Moving to Live Journal

I've been on Blogger for years now but I think I'm going to make the hop to Live Journal for a while.

Go to http://l-nunnink.livejournal.com/ to keep reading.

So they found the gun stash. Suddenly my book has tuned into a corny action movie.

Happy 4th Everyone!

On weaponry

So far I've been avoiding the use of modern weaponry in my story. I don't have any good reason except I just can't picture my characters lugging around machine guns like Rambo. But the setting is Post-Apocalyptic so semi-automatics, grenades, and whatnot could feasibly be in the picture.

I'm thinking that my characters might discover a weapon stash, something like the scene in Terminator 2.

*Gag* I'm such a geek.

Obligatory personality survey

I don't know why these are so interesting. But they are.

Your Score: Jimmy Stewart

You scored 7% Tough, 9% Roguish, 80% Friendly, and 4% Charming!

You are the fun and friendly boy next door, the classic nice guy who still manages to get the girl most of the time. You're every nice girl's dreamboat, open and kind, nutty and charming, even a little mischievous at times, but always a real stand up guy. You're dependable and forthright, and women are drawn to your reliability, even as they're dazzled by your sense of adventure and fun. You try to be tough when you need to be, and will gladly stand up for any damsel in distress, but you'd rather catch a girl with a little bit of flair. Your leading ladies include Jean Arthur and Donna Reed, those sweet girl-next-door types.

Find out what kind of classic dame you'd make by taking the
Classic Dames Test.

Link: The Classic Leading Man Test written by gidgetgoes on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Jean Arthur? Donna Reed? OK by me.

Gut checks

After my forced hiatus I thought it was a good time to evaluate what was working with my current draft and what wasn't. Over the course of writing any story it's easy to loose focus and get bogged down in the mire of churning out paragraphs. Yeah, the paragraphs need to get out there but there's also got to be a destination. Here's where my draft stands in my latest estimation:

The Good

1. Plot

I've got this plot laid out very neatly in my head. A first for me. I've got the arc, the backstory, the destination, the conflict. It's all there. I know where my characters are going and how they get there.

2. Setting

Another first for me. My stories have always had vague setting at best. I think I always wrote this off as being "Postmodern". Yeah, right. But this time around I'm loving my setting. Working on it is a blast.

3. Prose

I think my prose is improving the more I write. I still don't have a very strong voice but I think this is just going to take time. Honestly I think "voice" can be overrated too. I'll settle for telling a story, not a Levi Nunnink Story.

The Somewhere-in-Between

1. Specific setting

I mentioned that I love my setting but I think my next draft is going to need to give the reader more clues as to the specifics. I can't just say "house". What kind of house? A hut, a farmhouse, a cottage? The good news for me is that I know the answer.

2. Dialogue

I feel like my dialogue is OK. But it's not exactly great ether. Could use some improvement but I'm not making it top priority.

Needs work

1. Characters

For me my characters are usually my strong point but this time around they aren't. I blame it all on trying to write two of my main character as angsty. Just for the record, I'm not an angsty person. Apparently that means I don't write angsty people well. I've had to go back and change a lot of my character development. Penelope used to be full of anger and bitterness; now she's in denial and emotionally distant. That's something I can relate to. The only exception to this is Lilith. She's a really strong character for me. Nothing about her is going to change.

So there we are. I need to work on my characters.

Climbing back into the saddle...

The above photo (minus the wry smile) pretty much describes my current state of existence over the past three weeks. In short: I'm exhausted, unkempt, and I have a big honkin' zit on my forehead. These three weeks have been some of the craziest of my life and (if anyone has been checking) my blog, not to mention my writing, has suffered.

I wish I could say that I've been curing cancer, hiking in Europe, or finally pursuing a career in the NBA -- but nope. The truth is much more boring. I took on too much work, my business parter took a vacation, we hired a new employee -- and I've been working 15 hour days just to keep up. I zombie home each night around midnight, only to begin again at the crack of dawn. This is the bad part of being a business owner. Over the past few weeks, I've harbored fantasies of quitting and going back to work for The Man. No one told me that the worst part of business would be when it was "good".

In other news, I love to write. Absence truly makes the heart grow fonder. Trust me, business is one thing but art, writing is another. I've lost all my love for 'business', the methods of making money. I could walk away from it and never look back if I didn't need to feed my family. But writing always is itching at the back of my mind. And never more than when I can't.

I finally have a free weekend coming up and my wife suggested that I take a day for just myself (either she's being really sweet or I've been really annoying lately) and after reviewing my options (skydiving, mountain climbing, running with bulls) it occurred to me that I just wanted to write. I enjoy telling this story. I need to finish it and I've been away too long.

So where was I...?

Currently Reading

So I've stopped with my Girly Book and for the past week I was looking for a new book. Saturday I took a trip to the bookstore and ended up purchasing The Princess and the Goblin by George MacDonald. I'd read this book once when I was about ten years old and I remembered enjoying it.


George MacDonald

I'm something of a bibliophile. The smell of yellow pulp pages is better than a perfume to me. My favorite sorts of books are those with illustrations. (I'm going to do a post on that someday.) This edition of The Princess and the Goblin had very lovely illustrations.



I fished it the same day I bought it. It is truly a beautiful piece of fiction. Here's just a sampling of his lovely prose:

The princess was a sweet little creature, and at the time my story begins was about eight years old, I think, but she got older very fast. Her face was fair and pretty, with eyes like two bits of night sky, each with a star dissolved in the blue. Those eyes you would have thought must have known they came from there, so often were they turned up in that direction.

After finishing The Princess and the Goblin I remembered that I owned another book by George MacDonald, At the Back of the North Wind.



In the first chapter, I found this gem of a description:

What was the most strange was that away from her head streamed out her black hair in every direction, so that the darkness in the hay-loft looked as if it were made of her, hair but as Diamond gazed at her in speechless amazement, mingled with confidence -- for the boy was entranced with her mighty beauty -- her hair began to gather itself out of the darkness, and fell down all about her again, till her face looked out of the midst of it like a moon out of a cloud.

George MacDonald himself, is a very interesting figure. He was a pastor for many years and many of his stories were written to instruct children in the scriptures and teach them Christian truths. However his stories never read as contrived moral parables and are always true to themseleves.

He was a great influence on C.S. Lewis, and in The Great Divorce Lewis went so far as to include him as a main character. Lewis wrote the following about MacDonald:

I know hardly any other writer who seems to be closer, or more continually close, to the Spirit of Christ Himself. Hence his Christ-like union of tenderness and severity. Nowhere else outside the New Testament have I found terror and comfort so intertwined. . . . In making this collection I was discharging a debt of justice. I have never concealed the fact that I regarded him as my master; indeed I fancy I have never written a book in which I did not quote from him.

One notable theme in MacDonald's stories is powerful, wise women. In The Princess and the Goblin the princess Irene is guided and delivered from danger by her Great-Great Grandmother, who, though very old, is also vividly described as possessing agless beauty and seems to possess great supernatural powers. In At the Back of the North Wind the North Wind (described in the quote above) is female and also powerful and beautiful. At the very least, MacDonald seemed to have a very high opinion of women.

As for me, I'm extremely excited to have discovered such a wonderful author and brother in Christ to inspire me. It's one thing to purchase a pretty book, it's another to find a true author. It's like making a friend.

As the thoughts move in the mind of a man, so move the worlds of men and women in the mind of God...the offspring of his imagination. Man is but a thought of God.

~ George MacDonald

Weekend update

Me and the fam' went to the zoo this weekend. It was a lot of fun.

Jack is a huge Steve Irwin fan (we haven't broke the sad news to him) and he really wanted to see the crocodiles. So after him asking for almost an hour, I finally checked the map. I was hoping to see something like "Crocodile Pit" but no luck. I had break it to Jack that all the crocodiles went home. The last thing we visited was the reptile house, which is always like walking into a guided tour of my phobias. But towards the end I heard Jack's excited voice (if you know him, you know what I'm talking about) proclaiming that they did have crocodiles! Sure enough, he was right. There, behind a glass case, sat the creature, pit and all. Jack happily reminded me many times afterwards that all the crocodiles did not go home. I'm going to remember that for a long time.

