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Long Way Down

Something clicked and as of July 1st I’ve been writing like a mad person.  This week has been especially bad.  I mean good, but it’s bad too.  My wrists are killing me.  I keep having eye strain headaches.  I’m staying up too late.  I don’t want to stop and cook dinner.

I’ve already written 38,900 words this month.  Yes.  I know.

I’ve had some of the biggest days of my writing career ever this week.  Almost 8K one day, then almost 9K yesterday.  Over 5K today.  All on the same story.  It’s one I’ve never posted about here.  I had the idea and then just whammo.  Like Lady Blackmyre, the characters just showed up.  I started taking dictation.  Now it’s just a matter of getting it all down before I forget.

Or before my wrists give out.

Even better, I also have good wordage in another story that I’m working on with my beloved sister, Molly.  I’m actually a little behind this week on it after this huge flood on the new idea.  And yes, I still plan to get back to Mama C and the new idea as soon as I can.

But for now, I’m deep in the well and I’m not looking to drag myself out anytime soon.

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Shameful

I took a peek at my June word count spreadsheet.  I didn’t wanna.  I knew it would be bad.

Just under 8K.

In the entire month.

And that’s after a really huge day last week that nearly doubled my wordage.  How sad is that?

No excuses.  July will be better.  If I have to get up early, I will.  If I have to stay up late, ditto.  I’ve prepared a new July spreadsheet and I’m determined to get some better numbers.  I have too much to do to wait until the kids go back to school, or for the Evil Day Job to lighten up, or for the laundry and dish fairy to magically make all my chores go away.

There’s absolutely no reason I shouldn’t be able to get 30K in a month.  Easily.  So that’s my goal for July.  I don’t care what project it is (I have four in progress).  I just have to make moar wordz.

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Writing ADHD

I’ve got four projects I’m actively working on.  FOUR.  I know.  *hangs head in shame*

I write a little in Charlie.  Then I dabble with Mama C.  I started a secret project.  Then I started yet another new project today.

Here’s the crazy thing:  I’ve almost written more today than the whole month.

Part of it is the relief that the first stress of the Evil Day Job project is over.  My portion has moved to production and nothing blew up.  Yet.  Two nights in a row!  *knocks on wood*  The other piece moved to production today and runs tomorrow.  Then I have one more thing I promised by the end of the month, which is… Friday.  Yikes.  It’s doable though.  Then of course we must quickly switch gears to the next big (huger) project.  It’s neverending, which is a good thing called job security.

But it wreaks havoc on my writing brain sometimes.  It’s hard to concentrate.

It’s also hard on the diet because I stress eat.  Sigh.

But I’m slowly working back into a routine.  I’m keeping a spreadsheet that will hopefully help me get back to daily writing.  I still don’t care which project I work on, as long as I’m working.  Hopefully I can build some momentum again.  If today’s any indication with 2800+ words, I’m  baaaaaaaack!

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I Never Even Called Him By His (Real) Name

I have a character named Charlie (so I thought).  You’ve seen him before.  He seems like a very nice man, yes?  I mean, he takes super good care of his dog and for 35k+ he’s unfailingly understanding and gives Ranay exactly what she needs.

He can’t be a bad man.  Right?  So she believes and yes, I hope you believe the same thing for at least the first 1/4-1/3 of the story.

But there are hints that all is not what it should be.

I know secrets about him.  So many convoluted secrets that I’ve confused myself.  Or maybe he’s confusing me on purpose.

He’s very affable.  He enjoyed telling me about his troubled past today.  Too much, perhaps.  It makes me think that it’s all a show, just one of the many faces he wears when it suits him.  His name really isn’t Charlie (and he won’t tell me what his real name is, either).  He isn’t who the heroine believes him to be.  He isn’t even who I believe him to be, and I created the SOB.

I keep thinking that I should know all these things before I get much further.  Hello, I already have 35k+ on this story.  Ranay’s trust in him is getting ready to go to hell in a hand basket.  I put this story aside for awhile because I didn’t know all the whys and wherefores.  I know “about” what happens, but it’s very much one of those things that’s going to evolve and change and scare the crap out of me before I’m done.

