How it works....sometimes

GOOOOD MORNING Faithful Followers.

I really wish I had sufficient PC skills to attach Robin Williams voice to that sentence, ala Good Morning Vietnam...

Yes, I know. It's shocking, it's 6 o'clock in the morning and I'm vertical, semi-dressed and almost in a good mood. Please, enjoy it while it lasts - it's like a cloud on a hot, dry day: it can disappear at any moment.

But while it's here, let me tell you that this week has been exceptional. Ex-Cep-Shun-All! A bit like...

Hmmm - senese a theme going on here? Might have been the gaggle of Marines that were hanging out in front of my office yesterday. Yes, God gifted me with Marines. Ooodles of them. They were scrumptious, yummy even! Tasty, like savory cupcakes without too much sweet frosting. MMMM, mmm, mmm. 

Aw, there I go digressing again. 

So, you ask, why was last week all "Good Morning, Vietnam," besides the fact it's one of my favorite movies of all time? Well, because it was a bit of good and bad, bitter and sweet. 

First, work was tough. Really tough. I can't go into specifics cuz I need to keep my job until I sell millions of books and become rich, but it just was. Stupid problems that should never have occurred, abject failure to follow policy and a lot of whining and complaining. And that was just on the government side - let's not even get into the contractors!

But, writing was good. My muse, the Valkyrie, must have swallowed mushrooms or got laid or something. She was soaring all week, higher and higher, bringing back the good stardust and sprinkling on my head and hands. She was generous and effusive and before I knew it I had 26 pages of a new novel safely tucked away, another 13 pages on the almost new story, 40 pages of the first novel revised and a 4,000 word short story completed.  

"Wait," you ask, "What do you mean a 'New Novel'? Weren't you already working on a new novel? And what's this 'almost new story'?"

Well, that's why I'm going all Adrian Cronauer on you... Let me try to explain.

1)  Book One: I finished it around the first of the year, shopped it around, got some nibbles, got a request for full, got turned down, sent it to my friend and author Justine and got four pages of tiny, tiny font feedback so I could go fix it. Which is what I'm doing now and I'm about a third of the way.

2) Then came Book Two: I finished it a couple months ago, didn't shop it around, was working on revisions to it with my critique partner CP, stupidly entered PitMad on Twitter, got a request for partial, got a request for full, made CP madly finish her critique, dashed off all the corrections and sent it in. And am waiting for results. And went ahead and submitted to a few other folks cuz why the hell not, I'm a writer, that's what we do.

3)  Short Story One: dashed off after dashing around the block with the dog one day. Submitted to about a dozen magazines, turned down by all but three, those three still pending. If they decline, I promise to publish here. 

4)  New story one, or "almost new story" was an idea I wanted to explore in a voice I hadn't used before. Girl after my own heart with much tequila, surfing, sex and general fun.  The Pro-tag cusses like a sailor (gee, go figure) and eats like a teenage boy. She's smart, stubborn, OCD and will make you snort coffee out your nose. Yup. She's me - back in the day. Story was coming nicely and I new where it was going to go as well. Probably about 10% written.

5)  Short Story Two: I'd been turning this around in my head since March, unsure how to actually get it started, but it finally found it's way out and I've sub'd to a small handful of magazine's to see if they are interested. It's pretty weird, which means it's pretty authentically me. It's not all snergly and there's almost no cussing, but it's still pretty "me."

Then along came New Story. THE story. It started with a single, completely out of context line as I was laying in bed the other night. I mean, the sentence could have gone anywhere, or nowhere. But between thinking it as I dozed off and waking up the next morning, the story had formed and was just dying to escape. I wrote the first chapter during lunch at work that day. And it kept coming. It's still clamoring at the tips of my fingers, begging to get out. It's AMAZING too! ROAR!

I can't wait to sub it out, 'cuz I have confidence this one is going places. And it's so damn fun to write - I even get to make up words and lot's of other cool things. I can't tell you much, but it's a mash-up of genres and the feedback so far is GOOD!  This is the one that had me crawling out of bed three times last night to add a line here, a paragraph there. I finally decided to just leave the damn computer on so I wouldn't have to wait for it, thereby risking the precious WERDS that were trying to make it out of my head. 

So, there you go. That's the sort of week it takes to make me feel this way. Not so hard to understand, right? I think, with that, I'm gonna take The Terrorist for a walk, so I can get back to writing.

Peace out, Ya'll! Here's your Saturday Tunes - make it a good one!

The Muse slept in...

Yup. She's running late. She's doing it on purpose, you know? She's mad at me. Having her little temper tantrum, dropping vowels and double dipping into the punctuation bin.

I don't know why she's acting like this. Is it my fault I have two books in revision? Is it my fault I went away for the weekend with The Man Behind The Curtain and left her at home? Is it my fault she got into the printer toner, sucked up all the good ink and was left with the hangover from hell?

I mean, come on, she's all pouty and sick and she missed the trash can and now I'm stuck cleaning up her mess? Where's the loyalty and respect in that? She acts like I can throw down a new storyline every time she wants to get some action.

She's all ...

It doesn't work like that. She may be all hot and lathered, but I need a little more foreplay - a touch of romance even. I can't just jump on the keyboard and start pounding away at her any, uh. Where was I?

Oh, yeah - the keyboard. Typing away at her ideas whenever she feels like dropping them off. It's like a teenager returning with loads of dirty laundry at the end of the college term.

IT'S NOT MY PROBLEM.

And she's such a bitch about it too. She gets all up in my temporal lobes, filling my nights with weird dreams, then she busts down the door to the occipitals and mashes in a bunch of equally weird visions and hallucinations.