Being a parent is a lot like having Stockholm Syndrome. Today was hot and I had to leg it around a park, chasing after tiny individuals who have the same outlook on life as Marie Antoinette. These people continue to devour my time and money and mostly treat me like I'm their butler. And yet, I've never loved anything like I love those wicked little kids.

I look at Jack and somewhere along the line he stopped being a toddler and now he's a boy. And before that he stopped being a baby. I want him to always go to the zoo with me and look for crocodiles no matter how hot it is, or how tired I am, or how much I actually hate reptiles. I love my captors. Stockholm Syndrome.


More zoo photos

Something I wrote:

When she woke, Lilith’s skull felt like it had been cracked with a hammer. She attempted to rise than fell back to the grass with a groan. She could banish the pain with a spell and she searched her rusty memory for the one that would do the job. Finally she muttered a string of words and, after a moment, rose to her feet. But everything was still wrong. The spell would not change that.

Critique musings

I submitted my first chapter to the OWW recently. It's gotten three reviews so far. They're in the moderate to lukewarm range. I've got some good pointers though. Most of the weak areas I'm already aware of but I still need the reminders.

The latest review kind of threw me for a curve. It pegged me as writing a High Fantasy, which I've never wanted to write. My book is set in the future after a nuclear war. But I guess it gives the impression that it's a high fantasy. This doesn't bode well.

It used to really crush me when people picked apart my writing. Honestly, I still don't like it but it doesn't bring me down. The problem with critique groups is that the quality of the advice is decidedly mixed. Most everyone is relating second-hand advice that they've read from actual authors who may or may not be good authors themselves. I remember that I used to always point out point-of-view inconsistencies when critiquing, just because I'd read on some internet article that they were bad. I still think they're bad but good authors are always shifting point-of-views. Just an example.

There's also some great writers lurking around the boards too who have helped me immensely with their advice. Like I said, it's a mixed bag.

Anyway...

I liked this from tonight's writing:

Penelope suddenly felt tired and dull. She hadn’t understood much of what the pale man had said - or had she? Was the mass grave in New Camelot nothing more than the result of a whimsical decision by some unknown personality in the wastes? On the road to Silverwater she had assumed that if she ever met the pale man he would give her reasons that satisfied as much as they hurt. But now she suspected that the reason would never satisfy. She wanted to lay down in the grass and never move again.

It's monday and how do you like your humble pie?

I play in a softball league every Monday. Tonight I struck out. It's a sickening feeling, swinging that bat and hitting nothing but air. Yeach.

Speaking of humble pie, I've noticed that one thing common to my characters is that they're all flawed. Lilith is an out-of-practice witch, grumpy, and bad with directions. Penelope is self-centered and not quite a knockout in the looks department.

They've all got good qualities too but I like that they're flawed. I've been reading a book where there's one character that is just perfect. She's clearly the author's ideal person in every respect. And you know what? I really don't like her. For me to love a character I need to be with them when they blow it, when they're tired and grumpy. Then I'll be excited when they finally get things right. I understand that some characters must be more noble than others but at least make them dress funky or have an ugly mole, or something. Throw me a frickin' bone here!

Something that I wrote, that I liked:

“Magic’s nice, you know,” he said, his voice soft. “I could’ve brought an army to New Camelot. I could’ve made the streets run with the blood of every man, woman and child - all that gory stuff. But magic-” He snapped his fingers and suddenly a red rose appeared in his palm. Penelope had never seen a color so exquisite, every velvety petal seemed to be a jewel; but it was already fading; indeed now it was quite wilted. She watched as the rose crumbled to fine dust in seconds. With a puff he blew the dust from his palm into the wind. “Magic is so elegant. So clean. I spoke and everyone in New Camelot slept. No blood, no screaming, no pain. You should thank me for that!”

One reason I'm smiling

Only kids raised in the 90s will get this. I'm grinning ear-to-ear right now, listening to the first new Smashing Pumpkins song in over seven years. It seriously rocks.

It's interesting to think back to where I was when I bought my last Pumpkins album. I remember the exact place and time. I was sixteen years old, driving down to San Francisco for the first time ever with my own driver's license. (If anyone has ever driven in San Francisco, you'll know why I was nervous.) My dad was riding with me. On the way down we stopped in Sacramento at Dimple Records and I bought Machina/The Machines of God by The Smashing Pumpkins. I listened to it the rest of the way down to the bay, but not too loud, cause I didn't want to bug my Dad. I've lightened up a little since then.

I was driving down to San Franscisco to check out a multimedia trade school that I wanted to attend. (Back in the day, you didn't say "Web Design", you said "Multimedia".) The reason I had to attend this school was because I was planning to marry my girlfriend and I knew that a wife would lead to kids, kids would lead to bills, and bills would lead to more bills - therefore I needed a hot job. One that didn't require a four-year degree (did I mention that I really wanted to get married?). With The Smashing Pumpkins on the stero, driving over the bay bridge, a man in control of my own destinty, a bro going places, I felt pretty cool.

Two months before I was going to move down to SF and officially enroll, the school closed down. The move to SF never happened. I know more about myself know and I'm very glad that it all fell apart. I think it would've really freaked me out living in a big city. I have an extremely low tolerence for city noise and concrete.

Seven years later.


Me and the love of my life.


My boy. The oldest of the litter.


My little girl, AKA: hot competition for the love my life.


The newest and best-behaved Nunnink.

So I did marry my girlfriend. And marriage has led to kids. I can't claim wild success. As a matter of fact, I've learned how unimpressive I am as a person. But I've also learned quite a bit about life, love, Jesus, and all that important stuff. And now the Smashing Pumpkins just put out another song. A lot has happened in these seven years.

Back in the saddle

Last week was amazingly unproductive writing-wise. Just yesterday I fired up the ol' laptop and started writing for the first time in over seven days. The worst part is that I have no good excuse except that I was tired and distracted.

But I'm back now. I can only leave these characters for so long.

Prayer for today

Here's a puritan prayer that I found. It's quite beautiful to a person with myriad heart corruptions like me.

Heart Corruptions
O God, may Thy Spirit speak in me that I may speak to thee. I have no merit, let the merit of Jesus stand for me. I am undeserving, but I look to Thy tender mercy. I am full of infirmities, wants, sin; Thou art full of grace.

I confess my sin, my frequent sin, my wilful sin; all my powers of body and soul are defiled: a fountain of pollution is deep within my nature. There are chambers of foul images within my being; I have gone from one odious room to another, walked in a no-man's-land of dangerous imaginations, pried into the secrets of my fallen nature.

I am utterly ashamed that I am what I am in myself; I have no green shoot in me nor fruit, but thorns and thistles; I am a fading leaf that the wind drives away; I live bare and barren as a winter tree, unprofitable, fit to be hewn down and burnt. Lord, dost Thou have mercy on me?

Thou hast struck a heavy blow at my pride, at the false god of self, and I lie in pieces before Thee. But Thou hast given me another master and lord, Thy Son, Jesus, and now my heart is turned towards holiness, my life speeds as an arrow from a bow towards complete obedience to Thee. Help me in all my doings to put down sin and to humble pride. Save me from the love of the world and the pride of life, from everything that is natural to fallen man, and let Christ's nature be seen in me day by day. Grant me grace to bear Thy will without repining, and delight to be not only chiselled, squared, or fashioned, but separated from the old rock where I have been embedded so long, and lifted from the quarry to the upper air, where I may be built in Christ for ever.

Encouraging story...

About three or four years ago I swapped OWW crits with a very nice writer named Sandra McDonald. I don't even remember what work I'd submitted to be critted but I do remember that she had some very insightful criticism. I also remember that her work had a great feel to it and that her dialogue was extremely witty. I still remember a few lines from the peice I read.

Flash forward to this week, I was browsing the OWW Hall of Fame and I noticed a line annoucing that Sandra McDonald's first novel, The Outback Stars was being released by Tor this week. Wow!

Sure enough:



It's a great cover too.

To see a person who's persisted for many years finally break the publishing barrier - well... I find that extremely encouraging.

Congratulations, Sandra! I'll be looking for The Outback Stars the next time I'm in Borders.

I'm reading a girly book

Want to see the cover of the book I'm reading right now? You sure?