He wears so many masks that even he doesn’t know what his face looks like any longer.  A lie?  An illusion?  An alias?  I. Have. NO. IDEA.

How can I hope to write this story and do it justice, when I’ve never even called him by the right name yet?

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The Summer Blahs

Every year I hope this summer will be different.  I start out good.  And then the summer blahs hit.

Maybe it’s the soaring temps (although not this year – it’s been rather cool and rainy).  Maybe it’s the kids being out of school.  They stay up super late, so I don’t sleep as well.  I’m tempted to stay up with them (I’m naturally a night owl, but a thing called the Evil Day Job prevents me from staying up too often).  It’s certainly harder to get up in the dark if I’ve only been in bed a few hours.

Maybe it’s work.  The EDJ has been particularly busy this year, especially the last two months, and there’s really no end in sight.

Whatever the cause, I feel the days slipping by and it drives me nuts.  I just can’t get moving.  It’s harder to stick to the diet when it’s hotdog and chips season.  It gets too hot to do much outside.  The kids get bored and whiny, even when I’ve organized activities for them to keep them out of the house as much as possible so I can work.  Can you believe they start complaining that the pool is *boring*?

I’ve wasted entire summers in the past, but I keep trying NOT to lose these months.  I have to keep moving.  So it’s back to tiny goals on ANY book that will hold my interest.  Last night, I reread Charlie’s story (the mysterious “Christmas” novella that wasn’t about Christmas and wanted to be more than a novella!).  I’ve reread what I have in Mama C too.  Of course I also have the new PNR I’m building.  Too many cool ideas — just not enough brain cells right now.

I’m pulling out the timer.  15 minutes on any project.  Then maybe I’ll have some ice cream!

P.S. Stay tuned for another Her Grace’s Stable giveaway – a cool custom handmade cosmetic bag from Haut Totes!

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On Plotting

As I’ve been working on the new PNR idea, I’ve been thinking about my plotting processes and how they’ve evolved over the years.  There are so many different ways to think about story structure, from the Witch’s original “Block” idea, to the Marshall Plan, the Hero’s Journey, Save the Cat

All of them speak to me at various stages or for different things.  Save the Cat has really taught me to come full circle, to think about how I’m going to start and how I’m going to end, and what that means from the very beginning.

Breaking out all of those worksheets for the Marshall Plan is not for me.  It’s just too tedious.  I still learned a lot though, mostly to keep that push through each and every scene for what changed.  Why include it here?

The Hero’s Journey still speaks the most to me, but sometimes I need something a little simpler.  One thing I’ve read more about this year is the try/fail sequence.  Sometimes that helps me come up with what I want to happen in the middle.  (How can I make this worse?)  There’s also the 7-point plot.

And if your head is whirling now…  You’re not the only one.

What I’ve decided is that just like I prefer a different tarot deck for each major story world, I sometimes need a different way to think about plot for each story too.  Sometimes I use a little Save the Cat combined with try/fail until I get to the end.  Sometimes I’m hero’s journey all the way.  Sometimes I have a character show up in my head and just take over the whole damned show and all I can do is hang on for the ride.  Other times, it’s the world that comes to me first, and I have to figure out how to populate that world with cool and interesting characters who have something to say.

In the end, use ALL or NOTHING or PART of any of the methods to help you.  The more you know, the better.

Just for kicks and giggles, I’m building a simple one-page spreadsheet that highlights all of these plot methods so I can see the major points at a glance.  If you’re curious, take a peek (pdf).

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Writing with Tarot

I’ve posted before that I often turn to tarot for brainstorming (my friend Raelyn Barclay has lots of good posts here).  What I’m finding (for me) is that I end up buying a new deck for each new idea.  *sheepish*

For Lord Regret’s Price, I used the Steampunk Tarot exclusively.  The gorgeous, rich artwork and the Victorian/steampunk elements really spoke to me. I hope I can continue to use those cards for other books in the series.

