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!

Minding the Muse...

Ah, Monday. Day of new beginnings, of a return to the relative peace, rhythm and sanity of work. A day when I get up early to go to the office, while my muse sleeps off another wild weekend.

Really - what is her problem? She's been particularly difficult to live with lately. Staying out all hours of the night. Drinking whiskey like there's no tomorrow. Hitting on all the cute guys and leaving her lipstick smeared on their shirt collars. I'm beginning to think she's a regular tart.

Uh, wait. She is.

My muse is a perpetually intoxicated, scantily clad, overly flirtatious and violently charming bit of wit and humor who scarcely stays in place long enough to be of real help to me. She is much that I used to be (in my younger days) and all that I wish I still were.

She doesn't look very muse-like, either. More like a Valkyrie with a pen instead of a sword. Cuz really, words can do more damage then long, sharp, pointy things.

Yeah - my muse is a bad-ass.

She's short (like me), has dark hair (like me) and green eyes (also like me).  She's wicked smart, has a truly evil and childlike sense of humor (think eight year old boy jokes) and refuses to eat anything green or hairy.  She has a penchant for black leather, silver piercings and too many tattoos. She likes bad boys, good scotch and warm beds. Other than that, we're nothing alike.

Okay, we both love watching The Voice. Because really, who wouldn't want to be caught between Blake and Adam? But that's as far as our similarities go. Honestly.

Her head never pounds with the thread of regret from an evening too well enjoyed. Her joints never argue with her, regardless of weather or position, no matter the ridiculous pose she tries to hold. She never picks her bra off the lamp shade or her panties off the floor. She never even worries about clean underwear. If she doesn't have any, she goes without.

Yeah - commando style. No wonder the guys love her. Even my husband loves her, because he knows when she's around, I'll loosen up, relax, unwind and have some fun. With him. She does that to me. She kicks me in the head with a story idea so stunning and original, I fly up the stairs and let it rain from my fingers to the keyboard.

When I finally get it committed to paper, I am still so wound up I turn to him for the kind of release only he can grant. The easing of ache and tense muscle and highly awakened, rapidly firing neurons only he can soothe.

Oh, come on - your mind is in the gutter again. Back rub, people, back rub! Geesh - what, you think I'm like my muse? Oh, wait. I am :-)  And now I've enthralled Ya'll~ Hooyah!

"C" is for Creativity...

Today's post is a "two-fer"; as part of the A to Z blog challenge, it begins with the letter "C." As part of the Insecure Writer's Group, it addresses a common concern/fear amongst us mere mortals: creativity and the lack there of.

If you've been following, you know that Monday I blogged about abundance - the abundance of ideas flowing from my head. And you also read about my fear that I would lose some of those thoughts, thus a need to catch the ideas in some way, shape or form. You may also remember my "BOLA" post from March 20th ... a humorous and honest post about my need to write it down NOW.

Creativity is a funny thing - dancing in and out of life when we least expect it, most need it and can't find it. We've all had days where we've stared at a blank sheet of paper or a stark, white screen on the computer and the little pointer blinks. And blinks. And blinks. And nothing comes to us. And we've had those days were our fingers can't possibly keep up with the flow of words trying to make their way from our brains to whatever mechanism we use for capture. The problem is, there's no way to predict or identify what sort of day we'll have.

It's not like the weather (which, by the way, I wouldn't mind having a job where I got paid for a 60% accuracy rate) - we can't forecast "good" or "bad" writing days. They just happen, and we have to cope with them.

I've had stories hit me like a lightening strike while walking the dog. My first novel came to me over Christmas and was complete (first draft, anyways) in a little over two weeks. And I've had ideas for stories that I don't even seem able to begin, even though I captured the premise on a sticky-note and stare at it daily. Then there are the days where you know where the story needs to go, but the only thing you manage to write is a string of periods. Not even ellipses! Just period, after period, after period.

That's where I'm at with my latest WIP. I'm probably two or three chapters from finishing, and I can't seem to get it done. I sit at the computer and review the preceding chapter or two. I play at editing the front end. I tweet, facebook, blog and surf. And it's still waiting for me. The main characters hang suspended, frozen in time in awkward positions, waiting for me to tell them what happens next. And I tweet. Surf. Facebook.

I shouldn't be surprised - the WIP began with me typing "what if" over and over on a clean sheet of electronic paper. Apparently, creativity has chosen this moment to go on her own vacation, leaving me high and dry. All I can do is keep trying. Keep sitting in front of the computer each evening, drinking Glenlivet and hoping she'll come back to me, or the Scotch will kick in. Of course, with Glen keeping me company, I'm not sure how much I miss that muse!

If you're driving in San Diego...

Police issue BOLA alerts when they're looking for suspects. I have chosen to issue my own BOLA (Be On the Look Out) for my fellow citizens of San Diego.

I've developed the writer's curse: the sudden need to find a scrap of paper and a pen, regardless of my physical (and mental) location and jot down witty dialogue, interesting observations and story threads.

This affliction strikes me at unprecedented times and places, though most frequently in my car on the interstate, usually around 70 mph. It wouldn't be so bad, except I never have said pen and paper in a convenient location and there's much creative steering going on with the creative stirring.

I do own an IPhone, and should be able to dictate my observations into Siri's capable metallic mind. I own two digital recorders, and you would think I would be intelligent enough to have one with me at all times.

Ah, fate - how cruel you are! It seems I have neither the recorders nor the wits to access Siri's polite assistance at these times. Instead - I struggle to steer with one hand and a knee, maintain speed and jot down whatever it was that popped into my head while avoiding vehicles in front, beside and behind me.

Pity the poor driver attempting to pass or move along side of me. I steer wildly, like the semi-drunken sailor of my past life, all while scribbling on my knee. And yes, frequently I miss the paper and end up with half the notation on the leg of my pants.

So, fair warning to those of you braving the interstates in and around San Diego. Be on the lookout for a beige Honda Civic, swerving, accelarating and driving erratically.

She's not drunk, she's a writer.