I really never expected myself to become a yarn enthusiast, but, here I am. Not only did I make a pretty good purse out of yarn (pics coming soon) but I’m now making a scarf.
We go in for the really over-the-top projects around here.
Only trouble is, I only have one skein of the yarn…and I’m going to need more than that.
Not to worry, a yarn creation is a living, malleable thing, and is happy to wait out my yarn shortage negotiation masquerading as—
::drom roll::
Mr. Top Hat Man!
He’s the happening guy to have at parties–invite him while you still can!
I still haven’t actually, quite, managed to start a rewrite on Popcorn that lasted for more than a day. Every time I think I’ve had my Eureka moment I change my mind two days later when some part of the plotting equation proves to be so much sludge.
One part of the problem was that I wasn’t willing to overhaul the first chapter. I wrote the first chapter at bootcamp. And ‘bootcamp’ can be translated thus: An atmosphere of charged creativity, two days of fabulous and funny OSC lecturs that preceded a walk at dusk in which my muse was courted. An indulgence in pure writing and nothing but writing that went on for an entire day and was poured into the creation of Popcorn Potion, the short story. Then there was the rush of having my fellow bootcampers like it–even though I’d gone out on a limb and written something playful and funny. The short story inspired the novel and had a special significance as the first chapter of the novel. There was no way I was going to nix it.
Except, that’s exactly what I need to do.
Popcorn Potion, the novel, has a girl protag who doesn’t think it odd at all that her best weapon is popcorn. The demons come in vivid purples and the sniff-frogs would disgust the most hardened ten-year-old. At it’s heart it’s an adventure story, and it needed a protag of maybe ten or thirteen who might have a tendency to leap and then look. But, because of that sacrosanct first chapter, it had a sixteen-year-old grifter who wouldn’t trust you as far as she could spit her popcorn kernels. She had some spunk but, as my fellow Codexians have helped me see, she wasn’t very likable. Certainly not someone who we’d want to spend the whole novel with, and probably not the right gal to carry this story.
So, out with the first chapter. Out with Emma the teen. I’m tempted to take one friends suggestion and frame the first chapter on my wall, but I’d rather think of it as free in the creative netherworld. Cutting it loose is actually extraordinarily liberating, as it leaves me free to write the novel the way the story dictates. It also leaves me free to work out the kinks in my magic system . . . which may mean I have to invite Emma over for a brief visit so she can put me under the influence of popcorn and pick my brain.
That sounds like fun.
No worries, I haven’t adopted someone elses toddler. For all that I love my kids, I really don’t miss the potty-training stage, and the screaming tantrums because I forgot to slice the apple the right way can remain distant memories, as well.
What I’m attempting is to teach our dog, Zeke, to walk on leash. We adopted him almost a year ago as a near full-sized one-year-old. He sits beautifully, will come when called, behaves in the house and leaves food alone unless it’s put in his bowl. But he won’t walk on leash.
His training has been rather eratic becuase I’ve been busy, and part of the time my fractured arm made handling him impossible. Plus, getting him trained is more of a want than a necessity, since he’s got four fenced acres to roam. But he absolutley loves to go for walks, and I like taking him. I’d just prefer that I came back with my arms still firmly engaged in the shoulder sockets.
But now I’ve discovered his great weakness–ham. He loves it, loves it, loves it. I can’t say that we’re ready for the show circuit just yet, but we ARE making progress, so long as I have a baggie of the good stuff tucked in my pocket. For now that’s easy, as we have some ham left over from Christmas. But, come a few weeks from now, if you see me carefully considering the sliced ham in the grocery story for that dog-salivating flavor, you’ll know who I’m buying for.
Every year for it seems like an eon I’ve come up with new goals sometime in early January. Sometimes even on the first. And I’ve noticed a pattern.
Some of my goals will be met over the course of the year, but often the goals for the year change as the year progresses–which is a nice way to say I don’t meet my goals, but do get other stuff done. This was true of my writing goals in 2007 and again in 2008. In 2009 I set these goals:
- Re-write Shadow Dance
- Write the first Keela novel (this will include a lot of world developing)
- Write queries for both novels above, and start subbing SD
- Write four non-flash short stories
- Stay alive in the SF&F world, including my blog, LJ, FB and attendance at cons.
Those seemed simple enough and I was sure that I had a handle on what the year would bring.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
Not only has this year been full of wild U-turns and hidden trap doors, I also drastically changed what I wanted writing-wise from the year. I didn’t attend any SFF cons, but instead I attended RWA and OSC’s bootcamp. I did about half the re-write on Shadow Dance (now known as 13 Demon Days), then spent the rest of my fiction writing time on The Popcorn Potion. I got a few queries sent, then decided that the story needed an overhaul even worse that the query, and reigned them both in to be worked on. I also finished roughly the equivalant of a novel’s length in my freelance writing, which translates to bread and butter on the family’s table. Oh, and unless it’s slipped my mind, I didn’t write a single short story this year.
So, what does this add up to for 2010 goals? One could ask why I even bother, since I obviously can’t predict what the year will bring. But I find that in spite the above batting average, I’m a goal setter at heart and like to have my plan for progress outlined ahead of time.