Okay...



Just leave me in my shame...

Oh, and have a great weekend!

Write what you know - it's a good idea

I recently cracked open my first attempts at writing a book. Of course, they were horrible - but one thing stands out above the poor writing: they were wrong. Specifically about being a parent.

My first story focused on a father-daughter relationship. Ohhh boy! What a romanticised view I used to have. Flash forward five years: I recently observed to my wife, "Our house has been captured by insane, violent midgets. How did we let this happen?" And somehow it's mysteriously wonderful. Emphasis on mysteriously. But it's very different than my writing anticipated. Any real parent who read my book would've had to visit the opthamologist from all the eye rolling.

Now my story is again drifting towards parent-child relationships. This time, I know a little bit more about the subject. The romance is gone, my friend but I think this story is much truer than my first.

Bottom line, write what you know.

Another example: I recently wrote a scene where the character freaked out! Yeah! Everyone loves a freak out! One problem... I've never freaked out! Yeah! *Ahem*

It's true. A couple of years ago I was crumbling under the stress of my job, I'd lay awake late into the night, fearing death, disease, aging, etc. I was in the midst of a spiritual crisis. I thought I was having a nervous breakdown. I was one burned-out cookie. Worst year of my life. And you know what? No one knew. Not even my wife. How could I hide something like this over the period of almost a year? I never freaked out. There's always been something in my mind that prevents me from running around, shouting and tearing things apart like Jimmy Stewart in It's a Wonderful Life. ("You keep playing that song, over and over - now STOP IT!")

So my freakout scene was wrong. Just wrong. I was guessing at how someone gets to that point but I really don't know. I don't know the mental steps from calm to screaming. (And for one, I hope I don't find out.) I know how to be grumpy, snippy, annoyed, annoying, tootie-fruity but not screamy.

So I rewrote the scene. It's emotional but - you know - people don't loose it.

Bottom line, write what you know.

Being self-employed is great...

...except some days are a little crazy. For example, on Saturday I started working on a job that I only had budgeted one day to complete. I started work at 6:00 AM. I finished at 1:00 AM Sunday morning. And people wonder why I'm such a coffee addict.

I'm not complaining. I'm just offering an excuse why I haven't updated my blog much this week.

Despite the wacky working hours, I'm on page 60 of my rewrite of Part One. It's going faster than anything I've ever written before.

Reason to write # 1: It's worth doing

I've been thinking lately, why do I write? In reply, there's really no single reason. But here's one:

It's worth doing

I run my own web programming business full-time. I haven't gone bankrupt yet so I guess I'm moderately successful. I've been blessed to do work that I actually enjoy. Believe it or not, writing computer programs is actually a very enjoyable, creative process at times. But no matter how cool the program, no matter how successful - it will never make a person cry (unless it's out of frustration. See Microsoft Windows.), it won't make them brave when they're scared, it won't make them feel romantic, it won't lead them to praise God. Programs themselves are all about dollars and cents, nothing more. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying or trying to market a product of their own.

Writing on the other hand - although the publishing business is all about money - is something entirely different. When I was in the midst of a spiritual crisis, Puddleglum from The Silver Chair gave me reason to believe. I'm continually warned by Iago from Othello about the dangers of jealousy. G.K. Chesterton makes me want to jump around with joy whenever I read his books whereas Stephen King left me depressed for quite some time. Even though my world-traveling has been extremely limited, I've seen England and Wales through Susan Cooper's eyes. Closer to home, I've spent years laughing at the quirks of midwesterners with Garrison Kellior. I'm vitally connected to Jews, Romans and God through The Bible.

I think writing is something worth mastering because it effects people. Personally, I'd like to help kids be brave. If I ever do that with one of my stories, I'll consider myself a successful writer.

Worst writing night ever

Last night I had what may have been my worst writing night ever. I stared at one paragraph for almost an hour, trying to figure out how to say what I wanted to say. It was like digging through dry sand. I ended up going to bed without success.

I attacked the paragraph again tonight with better results. It still feels awkward to me. But at least I got through it.

I present it now, not because I'm particularly proud of it (I suspect that it fairly stinks). But the following few paragraphs did have me licked last night. I'm glad to have them behind me. Sometimes writing is like hacking through a jungle with a machete.

***

Penelope listened to their conversation. There was a familiarity between those two. She guessed that they had known each other for many years. Watching them, she felt very alone, like peering through a window from the outside.

“She’s crying,” Fin said abruptly under his breath and nodded towards Penelope. Indeed she was.

Lilith quickly moved to her and placed one firm hand on her shoulder. “All will be well, Penelope,” she whispered. “You must believe me. All will be well in the end.”

“I’m fine,” Penelope sniffed, wiping her cheeks. “I just thought of a joke.”

In fact she had thought of a joke. But it was a joke that only a few of her friends in Luna Castle had known, and it was the sort that could not be retold without losing its humor. That was what had started her crying. All the jokes, secrets, wordless knowledge shared between long friends and family had been taken from her. Everyone who needed just to glance at her face to understand that she was happy or sad was dead. She was among strangers – kind strangers, but strangers nonetheless. Now she wanted to go home. Oh how she wanted to go home.

Novel Progress

Pages re-written: 5 today 42 total

Inspirations: C.S. Lewis, Emily Bronte, T.S. Elliot, Stephen King.

Penelope swallowed and grimaced. “The problem is your meatsoak. You should dice some rawherb, with a bit of honey, and – if they’re ripe on the trees – squeeze some lemons, and use half the salt. That’s a savory venison meatsoak.”

For a moment Lilith’s face lost all its grandness and stark beauty and she looked like a shy young girl. Penelope realized that she’d somehow hurt her feelings.


Last week, I mysteriously burst a blood vessel in my left eye. It doesn't hurt but the blood has slowly spread until now one half of my eye is completely red. I'm kind of enjoying this looking-like-a-freak. I gives me a sense of menace that I've been lacking. I'll be sad when it clears up.

To all fantasy-buffs (and if you're reading this blog, you probably are) I order you to watch MirrorMask. It is one of the best movies I've watched in a long time. Squeaky-clean and written by the amazing Neil Gaimen.

I have been writing lately...

...just not keeping track of my progress. *Hangs head in shame* I've just been so busy. Today's update has more general notes:

1) In this rewrite Penelope suddenly became spoiled. Not to a Veruca Salt level but she's wallowing in self-pity and thinks Fin smells bad. I'm glad this trait developed. It'll be a nice character arc for her.

2) After killing off the entire population of one city, I decided to do serious harm to another. My poor characters.

3) It's strange reading how I originally intended my characters to interact. They've all done a complete about face.

I went on a book shopping-spree yesterday. I got some pretty slick books that I can't wait to read. I got:



Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
I think I'll finish this in about twenty years. This book is thicker than my waist.


Under the Greenwood Tree by Thomas Hardy
Looked fun.


The Waste Land and other poems by T.S. Elliot
T.S. Elliot is amazing. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock is one of my favorite poems ever. I think I've shared it here. Choruses from The Rock is also remarkably insightful into modern society.


Krazy & Ignatz by George Herriman
Comics can't get any more whimsical than Krazy Kat. The art is beautiful too.

Novel Stats

Pages re-written: 3 today 31 total

Inspirations: C.S. Lewis Emily Bronte, Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

New lines I like:
Lilith was old. It was never more apparent then now, holding this shuddering child, so alive and confused with heartbeats, tears, remorse and anger. It occurred to her that she had once wept like this, how many centuries ago? But that was before her soul died, leaving a body behind that would not. In the midst of her reflection, she began to feel silly for having put on lipstick.

Still holding Penelope, she reached for a cloth next to the bed and wiped the makeup from her lips. Then she cleared some of the tears and mucus from the girl’s face. When she’d done so she wished she hadn’t. At least one person could mourn for the fallen in New Camelot. Penelope’s face, so dirty with emotion, was quite lovely in a way.

***********************************************

It's interesting how wordy my first draft is. Editing it is like hacking through a jungle of paragraphs; get these weeds out of the way, I'm trying to get somewhere.

It's incredibly beautiful in Grass Valley these days. Everything is green and fresh. I love my town.

