want to go to Zion, Sam?”

Sam shook his head and leaned harder into Randy. Randy, in turn, looked slightly panicked, and turned to Ethan.

“I still need to go shopping,” Ethan said.

Randy seized on the idea. “Yes. Shopping. I forgot. Okay. So. Where are we going? Forum Shops? Miracle Mile again?”

“I don’t want to go to the Forum Shops,” Sam said, rousing himself to object.

“Sure. No problem. We can go anywhere. What about Fashion Show?”

Sam seemed to consider this. “The Apple store is there, right?” From the look on Randy’s face, Ethan suspected if there wasn’t, he’d try to quickly get one built while Sam used the restroom. But Sam saved him by pulling out his iPhone and hitting several buttons. “Yes,” he said, after a few more taps. Then he turned to Ethan. “That okay? Fashion Show?”

Ethan was assuming this wasn’t actually a fashion show, but a place. “Sure.” He nodded at Sam’s iPhone. “May I see that? Because a phone is one of the first things I need to get.”

“No problem,” Sam said, passing it over. “I love it. Mitch has one, too.”

Ethan turned the device over a few times in his hand, then started tapping buttons. It was surprisingly easy to use, and user-friendly. “I had a Blackberry before, which I’d just assumed I’d get again. But maybe it’s time for something new.”

“The games are great.” Sam sat up and leaned over towards Ethan. “Here. You need Sheep Launcher.”

“Sheep Launcher?” Ethan repeated, dubious.

“Yeah. It’s a free app, though I splurged and spent a dollar [check price] to get the full version. See this sheep?” He pointed to an animated fluffy white beast with an aviator cap on sitting at the bottom of a carnival game, the type where a mallet is meant to swing down and slam the great red button. “Hit the button, and he’ll fly up. Keep tapping on him so he doesn’t fall, and he’ll just keep going and going and going.”

Ethan seriously doubted the utility of this action, but decided he would play along for Sam’s sake. So he hit the sheep, watched him fly up, then saw him falling and failed to tap him before the screen announced that his game was over.

“Try again,” Sam urged.

Ethan did. And then tried again, and then again, and then his sheep was seriously airborne, and he lost track of how many times he’d kept it going, and then it was actually in outer space. When the truck stopped, Randy’s call of “all right” distracted him, otherwise he would have made it all the way to the moon, he was sure of it. Ethan looked up at Sam, a little surprised to find that he was not animated and bouncing on a white pillow.

“I’m getting an iPhone,” he said, and Sam beamed at him.

The Fashion Show was actually a mall, and a high end one at that. It was as Vegas as everything else, full of lights and display and a show on every corner. Though Ethan noticed the thing it was not full of was people. They practically had the place to themselves.

“This is bad,” Randy said, grimacing as he scanned the empty concourse. “Of course, as usual, this city is a metaphor for the country. We didn’t just bring everybody in to gamble: we brought them in to eat in fancy restaurants and shop in fancy malls, and go to expensive shows. And now we’re the playground of kings and queens in a country full of overnight paupers and those who are afraid—and probably rightly so—that they’re next.”

And I’m going to resurrect a casino in the middle of this. Ethan smiled grimly and slapped Randy a little too hard on his shoulder. “Thanks for the pep talk, Ace.”

“Anytime, Slick. You want your iPhone first, or are we hungry? Because I haven’t had sushi in awhile, and RA is just around the corner.”

“Apple store.” Sam was punching at the face of his iPhone again, then looked up and pointed down the concourse. “This way.”

Ethan ended up getting himself a laptop as well as an iPhone, and since he was already spending so much money he tossed on a set of casino and card games as well. They hung out in the store awhile, Sam gushing over everything Mac. He also sent several texts to Mitch, and at Randy’s urging they sent him video as well of them stuffing sushi into one another’s faces, because that was where Randy dragged them after. Then they trolled for some more clothes for Ethan, some casual, some extraordinarily fancy, but at Ethan’s insistence, highly conservative.