Helloooo? Try driving much while images flash by like a slide show on crack?

I would tie her up and lock her in the closet but she'd like that. Bondage: it's her thing.

So, instead I try and dash a few notes down here and there. Story ideas, character sketches, scenes from bars and diners and beds that... Well - I'm just glad no one else has access to my computer.

It could be worse. I could have my CP's muse. She's been sending her images of Zombie sex and a fat China man who can't - uh - perform.

You, know, in comparison, my muse isn't too bad after all. Maybe I'll take her out for a short story this weekend, just so she feels appreciated.

Shorts, Serials and Novellas...

I was chatting (via email) with a friend the other day about my new short story and she asked "What does one do with a short story? And what are these 'serials' I keep hearing about?"

Now, realizing that I am older than dirt and not everyone was around when paper was scarce and books weren't always published in full, 330 page, beautifully bound and typeset fullness, I thought it would be a good topic for today's post.

So, Short Stories first: Short Stories are just that - short. They can be as few as 50 or 100 words (really!) and as long as...well, pretty long. Generally around 20-30,000 words. The main attribute is the ability to adequately define a singlular mood, act or observation completely, often with a surprising twist in charactor or action. For a good description, go here: http://www.menrath-online.de/documents/shortst2.pdf. Hemmingway, London, Poe and others began their careers writing short stories for publication well before they were considered by the big publishing houses.

If you've got a Short Story squirelled away and don't know what to do with it, here's a list of literary magazines that are always looking for fresh work. Oh, did I mention that a huge number of agents read these pubs in search of new talent? Yeah, bonus points!

Serials are a little foggier, and have only recently become popular again. When our parents or grandparents were younger (yes, even I'm not THAT old), they were one of the more common sources of fiction, especially westerns and adventure story novels. Those old radio shows like "The Shadow" and "Lone Ranger?" Yup - serial (or serialized) stories. They would often be published one chapter at a time in magazines or newspapers, the authors later becoming popular enough for a publisher to combine all the chapters into a single, bound edition. Sarah Fine does a great job of semi-serializing in her regular additions to Malachi's Journal on her Guards of the Shadowlands page.

The most recognizable names echo the Victorian period when they first became popular: Dickens, Eliot, Hardy and Stevenson. Here's a great post about why authors should consider serializing their novels: http://writersforensicsblog.wordpress.com/2013/03/03/guest-blogger-kim-willington-turning-your-novel-into-a-serial/

Novellas are something harder to describe - longer than a short story, but shorter than a Novel. They may be bits and pieces of a novel that were edited out during the revision process, but still have a compelling subject and plot. They may be complete, stand alone pieces that refused further jerry-mandering and remain too lean to sit alone on the shelf. A great post on why Novella's are making a comeback can be found here:
http://writersforensicsblog.wordpress.com/2013/03/03/guest-blogger-kim-willington-turning-your-novel-into-a-serial/.

I, for one, believe the growth of e-books and the agonizing wait for sequals to favorite first and second books in series has had a direct affect on the demand (thus the supply - sorry, I have a minor in economics) for Novellas. In fact, I hold Rae Carson and Sarah Fine personally responsible for my own insatiable need to read Something, Anything related to their books while I chew my fingernails to bits and overindulge in all my indulges until their next books come out.

Who knows, maybe someday, somewhere, someone will eagerly await my shorts and serials as I struggle valiantly to complete the next book in my series!

Happy Wednesday, or as we say around here: Happy Pre-Friday-Eve!

Bonus Post!

First, Happy St. Paddy's Day to one and all!  My friend, Mark Koopman's insists this is the correct spelling. He should know, having sprouted from the Emerald Isle as a wee lad himself! If you haven't already, make sure you check out his Blog Hop by clicking on his name above, or in the lower right corner of this page.

 Now - where's that damn thought I wanted to publish? Ach - can't be the Scotch - not this early in the day!

Ah - there it is. So - I was walking the dog this morning (yes, I do occasionally get my butt out of the chair and move about) when a great short-story popped into my head. I haven't written a short in a long, long time. My mother will attest to the fact that I do nothing unless it takes great periods of time and deliberation, but there I go getting off track again.

Anyway - I came home straight away and finished it in under an hour. 2,300 words. I read it to my husband. I read it to myself. I changed one word. ONE WORD. And then I sent it to seven magazines. I was pretty hyped about it. Still am.

Want a teaser? Here ya go. I'll let you know if it gets published. Please, PLEASE tell me what you think!


My husband, Xavi, watches with a frown as I take the leash from the hook and snap it to the dog’s collar. “I’m going for a walk.”
 
“We have to be there at seven.” I follow his eyes to the clock on the stove. Our daughter, Lani, sits at the table, watching us warily.

“It’s only four. I’ll be back in time.”

“You get lost when you walk.”

Lani’s eyebrows shoot to the roof of her brow. “Lost? Mommy, you get lost?”

I laugh. Xavi used to say my laugh was like the sun coming over the horizon in the morning, like the color yellow. Warm and soft, soothing and pure. He used to say it filled his heart with happiness. Now it makes him frown even more.

“Only in my head, Mija. Only in my head,” I smooth the hair on her back. At twenty-three, she’s a thing of beauty.

“Except for one time,” Xavi says, looking at me. The smile is tugging at his mouth again. He can never stay angry.

“Except for one time,” I answer, smiling back. I kiss him softly on the cheek and head out the door with the dog, aching to put miles under my feet.

I think about the one time, as we march up the hill behind the house. The first time, when Xavi and I met. I’ve always walked. Walked for hours, wandering the trails on the mesa where we live. Walked aimlessly, blindly, listening only to the music in my head and seeing only the images in my mind.