But when I sat down to work on the new paranormal idea, I didn’t want to use that same deck.  It just didn’t work.  It didn’t say masks or shifters or demons or anything spooky.  I was wandering around on Amazon for something and saw the Deviant Moon deck and it was like cymbals started crashing in my skull.  Yes, yes, yes!

Looking at the cards is even more exciting.  I’ve been working with them all week with mixed results (so I thought).  First, I used their recommended “deviant moon” spread for my villain and got some incredible ideas.  Then I tried the same spread for the hero, and I just didn’t seem to feel it.  I mean, the cards just didn’t seem connected.  I couldn’t visualize anything, it didn’t spark a plot point, or anything.

When that happens, don’t despair!  Here’s a few things I tried:

  1. I took notes anyway and saved them for later.  Upon reflection and some shifting in my mind, the cards filled a gap for something else that I needed.
  2. Try a different spread.  When all else fails, I go back to the simple 3-card past, present, and future.  I got lots of good stuff for the hero then.
  3. If nothing seems to gel, maybe just flip through the deck and examine cards for fun.  See which ones seem to speak and take notes.

All of these options paid out cool ideas this week.  The cards I drew the first day that didn’t seem to work for the hero were actually calling up a missing character I needed.  (They were all strong women, like the Empress, the Queen of Wands, but I knew it wasn’t the heroine.)  I got another card that gave me a plot point that had nothing to do with the hero — but did involve the book.

And when I just picked some cards that really seemed important, I ended up building characters around those cards.  I just KNEW they needed to be used because they were so cool.  This time around, I’m actually building most of my cast straight from the cards themselves.  Not all of the characters are a single card.  e.g. the hero begins as a mix of the hermit/magician, but ends as the Ace of Pentacles.  Without going into too many details about what I’m doing, here are a few pictures of how I’m pairing stuff up.

hero heroine

These cards represent my hero and heroine’s growth throughout the book.  For the heroine (right), she has to make a choice.  The bottom card is what will happen if she falls to the Dark Side.  She’s quite dark, so while I know she’s not going to make that choice…I want to remind myself of that risk as I write.

antagonists

For my villains (yes there’s more than one), I knew the card on the right was significant.  It was a meeting between my two major antagonists.  But I wasn’t sure where else she might show up.  I flipped through the cards looking for a woman colored the same way to get other clues.  I did the same thing for my heroine — looking for other cards that had wings.

So I guess my point here is that it doesn’t have to be based on random chance.  You can sit down and look through the cards for specific characteristics to get ideas too.

Man, I’m loving this creepy weird deck!  I’m getting so many wicked ideas!!!

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Categorization

I realized yesterday that I’m a complete and utter blockhead.  Yeah, I know you’re all shocked.  *rolls eyes*

I’ve referred to my totem animal the horse many times.  How sometimes I just want to kick the stall down and charge off into the hills, wild and free.  How hard it is for me to settle under the saddle sometimes, or to take my place in the harness.  It’s not the work I mind.  I love the work.

It’s the idea of constraint.

I’ve always had a super hard time categorizing myself.  Early on, I was told I was too category when writing contemporary romance so I gave it up a long time.  Yet my category efforts weren’t category enough.  My fantasy is often too fantasy for romance readers, yet I can’t call a book a romance when major characters die, even if the ending is super happy and positive.  My Jane Austen Space Opera series isn’t really SFR.  But it’s not really steampunk either, unless you widen up the accepted time period and allow nanobot technology instead of steam.

I finally realized yesterday where I get myself into trouble.  It starts at the very beginning, when I’m brainstorming an idea.  Here’s how the last few days have gone.