“When I’m at work, I like to be inconspicuous,” he said, when Randy tried to push him into wilder shirts and ties.

“But you want to stand out a little, too,” Randy argued, not backing down. He handed Ethan a shirt that was traditionally structured but tinted lavender, and when you came close, hinted slightly at paisley. “You aren’t an investment broker anymore. You’re a mob man. Dress the part.”
“I thought you said the best mobsters were invisible,” Ethan said.

“I said you they were anyonymous. I didn’t say they dressed so dully that they put nuns to sleep. Here.” He handed him a stack of shirts. “Go put these on under your suit and then try and tell me I’m not right.”

Ethan arched his eyebrow as he took the clothes from him. “What, you aren’t going to come ogle me while I change?”

That made Sam smile, and Randy held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Well if you’re going to insist, I suppose I must,” he agreed, and they all went back into the changing rooms.

*
And now I really should probably go to sleep. Right after the dishes . . . .

Hey, Author--YOU DO NOT SUCK.

2009-11-20T20:05:35Z

I would like to take this moment to put out a public service message, a ~~gentle~~ reminder to all authors, be they participating in NaNoWriMo or not, be they in the opening stages of their novels, slogging through the middle or juggling the chaos of the third act. Yes, even you poor slobs who are afraid you have not just no acts (or don't know what they are and are worried now that there's something ELSE to fail at, thanks a lot) but no plot, no antagonist, not even any real character, just a hot mess and a sore shoulder and enough angst to even turn off David Boreanaz playing Angel. Yes--that bad. The message is this: I'm sorry, even given all this, you still don't suck. Or, perhaps more accurately, you don't suck any worse than anybody else writing a novel. You don't even suck worse than a best-selling uber-author writing her eighteenth-zillion novel. Because this doubt, this fear, this everything is normal. It's part of the gig. Because it's not your novel that is sucking. It isn't even you. It's the process of creating, and it always happens. Always. To everybody.

Look, here's the thing: you started with An Idea. Maybe it was A Fucking Great Idea. Maybe it was just a quiet little one, humble or worse, simple. You were going to write a story, anyway. You either knew what it was or knew the shape of it. You had an idea about it, anyway. And so you started, and it went well at first, or you faked it and at least had a good time. And then it went a little off the rails. That's okay, you said. It's fine. These things happen. You rolled with it. "It's just a draft," you said to yourself. Then you said it again. Then you taped it do your monitor. Then you started posting blog posts about it, or giving impassioned speeches to the checkout clerk at the grocery store, explaining to them that drafts are messy and this is the way it goes. Maybe they even forgot to scan your milk and you got it for free because they were so ~~freaked out~~ amazed by your ~~unstable appearance~~ brilliance. Or you just told the dog, who always understands and empathizes. Whatever, you got through. Or you just put the thing away and watched Glee again because it makes you feel good. The bottom line is, you got by.

But now here you are. Now you are sitting down with this un-story, this mess, and you are seriously afraid. You're afraid that you don't have what it takes. You're afraid that your idea, be it great or humble, just isn't going to fly, or that it is actually a good idea but you don't have the chops. You can see this, and worse, you can see that it is there, glaring at you, and you know it has always been there. And you are absolutely terrified that you are the last one to have been able to see this, that there are meetings probably in every country of the globe where they whisper and cringe at what a spectacle you are making of yourself, because how awful is it that it's so painfully obvious to the entire human population and even three other star systems that clearly YOU are never going to be able to do this, but just don't know. And no one can bear to tell you, so you just go on, tragic and pathetic. You think, now that you see it, that you should just quietly shut down your computer and close your notebook and pretend this never happened.

Well, that's an option. But personally, I advise against it.