Which still leaves me with a problem because I know that performance goals are highly preferable to outcome goals, but what I really, really want this year is to aquire an agent (they can rep Popcorn, 13 DD, whatever) for my fantasy work, and get some nice solid contracts for the freelance/write-for-hire stuff. But I have a plan that will take care of everything. I’m hereby commiting to:
- Rewrite Popcorn
- Send out thirty queries for Popcorn
If that hasn’t produced requests for pages and/or an agent:
- Finish the rewrite on 13 DD, and
- send out more queries, on both 13DD and Popcorn
Also:
- Spend a min. of three hours each day producing content for bread and butter writing gigs
- Attend NASFiC, and maybe even help in some way
- Oh, and take care of anything else which comes up and seems like a good idea.
See, isn’t that brilliant? I wrote out goals that are concrete and performance oriented and almost hide the fact that I’m really all about outcome goals this year. I also gave myself a loophole to throw all the goals out and do something entirely different if I decide to. I just may be getting the hang of this.
Until next year, of course.
You know, the day before Christmas Eve!
Our budget has been a bit tighter than usual this year, so several of the kids’ presents were homemade by yours truly. What’s even more amazing, they turned out pretty good. My personal favorite may be a stack of wash cloths for our son that were personalized so they wouldn’t be stolen by other family members, which is what usually happens. I had a good time stretching my artistic skills to come up with something cool for all twelve of them, and even did a garfield cartoon of my own creation.
The downside of all this fun and games is that I’m really excited for Christmas to come and the kids to open their gifts. So, of course these last couple days have taken forever and it feels as if Christmas will never come. Good thing we don’t do this most years–I’m not sure I could stand all the suspense!
Hope you all have a good Christmas! I’ll be posting this weekend sometime, but no promises when. Let the holidays begin!
As you can see from this pic, we got snow–but nothing like our neighbors to the north.
And while my friends in DC were quick to exclaim over the fun we were missing, I find that I’m quite content with exactly the snow we got. I suspect that old man winter is going to be all tuckered out when he finishes this tour de force along the east coast, though. As a demonstration of our gratitude that we (almost) got Christmas snow, but didn’t get dumped on, I’ve prepared the perfect spot for him to take his well-earned rest.
Makes you want to kick back your heels and chill, don’t you think?
This is Thursday am, not Wednesday, but I’m working on learning my days of the week. Honest. Expect to have them down anytime now.
Lately I’m working on my bread and butter writing gigs more than my urban fantasy novel and must be missing the fun and whimsy of the fantasy writing. When I walked past my minature winter village the other night, I could’ve sworn there was someone peeking out one of the windows. A little face, pressed to the glass, and smiling out at the snow.
Given how idealic the village looks, it’s easy to imagine that the inhabits come out at night to to share songs in the village square or ice skate on the pond in the warm glow of lantern light.
More likely they’re stealing my fudge.
No pun intended, unless the reader is currently querying a humor novel. 
After testing the waters with a few queries for The Popcorn Potion, I discovered a new and fascinating obsession: that of attempting to extract from a single nondescript sentence why oh why the rejecting agent would pass on my manuscript. And without even taking a look at the poor overlooked baby!
I know I’m not alone, so I appreciate these insights provided by Editorial Anonymous on the subject. Read it and weep. You and I are only mortals, and may fall into the sub-mortal category of writers. We simply can not aspire to this level of fluency in the interpretation of rejection letters.
If one were ever so lucky as to find oneself amongst the audience for a jazz band school performance, I really hope that privileged individual would know better than to whistle along–especially when the whistler doesn’t know the tune!–or try to keep the kids on tempo by loudly tapping out the beat.
Cause that would be really annoying.
A favorite mantra in the writing world is that you have to ‘kill your darlings.’ The thought process goes something like this: Whatever it is that you’re most attached to in your book or writing probably represents a phrase or scene in which the author took center stage, instead of the story. This ‘darling’ represents a blind spot for the writer, and a departure from the tale being told. Therefore, it must be chopped.
I’ve always considered myself fairly ruthless when it came to darling cutting, because I see myself as a medium by which the story is told. In the past, when a phrase or expression drew too much praise from my readers, I considered it carefully and chopped it out if necessary.
But no one ever told me that killing my darlings could extend to chopping away at entire scenes and characters.
Imagine for a moment, a computer screen filled with images of adorable kittens, bouncy puppies, teeny tiny baby bunnies, and a infant octopus or two. Hey, I like baby octopi!
Now imagine that all these creatures have been lovingly cared for by you, and nurtured to their present state of health and happiness. You’ve even given them names.
Now look each one in the eyes, and make up your mind that it’s got to die.
You see what I mean? It’s one thing to cut out a phrase here or there. It’s something else entirely to whop off whole sections of the book, scenes that had a life of their own.
Well, I haven’t got the guts. True, they must get out of this novel, must go find their home somewhere else. To that end, I’m offering up my darlings for adoption. Free to a good home, no adoption fee required! Watch for spotlights here on each individual darling cut from Popcorn, and leave an application in the comments if you’re interested. The darlings thank you for your interest!
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