  1. I want to develop a new paranormal romance series.
  2. I don’t want to do vampires or werewolves because everyone does them.
  3. I don’t want to do demons because I love Larissa Ione’s demons.
  4. I don’t want to do witches or angels either.  Everyone’s done them already.
  5. Hmmm.  Change gears.  What about the underlying mythology?
  6. I don’t want to do Celtic.  Everybody’s done Celtic.
  7. I don’t want to do Norse.  Egyptian.  Same reason.
  8. I picked Maya because a). I love pyramids and b). blood sacrifice and c). not very common when I started the idea.  But I had several comments about the weird/unusual/hard to pronounce/understand names.  The blood stuff was “disturbing.”  Hmm.

Hmm.  So I went to Amazon and started looking through the bestseller lists to look for trends.  What’s popular right now?  What’s selling?  What kinds of titles are people using?

Right away, I noticed there were 15,000+ books listed generically under “Romance->Paranormal.”  Hmmm.  That’s a TON of books.  Then I noticed that there were only a few sub-sections of Paranormal listed, like Demons and Devils.  Not shapeshifters.  Interesting.

So then I went to the publisher’s store where I plan to submit this idea, and examined their tags under paranormal romance.  They were different tags than Amazon, but still very specific.

Now here where’s I’m a blockhead.

My gut reaction:  I can’t do something in those tags.  It won’t be different enough.

*headdesk*

Yes, that’s the horse kicking down the stall and running away for no apparent reason.

I asked myself.  Self?  Do you want to be 1 book in 15,000 paranormal romances?  Or do you want to be 1 book in 700+ Demons and Devils?  Or less than 300 psychics?

Wow.  Yeah.  I’m ashamed it took me so long to figure that out.  I’ve only been writing something like 9 years now…

In my efforts to always be unique and different, I make myself hard to categorize.  I don’t fit within boundaries very well because I DELIBERATELY choose to find something outside of the box.

That’s not a bad thing, if I control it.  I have to stand out in some way, but I need to narrow the field if I can.  It’s only smart.

I want to be smart.

So yes, write what I love.  Find the unique.  But also pick something that is easily categorized.  I don’t have to write vampires.  I don’t have to write werewolves.  But there are other things I do love that will keep the muse interested and excited.

While I’m writing Mama C’s first draft, I’ll be building a paranormal romance trilogy that fits squarely in my sweet spot.  It will have shapeshifters, masks, demons, and Native American mythology and I’m quite excited about what I have so far!

SweetSpot

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Planning and Goals

Returning from RT13 inspired, I spent the day planning my next projects and administrative tasks.  I’ve got 12 non-writing items on my to-do list.  Gulp.  Things like sending Her Grace’s Stable out for reviews, buying ads, gathering prizes, writing guest blog posts, etc.  It’s insane!

Then I sat down and made a list of all the projects I want and have to do work on.  There are only 8 on the list.  *laughs manically*

I made a list of what I need to do to get moving on Mama C again.  I re-read everything I’ve written so far, made some light edits, and jotted a few notes.  Then I worked on the story until I got 500 words.  It was pretty slow going — it’s been at least a week or two since I last opened the file.  But I did finally get the words I needed and the story was starting to flow better.

My plan was to get as much set up today as possible so I can return to D&E writing tomorrow.  I have a hard time dragging myself up out of bed that early, though, if I’m not already knee-deep in the story. e g. the characters need to be talking in my head without effort and I need to know exactly what comes next.  However, Mama C isn’t fully plotted yet.  I had a neat twist come to me that’s going to require some additional work.  I don’t have the middle-end of her story plotted at all–just a few scenes for the first Act.  That’s it.  I don’t want to write too far and then get stuck…

But I can’t sit around waiting to plot this book either.  I’m wasting too much time.

So what I’m going to try to do is work on my plot at night, at least far enough that I can get up the next morning and write the next scene.  Hopefully I’ll be able to keep ahead of myself.  Usually the ideas spawn other ideas, so as I write, I should get more and more future scenes falling into place.

I’m also going to come up with some kind of schedule to handle all the administrative tasks before my next release.  e.g. I need to write one guest post a week or something or I’ll lose my ever-loving mind again.