Do you want to know the dirty truth about story? Do you want to know the real gritty truth that no one will tell you? The shocker so awful it will curl your hair and turn it white? Sure, you're still reading, so I'll tell you. The truth is that the people who finish novels are the people who face that gate I just described above and then keep going. The people who finish novels are not the smartest people or the most creative or even the most aware. In fact, this might be a case were a little ignorance helps a lot. The people who finish novels are the people who go all the way to the end. They aren't the people who have the best plots or the most amazing characters. They are not the people whose very existence is so compelling that muses descend from clouds and teach them how to overcome their obstacles. They are the people who simply go on. They see that pit above, the pit that exists in every single story of every length and every shape and every level of "worth" and "skill" and "value," and after they see it, they find a way over it or around it and they go on until the end.

That's it.

A finished novel is a finished novel. It is not the novel that mirrors the vision you had for it. It isn't the one that your mother or your mentor or your partner approves of. It's almost never the one that you approve of. It's flawed. It's got a shitload of errors. It is lopsided and probably has more holes than swiss cheese. It's a big fucking mess. But it has a beginning, an end, and stuff in between. That's it. That's all it has.

You want a great novel? Edit. Rewrite. You want an even better novel? Write another one. You want to be a master? Keep writing. Every damn day, whenever you can, however it works. You want to find the way over that shitty trap I described above, the gaping pit of awareness that tries to steal your soul and eat your novel? Then walk up to that pit and stare it down. Find out what you're made of and what your novel is, and swallow the horrible, gut-wrenching truth that no novel is perfect, no, not even yours, not even your favorites that you love so much, the ones you know you can never be as good as. Every one of them has that pit in it, the place where you are tempted to turn away and have to decide if you have the determination to go on. Some people get good at jumping over it. Some people never find the courage to face it. Some people spend their writing career or a good portion of it trying to stare that demon down.

But whatever you do, no more of this shit where you say your novel is bad, or you aren't smart enough or whatever. That isn't what this is about. This is about writing your story. This is about getting through. This is about practice, about strength, and above all, about will. You'd be amazed at how little plot and character have to do with it when you're talking about getting it done. Because you never know--they might be there. You might be surprised. And you might not. You might find that this one was practice. But that doesn't mean you can't finish it.

You finish a novel by getting to the end. The people who finish novels are not the people who do not suck or even the people writing the stories that do not suck. They are simply the people who don't quit. So don't quit. And you'll be fine.

Seriously. Quit staring into the pit, and I swear to God, it will truly be that easy.

See you on the other side.

NaNoWriMo 2009: Day what?

2009-11-18T05:40:43Z

This is clearly going to be One Of Those Books. It must be something about more than one POV, because I was fine when I did Hero and Special Delivery with one POV, but man, I have two in Double Blind and now I'm at 80k and still not turning the corner. Well, I've turned a corner but it feels like into act two, which let me tell you, act two is not meant to happen at 80k in a 100k book. Which has me thinking this book is going to be 120. I also am pretty sure I'm going to have to redo the structure a bit after, and collapse and combine. Or something. But long. We are looking at long.

The good news is that Dreamspinner, whom I am contractually obligated to offer this to first since it has recurring characters from Special Delivery (and whom I would offer it to anyway because they are Home), I found out today does not have a word limit. The story has to legitimately require that many words, but pretty much when I asked how long can it be, the answer was, "As long as it needs to be." It just made me feel really good, because I keep hearing rumors about even big name houses saying, "You have to keep it under 100k because of money" and then here I am with people saying, "Whatever the story needs." Like I said. Home.

So I haven't been posting because I've been busy, but also because (again, on cue!) this book is freaking me out. Too long. Too deep. And it's Randy who is vulnerable more than Ethan, which I shouldn't take so personally, but I am. So lots of raw. And my break over the weekend taught me that breaks are somewhat deadly. I really had to climb back on top of it today, and I barely made it. Of course, I'm going to get galleys soon (had copy edits on Friday. ARG. I have a comma problem.), so I will have to slow again. But yeah. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.

Lots of nice moments. I'd tease, but I don't know what to post yet. Maybe just a snippet, though, something out of context and fun? Oh, I've got it. Randy and the kitten. Her name is Salomé.