Novel Stats

Pages re-written: 3 today 31 total

Inspirations: C.S. Lewis Emily Bronte, Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

New lines I like:
Lilith watched Fin through the window as he trudged away. His movements were so methodical and determined, so manlike – even in his walk. The foolishness that usually came with his age had passed him by without lingering and it was a pity, she thought. The years to come would be hard for Fin.
***********************************************

So tired... It's been a long day. I'm just managing to finish this blog post before seriously crashing. Good night.

i carry your heart

Recently I saw an okay movie that featured this very cool poem, unfortunately read by Cameron Diaz. Nonetheless, it's quite beautiful.

i carry your heart with me
(i carry it in my heart)
I am never without it
(anywhere i go you go, my dear;
and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear no fate
(for you are my fate, my sweet)
i want no world
(for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are
whatever a moon has always meant and
whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root
and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;
which grows higher than
soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder
that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart
(i carry it in my heart)

~ e.e. cummings

Novel Stats

Pages re-written: 4 today 28 total

Inspirations: C.S. Lewis Emily Bronte, Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

New lines I like:
Sharp, clear air stung in Fin’s nose and chest as he made his way home. Birds gossiped in the trees and the sun felt warm on his neck. And yet, just ten miles away, thousands of corpses were already beginning to decay. The world disagreed with itself, Fin thought: It wanted to be ugly and lovely at the same time.
***********************************************

Some nights writing is very fun; each paragraph comes out better than you anticipated. Tonight was like that. Props to the muse for showing up.

My Softball team played its first game tonight. We lost 12-17 but I had a good time. Simon, you were sorely missed. Especially since you looked like Barry Bonds the last time I saw you at batting practice.

I watched Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon last night and I honestly think it's one of the best movies ever made. It's in my top five, for sure. Romance-wise, it's one of those rare movies that - with one scene as an exception - is quite steamy without being titillating. I think Ziyi Zhang may be the most beautiful actress. Ever.

Novel Stats

Pages re-written: 4 today 28 total

Inspirations: C.S. Lewis Emily Bronte, Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

New lines I like:
Fin didn’t understand but he said nothing. He could see that the lady was troubled and he would let her speak when the words came.
***********************************************

I'd be much more productive this week if I wasn't so sick. I swear, this cold has a life of its own. It seems like it moving through my body just seeing how many places it can tweak until I kick it out. Pass the kleenex.

I don't know if anyone reading this blog watches Lost on ABC but man! what a great show. This season is really kicking into high gear.

My drawing...

Good news of the day: I just found out that I owe $4,000.00 less to the IRS than I thought I did. I'm taking Suzanne out for dinner! (At least once a year it pays to be poor and have a lot of kids.)

---

So I took a *sigh* Drawing Personality Test. These online personality tests have to be the ultimate waste of time but for some reason I enjoy them. Even though they're pretty much the equivalent of fortune cookies, saying things about you that are impossible to disagree with.

For example, my test told me:

1. You are driven and ambitious and tend to make radical moves to reach your goals.


2. You are a thoughtful and cautious person. You like to think about your method, seeking to pursue your goal in the most effective way.


3. You like following the rules and being objective. You are precise and meticulous, and like to evaluate decisions before making them.


4. You feel morose and are prone to lethargy.

Which, I guess, sort of right. Maybe. Pretty lame, if you ask me. Word to all the personality tests: if you ever give me these results, I'm taking off my hat to you:

1. You're a guy who writes YA fantasy in your spare time.


2. You're attracted to girls with gaps in their teeth.


3. You can play the guitar and the piano but failed at playing drums and the violin.


4. You snack on plain popcorn almost every day.

Now that's a personality test!

Here's the picture that I drew for my test.



What does your drawing say about YOU?

Novel Stats

Pages re-written: 5 today 22 total

Inspirations: C.S. Lewis Emily Bronte, Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

New lines I like:
Keeping his eyes averted, he climbed back into his chair. He would stay up all night, he decided; he would be ready at a moment’s notice with a helping hand. Then he fell asleep.
***********************************************

Sick today. I've been sick since Friday. Not fun. :-(

Going back over the first draft, I discovered that I used way too many words and took way too long to move the story along. Part of the reason was because I didn't know where the story was going. I was like that amazingly slow driver that you get stuck behind; the one who's trying to find that elusive address and has to go laboriously slooooow so he can check each house and street sign. That was me. I thought each driveway and side street might be my destination so I moved like a snail, checking each address digit and reading the street signs twice.

But now that I know where I'm going, I'm cruising right along.

Good movies that I've seen lately:

1. Flushed Away. Really, really, really funny. One of the funniest movies I've seen in a long time. I was cracking up, at least. And clean as the top of a baby's head after bathtime.

2. Stranger Than Fiction. A nice movie. Sidenote: Have you notices how strangely movies portray writer-types?

3. Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. Bloody amazing. I saw it a long time ago and thought I wouldn't like it as much on the second viewing. I liked it more. Simon, I'm talking to you, baby - you've got to watch this movie.

I had to drive to Sacramento today for a meeting. On the way home I got caught in a ferocious deluge of rain on I-80 and Hwy-49. I was praying that God would get me home safe and he did. Thanks, Lord.

Novel Stats (back again)

Daily Word Count: 450 today 28k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Emily Bronte, Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

The good:
It was fully dark outside. The forest was dripping, tapping, alive with the rain. Lilith walked past him while he fumbled to light his lantern and stared in the dark. Fin couldn’t help but take her in; she looked big and wild as an oak to him – especially in the rain with her hair all wet.
***********************************************

Back to writing again. Work has been crazy. I remember when I started my own business I thought that I'd have more time to spend writing - Ha! At least I value my writing time more these days.

Belated update

Sorry about my recent negligence in posting. I've actually been quite productive writing-wise. Here's where I'm at:

Last week I reached the end of part one of my book. During that time I'd managed to accomplish some things:

1) I got to know my characters
2) I came up with my plot
3) I got familiar with my setting
4) I wrote my backstory

Not bad, even if the writing was more than a little sketchy in spots. Actually Part 1, in its current state, was unreadable. I'd been doing the "throw it against the wall and see what sticks" method of writing and a lot of things didn't stick. Subtle things like personality traits and motivations have changed quite a bit since Chapter 1. Big things have changed like, "hey they have guns" to "no, this culture hasn't invented modern weaponry". So when I finished Part 1 last week, I decided to rewrite the thing before continuing; just to clear up stuff in my head and have a good foundation to go forward.

It's been a lot of fun so far and I've managed almost 4,000 words since Saturday. Just as an excerpt I thought I'd share the opening paragraphs as they currently stand. I expect to resume normal posting soon.

3 paragraphs for ya:

---

The girl was following the pale man and a monster was following her. The trio made a daisy-chain stretching across Postworld. The girl had only seen the pale man once but the image was fingerprinted on her mind: that night in Luna Castle, he standing nonchalantly, covered in her father’s blood. Then that little nod he gave (very gentleman-like) when she stumbled through the door.

She would see him again. Would she kill him? No, probably not. The thought of killing a human being – and the pale man was human – felt more awful now than ever. The pale man had introduced her to blood and death and it seemed that killing him in return would be like agreeing with him. No, she would simply ask him, “Paleface, why did you kill my father? Why’d you kill my mother? Why did you kill my sisters? Why did you kill everyone in New Camelot? And why, did you let me live?”

The Monster that crept at her heels she had not seen. She simply knew it was there, and stalking closer. Paleface had plucked it out of the dark and sic’ed it after her like a dog. But if she could make it to Silverwater she would be safe – unless Paleface had attacked Silverwater too. The dark smudge across the sky at her back reminded her (as if she needed it) that New Camelot, city of warriors was still burning. If she found Silverwater leveled to the ground it would hardly surprise her now.

WIP meme

From JMeadows.

Turn to page 123 in your work-in-progress. (If you haven't gotten to page 123 yet, then turn to page 23. If you haven't gotten there yet, then get busy and write page 23.) Count down four sentences and then instead of just the fifth sentence, give us the whole paragraph.

--

“The girl on my bed – the girl you saved from a Warg is Penelope Everling! The only member of the the royal family who survived!”

--

I'm passing this on to Simon and anyone else who happens to read this.