In addition, I’m building a new idea that I started developing this past week in KC.  I’m shuffling it a little higher on the list just below Mama C, with the goal of having it built and plotted so that as soon as I finish Mama, I can switch gears and immediately begin to draft the other project.  I need to get better at handling multiple projects in various stages of development at the same time, or I lose months as I try to get a new project moving.

I have a feeling Mama C’s going to run in the 70K range instead of the <50K range, so it’s probably going to take me into June before I can finish the draft.  We’ll see though.

That’s the plan and I’m sticking to it.  For now!

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Guess Who’s Talking Now

It’s too early to say how quickly it’ll go, but Virginia aka Mama Connagher has been talking to me loud and clear since last night.  I sat down late last night–minutes before I said I was going to bed–and suddenly had 1200 words carved out.  This scene has been on my mind for a long time, so it didn’t take much effort to write.

I don’t know what the “plot” will be for this book — I think it’ll be more of a basic character-driven romance with a Connagher reunion on the side.  We’ll see though.  I don’t have it plotted at all, just a few key scenes I know need to happen.  I really don’t know how it’ll unfold yet.  But here’s a snippet while I wait for Charlie to tell me what his OTHER name is…

Rocking in her chair on the front porch, Virginia Connagher watched the sun set as she’d done every night for thirty years, ever since she and Tyrell had first bought this ranch.  It’d been a rough mess of two hundred acres and a tiny shack barely livable with falling down fences and more weeds and cactus than pasture.  A lifetime of sweat, tears and blood had turned this land into her dream—one of the finest stables in all of Texas.  Her show horses were becoming famous.  And it didn’t mean a damned thing.

Not without him.

Pink darkened to violet and stars dotted the velvet canvas.  A whippoorwill called from one of the blackgum trees he’d planted alongside the driveway when they’d first moved out here.  She loved the bird’s calls…and yet hated it too.  He’d always loved those damned noisy birds.

“This always was your favorite time of day.”

She turned her head, shocked to see him sitting beside her in the matched mate to her chair.  Dusty, stained cowboy hat tipped back on his head, sun-lined weathered face, eyes so blue and brilliant it hurt to look into them, and big Texas mustache.  He wore faded denim from head to toe and worn boots that had seen better days, the same thing he’d worn just about every single day of his life.  She could even smell his Stetson cologne, the only thing he’d ever worn.  “What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting.”  His slow, easy drawl made her throat tighten, her eyes filling up with tears.  “Thought it was past time.”

“You died fifteen years ago.”

He tipped his hat back further and gave her a solemn nod.  “I sure did, Princess.”

He hadn’t called her that in…she couldn’t even remember how long.  Early in their courtship—perhaps warfare was the better word—he’d called her a snooty princess and the name had stuck.  She’d called him a lowlife cattle rustler.  Then they’d married and had a wonderful life together.  Until it all ended.  “You never came to see me before.”

“You wouldn’t let me.  You’re a hard woman, Virginia.  Besides, you didn’t need me then.”

She stared at him, gripping the chair arms so hard her fingers ached.  He’d always done this.  Infuriated her to the point she wanted to lay into him with her fists, her hair brush, a whip, anything she had at hand.  Once she’d accidentally given in to that temptation, she’d finally figured out he’d deliberately been trying to drive her to unleash some violence on him all along, to their mutual enjoyment.

“I didn’t need you,” she repeated slowly, carefully enunciating each word.  “When you left me alone to raise our children.  When I had to organize your funeral.  When I’ve been alone all these years.  Yet now you decide to mosey back into my life?  What on earth for?”

“You’ve been alone too long.”

She let out a harsh laugh that jarred her ears.  “Don’t tell me you’ve come back from the grave to tell me I need to move on and find a new man.”

“You’re too much woman to be alone.  It ain’t right.”

“No, I’ll tell you what ain’t right.  You leaving us.  Me having to bury you in your wedding suit.”  The memory of how fake and stiff he’d looked in his coffin made her bury her face in her hands.  “It wasn’t right, Ty.  I should have buried you in jeans like the boys wanted.  But I just wasn’t myself and Miss Belle said you didn’t care one way or the other, but I hated seeing you in that suit.  It should have had only good memories.”