*
Randy washed his face, brushed his teeth, did all the usual things before bed that he hadn’t done since Ethan had showed up, but he avoided his own reflection while he did it all, and when it was done, he shut off the light and went into his room, peeled off his clothes, put on a pair of knit pants, and climbed into his bed, where he drew the covers to his waist and stared up at the ceiling. He didn’t know what everyone else was doing or what they’d think of his absence, and he didn’t care.

Much.

He didn’t know how much time had passed; all he knew was that the door, which he hadn’t fully shut, was gently nudged open a little wider, and he turned, bracing to face whoever it was. But no one stuck their head in, and the door didn’t open any wider. Randy was frowning and trying to decide what the hell that had been about when there was a soft rip, rip beside his bed, and he turned towards the sound just in time to see Salomé appear beside his head.

She mewed in inquiry, then came forward, purring.

Randy gave her a wry smile and turned on his side as he reached over to stroke her head. “Hey, baby,” he said. “What are you doing in here?”
She mewed again, then purred louder as she nuzzled his hand. When he stopped petting, she reached out and nudged his nose with her paw, then, in afterthought, came forward and licked it, too. She decided she liked it and proceeded to give him a thorough tongue bath. Unable to help himself, Randy laughed, and held still, enjoying it in a weird little way.

They held a quiet communion for awhile, Randy petting, Salomé purring and licking, and then after a while she began to nest against his pillow, then curled up right next to Randy’s face, tucked her nose into his neck and her legs against his chest, and went to sleep.

Randy petted her for a few minutes, and followed suit.

He woke briefly, the room fully dark, no light from the hall, the house silent as the bed behind him dipped, and he felt Ethan’s long, warm body slide in against his. He tried to give him some room, but he murmured, too, “Don’t wake the kitten,” and Ethan just stroked his shoulder and whispered, “Go back to sleep, Ace,” and Randy did, a part of him he didn’t even know was tense easing as Ethan wrapped first his arm and then his leg around Randy, and then he fell, easily and deeply, into the sleep of kings.

The official HERO publication post (with dates and ISBNs!)

2009-11-16T14:30:26Z

I posted the photo last night on LJ-Friends feed only because I was waiting for the official word to share, but I not only have the official word to share, I have a date, I have an ISBN, I have a link to the "coming soon" page on Dreamspinner. So I'll post all that, and then I'll fill in some other information that I know, and speculate on some others. First, the pretty:

Here I am at Dreamspinner. This is the coming soon page, and right now it says only e-book. It's print too, but that isn't listed yet. (I think this literally went up last night.) Another place you can watch is on my author page there. There's something about a wish list on that first page, but when I click it, it just tells me my shopping cart is empty, so that might not be the way to go.

As best I understand, this will also be available through Amazon, and possibly B&N. Right now if you search for me on Amazon all you get are the books for other people that I've done critiques for and they thanked me in the intro (which somehow comes up in the search). Basically, though, once I know more I will share it. If you're on here or any of my social networks, trust me, when it's Dec 4, you'll know.

I think that's it for now. Unless someone has a question, or wants to squee with me.

Anna turns 8

2009-11-16T02:32:20Z

My beautiful baby turned eight years old today.

Her father did a beautiful tribute which you can find here. Her mother is too exhausted to move and will now lie about and stare at the ceiling.

Love you baby girl. Love you very, very, very much.

NaNoWriMo 2009: Day 13, Update and new "cover"

2009-11-13T15:11:39Z

I've altered the DOUBLE BLIND icon for LJ, which no one will notice but me, except that maybe this time I had a harder time fighting the lighting/spotlight feature in Adobe. All I really wanted to do was change the Ace of Spades to an Ace of Hearts because DUH it should have been that all along. I also, because I could, altered the Curio page. The main Curio page is still this

But I also played with the "cover" that I've posted on the NaNoWriMo site (along with the blurb which I already suspect is inaccurate), and here it is, for your viewing pleasure.