Novel Stats

Daily Word Count: 650 today 27.1k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Emily Bronte, Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

The good:
“What really happened last night? – actually I don’t care. Just as long as we don’t have to do it again. It really hurt...”

“The cuts will heal quickly,” she said.

“Not the cuts; the light. It burned.” I looked over my shoulder, to make sure Fin and Penelope were still asleep, then continued in a low voice, “I thought I was going to wet my pants.”

“Really? Did you? I can wash them before they wake - ”

“No, I didn’t! I’m just saying – the dream hurt!”
***********************************************

Trying to wrap up part 1 of this book. I'm really enjoying it now that all my characters are together and I understand them. Writing is a lot of fun right now.

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 1,250 today (I'm on a roll) 26.5k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Emily Bronte, Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

The good:

Then a voice roars out of the earth (what a voice!), “LET THERE BE LIGHT!” And there is light. But it is not good.

In milliseconds the light mushrooms out from the tower, then expands in a disk. It tears though Penelope and she sees her father sprawled still and pale on the floor, his throat a mess of red flesh. It reaches Fin and he is back in Nome Mine, shrieking while dead voices whisper horror into his ears. It consumes Jack and he sees Amy vanish in a puff of ash and hears his father gasping for breath. It finds Lilith last and she is once again a girl named Katie Smith, bending over a dead boy, sobbing, planning to kill herself.

***********************************************

I'm writing a vision right now. It's a bit esoteric and I'm not very confident about it. This may be a victim of a future re-write. It's one of the weirder thing that I've written. Sorry for the heavy excerpt too.

Novel Stats

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 950 today (not bad, eh?) 25.5k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Emily Bronte, Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

The good:
She summoned us to move away from the fire to a place where the a tangled umbrella of young oak branches formed a sort of canopy. Overhead a full moon looked down on us. When we had assembled, Lilith drew a knife out from beneath her cloak, the blade glinting dully in the moonlight. I gasped (but didn't squeal or anything too embarrassing, thank gods) as she swiftly cut down first her left palm, then her right, leaving two lacerations. Involuntarily I grabbed onto Penelope’s sleeve for support. I felt a little dizzy.

“Are we going to have to cut our hands too?” Fin asked.

Lilith nodded.

“Excellent...” He muttered and took the knife from her.

***********************************************

So, just in case you were wondering, I didn't die from my acid reflux episode. But I did make the midnight run to the drug store for Tums.

The plotlines in my story are coming together right now. All the main characters have met and now they're going to get their marching orders for the rest of the book. I hope I'm taking this in the right direction.

Novel Stats

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 450 today 24.5k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Emily Bronte, Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

The good:
We had eaten and now sat around the fire, watching the flames; sparks floated skyward, like fallen stars trying to go home.

***********************************************

This has nothing to do with writing but I'm having horrible Acid Reflux and I'm all out of Tums. It's almost midnight and I'm considering running to the store to get some. I feel like I'm dying. Ugh...

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 630 today 24k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Emily Bronte, Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

The good:
I was at a loss. I clung to the tree trunk, feeling the bark bite into my cheek. In my dream they all had been waiting for me. Should I introduce myself? I fought the urge sneak off in the opposite direction. A dull nausea began to squeeze my stomach. It suddenly seemed to me that dreams coming true were not as wonderful as the songs suggested. Dreams should be content to stay as dreams.
***********************************************

My second attempt at writing an attraction between two characters. The first failed miserably. Let's hope the second goes better.

Snow, snow, snow

Everyone, now! I want to wash my hands, my hair, my face in snoooowwwww.

In cause you haven't guessed, it's snowing at my house. First snow of the year and it's very pretty.

Novel Stats

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 600 today 23.4k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Emily Bronte, Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

The good:
My stomach fell three stories and I almost had to sit down. I think that up until that moment a large part of me had assumed that my dreams were entirely my own fabrications. Despite all my tears when I said goodbye to Amy, part of me actually thought that I would be home by dinner and we'd have a good luagh together. But there was the very grove from my dreams - I recognized the almost perfect arrangement of the trees - and it was inhabited.
***********************************************

Down from yesterdays highs. Still really enjoying writing this part though. I managed to squeeze out a nice word count too.

Novel Stats

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 630 today 22.8k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Emily Bronte, Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

The good:
It interested me that hundreds of years ago Arthur and Katie had sat on this very rock and etched their names in the stone and moss. I ran my hand over the letters, imagining that Arthur had once done the same thing. Had he looked anything like me? Then I thought that one day, when I was dead, another boy and girl would sit on this rock and never guess that Amy and Jack had been here too. Suddenly I wanted hold Amy’s hand.
***********************************************

Today I was on. I had to write a sad farewell scene and I was hoping that I could pull it off. I did. Some days writing is painful, other days it's like connecting with a pitch in the bat's sweet spot and watching the baseball soar away. Today I hit a home run.

Tomorrow I'll be back to grounding out. :-)

Writing a book is a lot like writing a song...

Anyone who knows me well knows that my favorite band is The Smashing Pumpkins. I remember the first time I heard Bullets with Butterfly Wings, it was like a switch flicked in my head and wires ignited. Billy Corgan, I'm still convinced, is one of the best pop composers of the last century. The scope of the music he's written and produced is staggering.


My first band, The Smoothies. That's me, 3rd from the left.

I was a band for the majority of my teenagehood. I wrote songs, sang, and played guitar. I was hugely influenced by The Smashing Pumpkins. You might think that my songs weren't half-bad, being influenced by such a greatness. Actually they mostly stank. Now I that I'm writing a book I think I know why I never wrote great songs.

Let me back-track and play a track by The Smashing Pumpkins. Of all their excellent songs, I think that Tonight, Tonight may be their best. That orchestra, the pounding drums, the guitars; it's a grand song. I dreamed of writing a song so able to sweap the listener away.

Listen to it here and you'll see what I'm talking about:

Tonight Tonight. Final Version

powered by ODEO

But the song didn't start that way. One of the b-sides that the Smashing Pumpkins released was the original demo of the song. The one that Billy Corgan recorded on a tape deck right after he wrote the song. Listen to it here:

Tonight Tonight. Original Demo.

powered by ODEO

If I heard that song I probably wouldn't ever need to hear it again. His voice is off-key in a few parts. The production sounds like he recorded it on a tape deck. His guitar is out of tune.

But it's all there! The structure, the chords, the melody. The song was completely written except Billy Corgan was the only one who knew what it was going to be. Listen to it, it's just missing the pounding drums, the violins and the intesnity.

That was my problem. I thought that great songs were made up of violins and dynamics so I tried to write songs that had those things. But I really just needed to sit down with a guitar, forget about all those sweeping grand sounds, and write a good melody, with a good stucture, and a good chord progression. I was trying to build castles without laying a foundation.

After Billy Corgan wrote Tonight Tonight, he went into a studio and perfected it. He rehersed it with the rest of the band until they found a drum beat that worked and guitar lines that meshed; and then, at some point, they decided to bring an orchestra in. Then they finally spent weeks in the soundroom, mixing it to perfection. But the core of the song never changed.

This all really reminds me of writing a book. When I think about my story, my head is full of grand moments! climaxes! dispair! romance! music! But I can't write a book about that stuff. I need to sit down and, line-by-line, write a first draft that's good enough. I need to lay the foundation of my story. I don't need to focus on the minuta of sentance structures or finding the perfect metaphor. In other words, I need to stop dreaming of orchestras and just put together a good song.

Billy Corgan sat down and recorded a song that only he understood. One year later, after a lot of hard work, the rest of America understood it.

Right now I'm focusing on writing a story that I understand. In later drafts I'll (hopefully) make it into a story that other people can understand. If you read it right now, you'd think it's a mess: Plot threads are completely dropped, dialects change, motivations reverse. But I'm clearer on it than ever.

Hopefully I'll be able to see it through.