He gently pried her fingers away from her face and lifted her right hand to his mouth.  Funny, she’d forgotten how much his mustache tickled.  She’d cursed that thing, complained how the whiskers had poked her nose when he kissed her, but now… I’d give anything to feel those damned whiskers against my cheek again. 

“Miss Belle’s always right, don’t you know that yet?  I didn’t care one way or the other.  All I want you to remember about me is this.”

His palm on hers, big and strong and rough.  He’d worked as a ranch hand all his life, when he wasn’t rodeoing.  He’d busted just about every bone in his body including his skull and tore up his hands doing hard work under the unforgiving Texan sun.  She gripped his calloused hand tighter, desperate to keep him with her.  “How could I ever find another man who moved me like you still do?”

“He’s there.  You just have to open your eyes.”

“I don’t want no one else.”

He brushed his mouth against her knuckles again, deliberately tickling her skin with a wicked knowing glint in his eyes.  “You will, if you let yourself think about it.  I know you too well, Virginia Connagher.  If you set your mind against a thing, you’ll never surrender the fight come hell or high water.  It’s a miracle you ever loosened up enough to let me into that stone cold heart.”

“It’s colder and stonier now, Ty.  You said I’m a hard woman, and you’re right.  I don’t think I could ever let anyone in again.”

He nodded solemnly.  “I know it.  That’s why I’ve come to help you see the way.  I love you too much to watch you hurt alone any longer.”

Hurt alone. Those words stung, sinking deep beneath her skin to pierce her heart.  She wanted to avert her face and keep the desperation and hunger hidden away, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him.  He might fade away and she’d never see him again, not until she met St. Peter at the Pearly Gates.  “There’s no other way, Ty, and you know…”

“I know,” he broke in, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder.  “You’ve been hurting alone.  I don’t like it.  Not at all.  Virginia Connagher shouldn’t ever hurt alone.”  He squeezed her hand hard enough that the fine bones began to grind together.  It made her blood thicken with the sweet memory of their shared secrets.  How he’d been able to feed that hungry side of her that feasted on pain.  “Not my woman.”

“I don’t want to forget you.”  It came out plaintive, making her wince, because she hated nothing more than being weak.

He laughed, a dark chuckle that came against her ear, his breath hot and moist in her ear.  “You’ll never forget me, Princess.  But that don’t mean you can’t take another man in my absence.”

Something shook her whole body.  Lightning arced through her mind, making her body twitch uncontrollably.

“Ty…”

Darkness swallowed her.  She lost the sensation of his hand on hers.  She couldn’t see him any longer, though his cologne filled her nose one last time as though she’d buried her face against his chest.  “I’ll always love you, Virginia.”

Voices crashed and rattled inside her.  Lights streamed by, like she was flying.  So fast.

“Female, fifty six years old, broken arm, severe concussion.”  Hands probed her stomach, sending her gasping in pain.  “Probable internal injuries.”

She opened her mouth to ask what had happened, but her brain didn’t want to work.  Nothing hurt.  That was probably a very bad sign.  The scent of Stetson still lingered.  She closed her eyes, trying to hold on to him, but already his image had faded in her mind.  The brightness of his eyes had dimmed, the edges fuzzed and softened by time.  She started crying and she didn’t care who saw.  “Ty.”

“Mama!”  Vicki suddenly appeared, her face white, her eyes huge and dark with fear.  “What happened?”

“We lost her pulse for a minute or so, but she’s back with us now.”  One of the nurses grabbed Vicki’s arm, holding her back from following into the next room.  Lights blazed everywhere, too bright, too painful.

“Mama!”  Vicki cried out.  “Victor’s on his way!  I’ll call Conn too.  Don’t worry about a thing!”

Virginia tried to turn and see her daughter, to find out what had happened, but someone put something over her mouth and she slid into nothingness where not even a sweet dream of Ty could find her.