What I love about that mock-up are all the little inside bits. That's the Bellagio fountain, which is a scene, and the dice are important, as are the chips vs. the dice, and the Ace and the Joker are deliberate. Le sigh.

Current word count is 70k something. I want to finish the scene I'm in, then I want to get into the last act, which I feel like I should have been in about 15k ago, but this is what edits are for. The story has not at all behaved as I thought it would. I thought it was going to be Ethan whom this brought to his knees, not Randy, but looking back now it's amazing I thought it could be any other way.

I also got edits last night for Hero, which means I am now officially two projects at once. Add in Anna's birthday this weekend with parties on both Saturday and Sunday, and we're looking at a whole lot of not writing between now and Monday. Which isn't my favorite thing in the world, but we'll cope.

That's the state of the me. Now going to admire my cover a bit longer, then get back to work.

Wheels

2009-11-12T03:27:33Z

Okay, overall, it was really good. And I loved the directions they were going. And I loved Kurt singing "Defying Gravity." I loved Puck. I loved the focus on Artie. I loved the hash cupcakes. I loved big dopey Finn. FUCKING LOVED Kurt's dad.

But.

What the fuck was up with Artie being in love with apparently not Tina but her stutter? Okay, actually I buy that, but not the way it was delivered. I mean, all the beats were there, but they didn't sell it.

Of course, as I write this I'm listening to the sexual harrassment suit that is Will Shuester singing "Busta Move" to and with his high school girls. So clearly any attempt to ground this show in reality is a foolish gesture.

I liked the whole Puck-Finn-Quinn storyline a lot. And I loved the Kurt and his dad, but I did NOT buy the random phone call and so Kurt throws the solo. And really, this combined with the Tina/stutter/Artie love triangle sums up the whole thing. It was such a great concept, this episode. And if you squint and tilt your head, it's still really, really good. But they stepped on too many of the arcs for me to really enjoy it. It's still not topping "Preggers" as the top ep, despite the hype.

We aren't even going to go into the Sue with Downs Syndrome sister. Okay, we are. I buy it, maybe, but this is the woman who euthanized her elderly mother. I like it on the one hand because it makes her less of a caricature and more real, but it is damn freaky every time they do that to Sue. I'm eager to see her turn back into a monster. Though I did like how she insisted on treating the Downs Syndrome cheerleader equally.

Bottom line: it was Glee. It's often better when it's bad, so I'll just say pass me another has cupcake and maybe some of Kurt's flask from that episode with Cristin Chenoweth and it'll all be fine.

NaNoWriMo 2009: The Mug

2009-11-11T14:14:54Z

My fabulous in-laws, Tom and Nina, go regularly to Las Vegas and have been telling us for years we should go and use their time-share they have there. We have yet to do so, though after writing this novel that may change, because now I'm really chomping to go see all this stuff I wrote about. But Tom and Nina often come back from their travels to Vegas with presents, usually coffee cups for Dan because he collects them. But one time they came home with one for me.

At the time I didn't know that I really needed a Las Vegas mug with my name on it, since at that time I was only lukewarm about the city on my best days. This is very funny as now I have used that mug every single day since November 1, and a little bit before as a warm-up. If it's dirty in the dishwasher, I pull it out and use it. I won't use one of the other LV mugs, either--it must be that mug or bust. I can't even tell you why, really, but I think it's because it was a present from two people I love very much, and because it has my name on it. It sends some subconscious signal that Vegas is mine, so of course I can write it! What does it matter I've barely been there? Damn it, I have the mug with my name on it!

So thanks again, Tom and Nina. You knew what I needed before I did.

Lady Gaga - Bad Romance

2009-11-11T02:19:19Z

I've been loving the song for some time, enjoying a bad rip from some something somewhere, but the video is beautiful. I assume there is some album out soon? I've snagged the single now that it's officially out, but this video?

Yes. I love this bitch.