Novel Stats

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 450 today 22.1k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Emily Bronte, Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

The good:
We didn’t associate with other kids much. They had different sorts of games then we did. I only had look at Amy and know that she was about to run and I was supposed to race her and she always knew when to stop before I got too tired. Besides the other kids were usually crude – always joking about their parts - and I’d end up warning them to keep a wholesome tongue, which led to them asking me what I was going to do if they didn’t, which then led to Amy bloodying their noses and making them cry. So it was best that we kept to ourselves.
***********************************************

Still doing character development. This is a character that I'm having a great time exploring. He's about 11 years old. That's an important age, when a guy is just getting wise to all the stuff that will occupy his thoughts for the next sixty years. I hope I can pull this character off. I'm more confident about him than anyone else though.

Novel Stats

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 300 (bah!) today 21.6k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Emily Bronte, Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

The good:
The weeks passed and the late summer turned to a warm autumn where the leaves persisted to cling to the trees, reluctant to fall. I rarely kept indoors. It seemed entirely wasteful to refuse the sweet air and the warm touch of sun that the season continued to offer just before school started.
***********************************************

I need to get this plot moving! The problem is that I'm introducing a new character and also filling out backstory events. Not very exciting. I need to blow something up. :-)

Now THAT'S a cover

I've been reading Jeffery Overstreet's blog for years. He's a film critic for Christianity Today and always has interesting posts.

Anyway, he reveled about (two?) years ago that he had landed a deal to publish his fantasy novel, Auralia's Colors. Just last week he proudly revealed the cover. I'd say he has full rights to beam over this gem.



I hope that if I'm ever blessed enough to have one of my stories published it looks as good as this. I will be very happy. Congratulations, Jeffery.

Can you imagine the opposite? What if you slaved for years, pouring your heart into a story. You finally manage to get it published and the publisher decideds to go with a cover like:



or *hold back bile*



I shudder to think...

Novel Stats

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 450 today 21.3k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Emily Bronte, Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

The good:
We focused mainly on playing. Each day whittled away the amount of time that we still had together; but instead of this making us gloomy and sullen it inspired us to a frenzy of play. The stairs became hills of battle that witnessed fierce charges and desperate last stands; the beds transformed into pirate ships and the carpet a raging sea. She was an immortal Elf, a warrior queen, a nurse on the field of battle. I became Aragorn the Dúnadan finding the paths of the dead, Sir Galahad seeking The Grail, Kay Everling dueling with Maleficus on the Jericho plains.
***********************************************

Moving right along. I decided to change my writing time from late at night to my lunch break. I'm hoping that I'll be more productive at midday than midnight.

We'll see how it goes.

Novel Stats

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 500 today 20.9k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Emily Bronte, Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

The good:


Let us then go silently:
To bear him forth to the cool night-air
The summer night drinks from the sea.

The song had more verses that I can’t remember but the last line made me cry. I stood, holding hands with Amy and let the tears steam down my cheeks unashamed. I wasn’t crying because I was sad. (I don’t cry over sad things.) I cried because it was all so completely beautiful: The handsome men and lovely women - even more beautiful in their solemnity – marching through the gates on a mission of mercy; the stark brass music, mourning the fallen; even the pale autumn light, it all gripped me deep in my bosom.

***********************************************

I'm doing some plot-exposition right now and it's tough to keep it interesting. I just gotta get through it and I'll fix it in the rewrite. That's becoming my mantra for this book.

I've discovered a fun technique for inspiration: Just before I start writing I read a few pages from a book that I like. It really helps to get those writing-juices flowing. If your struggling for inspiration I'd highly recommend it.

Novel Statss

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 400 today 20.4k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Emily Bronte, Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

The good:

“Come back!” she hissed and her hand squeezed mine so tight that it hurt. “You promise not to die! I know your head, Jack. It’s different from mine. You’re always dreaming; even when you’re awake. Just say that you’ll come back when your story is over. Tell me how that one you used to tell – with the princess - how did it end? I liked that one.”

“They lived happily ever after,” I said.

“’Happily ever after...’” she breathed. “Promise, that’s how this – your story is going to end. Okay?”

***********************************************

*Sigh* what a week. It's my first tax time as a self-employed person, so I've been working some late hours to pay The Man. Because of this, my word count for this week is atrocious. Hopefully I'll be able to make up some this weekend but my eyes are getting heavy and it's only 7:00 PM.

We'll see...

Novel Stats

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 450 today 20k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

The good:

“Why are you crying?” I asked.
“Because you’re going to leave,” she said, sniffing. “I just thought of it.”
“I know... But I’ll come back.”
“It is very important? What does the lady needs you to do?” she asked.
“It’s because of the books I read,” I said.
But what’s in the books? I wondered. A path, came her answer, the books are a map. You are a guide.

***********************************************

Not much to say tonight. One character is getting news about a catastrophe in my story. I'm trying to remember how everyone acted on 9/11.

This is why I stayed up til 12:30 last night

Wuthering Heights is hands-down one of the best books I've read in a long time. Emily Bronte is an amazing writer... I absolutely loved this book.

Everyone should read it but don't be fooled by the dust jackets advertising a romance. This is a dark story about obessesion. The main character (Heathcliff) is about as wicked as Englishmen come. The only bit of Romance comes at the very end.

Highly reccomended.

Novel Stats

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 250 today 19.4k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

The good:
Kay Everling cut off the head of Maleficus with Acheron. He stood victories in final battle at Devils Water with Acheron raised high. But the thing about Acheron that intrigued me the most was that it was missing. After Kay entered New Camelot no one ever saw it again and he wouldn’t speak of it. My sister, Amy says that he probably just lost it and was too embarrassed to tell anybody. Amy’s always saying dumb stuff just to set me off. But even she knows, deep down, that the sword was special. Just like everything else in those days, it was magic. Kay didn’t loose the sword. He hid it away for another battle.
***********************************************

I'm liking the new POV. Hopefully it won't take me so long to figure out this character.

As evidenced by the excerpt above, I'm filling out the backstory. It's a stretch for me. World-building has never been my cup of tea. I don't like making up funky names or creating elvish races or figuring out magical systems. My worlds always tend to be distorted versions of Earth. I'm okay with that.

I'm working on it...

Yes, I have big plans on sitting down and starting the next chapter tonight. I swear. :-)

************

This morning, on a whim I cracked open some of my first attempts at writing a book. Ack! Gag!

I was nineteen years old when I dicided that I wanted to write a book. That was five years ago. Let me tell you about that book.

It was funny. It was romantic. It was sad. It was much better than everything else on the bookshelves. It was allegorical of humanity's relationship with Christ, I.E. Deep.It was a heartbreaking-work-of-staggering-genius.

It was terrible.

I can't believe how transparent all my failings are. It's so painfully obvious when I'm trying to be funny. My grammer is atrocious. I address the reader in almost every paragraph like I'm Santa Claus ("And remember, dear children, love is the highest virtue... Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!"). And - because I was trying to be allegorical - the plot makes little sense.

I think I've learned a few lessons since then. Here's some that jump out at me:

1. No allegories! Best lesson of all. It's paralysing to be allegorical. Say I'm writing a character that represents God: God can't, you know, do anything wrong or make any mistakes, right? So I guess this character can't ethier... Oh and I guess he should be omniscient too. What about omnipresent? No allegories! If my story happens to have deeper meaning great! If not, great!


2. The correct way to use commas, semi-colons, colons, and dashes. I'm no grammar expert now, but I'm better. Thank you, Elements of Style!


3. Show, don't tell. Instead of waxing on about how wonderful my characters are, maybe I should just let the reader decide that for themselves.


4. Don't write about things you don't know anything about. The center of my first story is a father, daughter relationship. Reading it now, my story is pretty much how a nineteen-year-old with a pregnant wife would envision parenthood. Everything is sweet enough to make you gag. Lots of "daughter running to greet her father after work, father scooping daughter up in his arms, they frolic through meadows" stuff. Now that I've actually had three kids I have a better idea of how the whole thing works. It's embarrassing how off I was.


5. Everyone doesn't have to be good-looking. I described all my characters like movie stars. The guys were ruggedly handsome. The little girls were cute. The ladies were hot. When I was nineteen I was shallow concerning physical appearance. I'm still shallow but I think I'm more balanced with the whole outward-beauty thing. (Penelope has a slight issue with her weight, btw.)

Those are just a few lessons but it's nice to sit back and reflect on the ground I've covered in five years. I'm sure in another five years, I'll read the stuff I'm writing now and cringe but at least it won't be as bad as when I started.

Novel Stats

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 400 today 19.4k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

The good:
A strange feeling came over me. I realized that I would probably be following Lilith much longer than the length of this tunnel. I didn’t know what would happen when we reached Whitecloud but it was certain that my journey would not end there; and wherever the path led I was equally certain that Lilith would be with me. That was a happy thought. I could walk into a lion's den if I had someone like her at my side.

***********************************************

We made it to the end of the tunnel. I think it turned out to be a good idea to send them in. I also think it's time that my characters got to Whitecloud.

Whitecloud means switching gears. I've been planning to write this portion from a different POV. The setting also is going to change from forest to city. I imagine things are going to be rough at first.

I can't think about it tonight though. I've made it through a significant part of my plot. That's accomplishment enough for right now.

Novel Stats

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 530 today 18.664k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

The good:
Lilith took a seat next to me. I leaned against her shoulder. My eyes closed but still I listened to Fin’s songs. He knew so many and he never faltered in his singing. It annoyed me that he hadn’t sung for us before. Then I fell asleep.

***********************************************

I had intended to make this tunnel full of ghosts and zombies but so far nothing supernatural has arisen. Instead a character got claustrophobic and had a panic attack. It's weird how you can intend to take a plot in one direction and it just goes another.

If there's one thing that I've learned in my short writing ventures it's to not force things. If something isn't fitting don't squeeze and force it until it fits. Instead go where the story's leading itself. It always seems to work better.

Novel Stats

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 500 today 18.1k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Kate Rusby, Stephen King.

The good:
I examined the ceiling and considered how many tons of earth sat over our heads. What was holding it up? Just a few feet of concrete? I shuddered and attempted to direct my thoughts to a different subject but they remained stubbornly fixed. I envisioned with horrible clarity a sudden cracking noise, a futile shout of warning from Lilith, then acres of earth pouring down on my head and pinning my body still. How long could someone live buried alive? Hours? Days? After more thoughts like this every noise became a terror; the harbinger of a suffocating death. The air already seemed to be too scarce. It felt as if someone was holding a cloth across my face.

***********************************************

Finally back in the swing of things. Tonight I told my wife, "I've got to write. It's a must." And like the wonderful person that she is, she totally understood.

Speaking of my wife, I often forget that she once had a panic attack. It was only a few weeks after I met her for the first time. We were hanging out in a crowded house on a rainy day. She started to feel like she couldn't breathe and pretty soon she was hyperventilating. It went on for hours and her parents had to come and pick her up. "Really embarrassing," is how she sums it up. Seven years later, it hasn't happened again. (This event actually was instrumental in us getting together but that's another story.)

The reason I bring this up is because I just made one of my characters have a panic attack. We'll see how it goes.

Argument (or the story so far)

My story has been drastically evolving as I write. Certain characters have done one-eighties with their personalities and motivations. Backstory has been hinted at but never spelled out. Destinations have changed. I keep forgetting plot threads and details. Before I wrote another chapter I had to write this.

This is my story so far (including backstory that won't actually be in the book). I'm going to be referencing this as I go forward to make sure that things line up. I don't mind that I don't have any plot outlined beyond what I've already written. I just need to keep track of what I have.

I present it now for your inspection. Make of it what you will.

Argument:

When the Two Empires fall the earth goes bad. Bombs and wars wipe out millions of people in moments. Whole countries turn to waste. Warlords rise up to dominate the land. A second dark age covers humanity and many believe that the end of all things is near. Then, two hundred years after the fall, Kay Everling casts down the warlords and establishes a new kingdom called Postworld that covers a thousand square miles. He founds two cities: One on the sea called New Camelot; there he sets his throne in Luna Castle, a structure so beautiful that it rivals the works of the Two Empires. On the other end of Postworld he builds Whitecloud on the very edge of The Waste to stand guard against the evil that still lingers beyond the borders.

The Everling line rules Postworld for two hundred years and there is peace. Nothing comes in from the outside world (called The Wastes) and no one goes out. But eventually the evil that destroyed the Two Empires returns. In a single night, a force known only as Nightmare Lucy kills ten thousand people in New Camelot, including every member of the royal family save Penelope, the youngest daughter. She escapes and flees into the forest. Her plan is to seek refuge in Whitecloud but she must cross many miles of forest to reach her destination.

Fin lives in the small farming community of Silverwater. One night - ninety days after Nightmare Lucy - his Grandmother sends him to Lilith the witch’s cottage in the forest to buy the Bitterstalk vegetable. When Fin reaches Lilith’s cottage the conversation between them reveals that their relationship may have some unknown history that Lilith is aware of but Fin only suspects.

As Fin returns home through the forest he encounters a wolf-like creature (called a Warg) chasing a girl. Almost without thinking he peruses them. After a struggle he kills the Warg with his rifle but not before it injures the girl badly. He returns the girl to Lilith’s cottage for medical treatment. Exhausted, he falls asleep in the cottage but not before Lilith tells him that the girl is Penelope Everling, the last surviving member of the royal family.

In the morning Lilith tells him that the same dark force which killed the royal family is also that which destroyed the Two Empires. This force is mustering power to bring about the final destruction of humanity. The final confrontation between good and evil is brewing. The last story has started. Lilith believes that, by saving The Princess, Fin is a key figure in this story; she claims that he is the hero. Fin has hitherto been disenchanted with the simple country life and longs for adventure and glory. He gladly accepts this news.

After conferring with Penelope, Lilith decides that they should take her the rest of the way to Whitecloud. Lilith mentions that she’s had visions of a boy named Jack Christian who lives in Whitecloud. Her visions tell her that Jack is a key in defeating the gathering evil.

They begin their journey through the forest to Whitecloud. Penelope is still somewhat injured from her encounter with the Warg and must ride in a cart that Lilith pulls. (Fin is impressed by the witch’s strength.) That night they hear strange music in the forest and flee their campfire. Looking back they see a tall faun in their camp. Penelope sees this faun again the following night but thinks that she’s dreaming.

On the journey, Lilith and Penelope quickly begin enjoy each other’s company but Fin is a somewhat awkward addition to their party. Lilith especially has a tendency to be short with him.

On the morning of the third day they come to a railroad track that Lilith calls the Diakost. She says that it is a relic from the Two Empires but that trains used to run on it nearly one hundred years past. She says that it will take them to Whitecloud.

They follow this track for one day until they reach an abandoned railway station with a road leading away from the track. Lilith has been here before. The road leads to the long-forsaken Nome Mine and Lilith recommends that they fill their canteens in the manor well. They desert the railroad track and, after passing through the gloomy mining fields, they come to the beautiful manor gardens. Oddly enough the gardens appear maintained. After an argument with Penelope, Lilith leaves Fin and Penelope in the garden to find the well. A strange magic almost immediately enchants Fin and Penelope and they fall asleep.

It is night when Penelope awakens. She is lying near the entrance to the mine. She hears knocking noises and sees strange lights in the abandoned shaft. Something draws her towards the mine mouth. She wants to stop but she can’t. She realizes that the mine wants to eat her. Lilith saves her at the last minute and commands the spirits that haunt the mine to retreat.

Lilith brings Penelope back to the railroad track where Fin is waiting for them. Penelope soon realizes that Fin also had an experience in the mine that has terrified him but he won’t speak of it; though it appears that Lilith knows what happened to him. The following morning Penelope overhears a conversation between Lilith and Fin where Lilith consoles him and apologizes for being so harsh towards him in the past. Even after the conversation, Fin is still harrowed by his experience in the mine.

By now Penelope’s leg has healed and she can walk fine.

As they draw nearer to Whitecloud they find that the railroad track enters a dark tunnel. No one, especially Fin and Hattie, wish to enter the tunnel and Lilith suggests that they try and find an alternate route and meet up with the track on the other end. This sounds agreeable to everyone but a forest fire suddenly appears and blocks their path. While running from the fire Fin discovers that Penelope is a faster runner than he is. To escape the fire they seek refuge in the tunnel and decide that they must go through it after all. Before they start, Penelope thanks Fin for saving her from the Warg.

***

That's it for now. I haven't written any more. I'll update this again sometime.

Novel Stats (or the night of no inspiration)

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 200 today (Aiee!) 17.8k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Kate Rusby but not much else.

The good:
“We’re ready,” I said and took Fin’s hand in mine and reached for Lilith’s. “Lead on, Ms. Lilith.” Hand and hand like children, we ventured forward.

***********************************************

Bad night. I think my muse took the night off to play internet poker. Here's hoping that tomorrow is better.

Novel Stats

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 420 today 17.8k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Steven King, Rosie Thomas, Anberlin, Sufjan Stevens

The good:
It seemed odd to sit down and eat just after such a harrowing ordeal but I found myself rather hungry. We sat in a small circle on the tracks, breaking our bread. My eyes continued to stray down the track to where everything vanished in a fist of darkness. It would be better to face that on a full stomach.


***********************************************

Today is definitely an in-between scene. I'm trying to make the most of it by focusing on developing Penelope. I'm really enjoying writing her. She's blossomed in my mind over the past few days. It's taken me a while to figure her out though. I originally wrote her as flirty and prissy. Wrong!

I don't know why I tried to write a character like that. I don't like those sort of girls. Why did I think it would be good to write a book about one? Things are much better now.

BTW, I just sent my characters into a tunnel full of (Zombies? Vampires?) that looks like this:



********

Here's a nice lyric:

And he has tried to swim the stream,
Oh woe betide the willow wand,
And woe betide the bush and briar,
For you broke beneath my true love's hand
When strength did fail and limbs did tire

And woe betide you Annan Waters
By night you are a gloomy river,
And over you I'll build a bridge
That never more true love can sever.

Novel Stats

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 500 today 17.8k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Steven King, Rosie Thomas, Anberlin, Sufjan Stevens

The good:
We began our final sprint down the ravine. The sky was dark as a thunderstorm. Blistering wind screamed over our heads. The air all around us rippled. Every inch of my body was drenched in sweat: it slicked my thighs and streamed down my face into my eyes and mouth. But the air was clear. I could breathe. My ankle was better. I ran as hard as I could. And I liked it.

I’d never been built like the other willowy girls who populated Luna Castle. My legs were thick and my waist, no matter how I tried to smooth it, always bore a soft ripple of fat. “You’ve got a runner’s body,” my mother once told me, after catching me reproachfully examining my figure in a mirror. “Postland has too many swans, for my tastes. Penelope, you’re a deer.” So I ran. The other girls might look gorgeous in a bathing suit but I could lick them in any race. The courtly life didn’t allow for many such opportunities but it didn’t matter. I was a runner. And I could even beat a fire if it came to a race.

***********************************************

I feel like I'm finally getting a bead on Penelope's character. She's starting to turn into real person for me instead of a caricature.

Poetry anyone?

This is a poem I wrote almost two years ago. I'd been reading Robert Browning and was inspired to write an epic poem. It was supposed to tell a story but I quickly burned out never finished it. I still sort-of like it though.

Chimera

1.
See now the scar in rock
The ragged tear in cliff, my path
Fingers fumble, they clutch, they grasp
Arm’s sinews tick like the work of a clock
Air sucked like a child and breast so locked
And watch the inches drag away and pass

2.
Stubbled clouds stack the sky in slate
Throwing snow petals to pattern the soil
Now caught by wind and turned in a cauldron boil
And there the mountain spear and sky mate
“Come and see the cold light generates.”
Says your voice or only the distant thunder roll

3.
Chimera, did your hand?
Your forge form the precipice?
Or knife cut the crevice?
Or mill grind the rocks to sand?
Did the fingers that drew mountain from land
pull tight the wires of my wrist?

4.
Soul, no longer muse, for I have sworn
To cast him from the cliffs and see his fire fade
He who dug the pit will also low be laid
Hero, the earth has made me so and I will not scorn
the path that paws of beasts have yet only worn
“Come and see the life death made.”

5.
Guinevere, her kisses calmed, feet no longer tread
Her voice, a bell of mercy, in these silent hills
Her fingers smoothing frost from a pane so chilled
Dashing like a deer on our path, she led
Sudden as a laugh, sharing in my bed
With her waters and whispers, dry riverbeds filled

6.
Remembering the day we wed in the storm
Her hands, sharp as knives on my breast
In silk, thin and pale as frost, she dressed
In one kiss, destinies tangled like thorns
With words of ragged fire to her I swore
And as one we cleaved to the quest

7.
A lady, fair as a child
A girl, dark as doom
Her words choice as silk on the loom
Could one so tender be so wild?
Could one so hard be so mild?
Yet she that burned life was quenched by tomb.

8.
Guinevere, your crown once fine gold
now a band of stones, a dress of clotted earth
Princess, royal maid, now dust is your worth
Her face, her skin too pale to line old
Her fire blazed fast and at a spear bled quick and cold
She, once so blessed, in the end Chimera cursed.

9.
Chimera, did your sword paralyze?
That day of sudden battles and attacks
When strength waned and death waxed
Did you turn deaf at her cries?
At your command did she die?
Did your hand plunge the axe?

10.
Here now, I reach a place flat as the cliff sheer
This new land pulls me from dreams of her
In my path, a stream moves with waters clear and pure
The drops and slosh tap like soft chimes on my ear
When last did I see a drink so sweet and clear?
This is surely a trap, my thirst to lure

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Aaaand... I got bored. Sort of a cliffhanger poetry wise though.

Novel Stats

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 500 today 17.8k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Steven King, Rosie Thomas, Anberlin, Sufjan Stevens

The good:
“Fin, when I was young... I had visions... of dark things. I couldn’t help it, they just came. But when I told my mother and the elders, they had only useless grownup things to say; it was just my imagination; I was just a child; there was nothing to be afraid of. That was even worse then the visions themselves. I knew I was alone with these scary pictures pouring into my head until it felt like my skull was going to crack. Fin, I will never say grownup things. You can tell me that you’ve seen scary monsters and I’ll stop and listen, ‘cause I’ve seen them too.”
***********************************************

I got the music bug and I wasted this weekend recording a song instead of writing. I was happy with how it turned out but my wife didn't like it and someone else commented that it sounded like The Phantom of the Opera or Gollum singing. Not sure how to take that. I had fun though.

By the way, how do you get your characters to go back underground right after they had a nasty time in a haunted mine? Start a fire, of course!

quick update...

Sorry for the lack of posts lately. My writing computer has been on the fritz and won't let me get into Blogger. I'm writing this from my non-writing computer.

Expect regular programming to commmence soon.

Novel Stats

Metrics for HAPPY, THE END

Daily Word Count: 700 today 15.6k total (out of a likely 60-80k)

Inspirations: Steven King, Rosie Thomas, Anberlin, Sufjan Stevens

The good:
The mine wanted to swallow me. It would to lick me into its gullet and pull me down the rusting tracks to be crushed and digested by stones and dirt. And it reeled me forward as if it had a hook in my neck.

Bad writing skill that needs to go away: Nothing new to report here.
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The haunted mine continues to bear fruit. A lot of character focusing happened in there for me. Suddenly I understand the witch and Fin a lot better. I still need to focus a tighter bead on Penelope (I changed her name from Hattie) but I'm feeling much better about everything.

Next up: Tunnel Zombies! (I'm serious.)

Just FYI

After few complaints, I did some digging and discovered that only Blogger-registered users can comment on my blog. Whoops.

Commenting is now open to everyone except spammers, racists and the Irish.

Visual Inspiration

Sometimes pictures make me want to get on the keyboard and start writing.Certain artists are especially good at this. I thought I'd share a few.

Maxfield Parrish
Sort-of a 'duh' here but his older, lesser-know work is a well of inspiration.





Above are a few images from the book "Dream Days". I remember finding this book in the library and pouring over the illustrations. Parrish went on to paint lavish, colorful landscapes later in his career that were hugely successful but I prefer his early illustrations.

Arthur Rackham

Creepy, old-school, pretty illustrations.



P.J. Lynch

The first modern illustrator here. Lynch's illustrations are like pearls. You can see how that he loves his characters in the way he paints them.



Michael Whelan

I'm really only aquinted with his work from The Dark Tower series but it's enough to sell me. His images are just grounded enough in reality to make me look twice.





So those are some for me. Anyone care to share what inspires them visually?