Owls' Court

Balsamic Moon: The End

Final word count of Balsamic Moon: 50,215

I thank the Goddess that tomorrow is December.

Freaky Coincidence Number One: I typed the final three words of my novel to the loud, triumphant, sweeping final bar of Howard Shore's Fellowship of the Ring score. There's nothing like the soundtrack to your life displaying excellent timing.

Freaky Coincidence Number Two: November 30th just so happens to be the ancient Roman festival of Hecate of the Crossroads. Synchronicity, nothing.

This novel will just have to be dedicated to Hecate, something along the lines of:

Balsamic Moon Update

Current word count of Balsamic Moon: 48,114

Slog. Slog. The prose isn't as bad as anticipated, but it's still uphill all the way to 50K.

See Autumn fit in five minutes of typing here and there in between teaching, preparing for new classes she has never taught before, working for the US publisher, working for local freelance projects, all with looming deadlines.

See Autumn misplace her glasses so that computer work takes twice the toll.

Sigh. There's a NaNo sticker circulating about that proclaims I'll sleep in December. That describes my life rather appropriately at the moment.

Oh yes, this just in (well, not really, but I forgot to blog it yesterday): in Friday's mail I received my counter-signed contract and a rather flimsy printed cheque, the appearance of which belies its value both financial and psychological. And of course, because it's in US dollars, I can't simply deposit it through a bank machine; I'll have to take the car on Monday and head out to Pointe-Claire to deposit it in person with a teller at my bank branch.

So voila: I am a Professional Editor. Eep.

I am a tired professional editor with no idea where her glasses are. To bed with me.

Still Emily Eludes Me, Curse Her Bones

Stop me if you've heard this one before:

Not dead. Busy.

I just spent a couple of days visiting my parents in Ontario, and now I'm back. Go figure; I'm gone two working days and get ten messages from people who are irritated that I didn't tell them I was going out of town, the majority from acquaintances with whom I speak on average once every couple of weeks or so. Only one or two messages were vital.

Sigh.

I managed to crack out 4K of novel while away, and yet still, still passing Emily eludes me. I note down where she is, I write past that point, return to the update page in triumph, and she's been writing in the meantime as well and has augmented her count by something newly challenging. If I had the time I could finish this damned thing in a day and be done, but it seems that this year I'll be typing right down to the line, 23:59:59 on November 30. I'm going to grit my teeth and bash out dreadful prose on Friday until I have to teach at 6.00 pm. And I mean dreadful prose: unfinished sentences, run-on sentences which will have to be severely rewritten, that sort of thing. My first drafts are usually sharp, but with four days to do around 9K I have a sneaky suspicion that the deadline and I are going to get to know one another intimately.

I aim for 2.5K every time I sit down to write, but I can't sit down every day, and that has severely handicapped me this year. I get the bulk of my writing down on Mondays and Tuesdays, as they constitute my weekend at the moment. It looks like Friday morning and afternoon will be my last major swing at the word count. Saturday night I have to prepare for a three-hour class which will be taught on Sunday afternoon, so I'm assuming that I won't be able to write. If I get something done, that's a bonus, but I'm not counting on it; I've never taught this class before, and I have to build it from scratch. I can usually squeeze in 1K or so on a Sunday morning. Today before I head downtown I have to finish editing seventy pages of publisher stuff, so that’s out. In fact, that’s what I ought to be doing right now.

So bye. I’ll see you in December.

Current word count of Balsamic Moon: 40,580

Outline? Tangents Are So Much More Interesting

Ugh. Very unwell today. Fighting nausea, and I can't seem to stand up straight.

I played duelling laptops with Ceri again yesterday, and I'm very glad we did. For one thing, writing was like pulling teeth, and I'd likely have given it up if she hadn't been here. And for another, I gave her Chapter Four (entitled Death to Fluffy Bunnies) and I heard her laugh throughout it. This is the feedback every writer needs when s/he has hit a wall and is convinced that their prose is flat and the story uninteresting. t! calls this A Fan. When there's someone who's excited about your writing, and that person is not you, suddenly there's more purpose to your writing life.

The obstacle I hit yesterday was a direct result of deviating merrily from the rough outline I created in the first week of November. Hey, things were flowing, so why interrupt them? You interrupt them and get them somewhat back on track because otherwise, you end up sending the story down an increasingly narrowing canyon until you end up in a dead end with your protagonist staring blankly at a stone wall somewhere around 25K.

So I dug out the outline, and by trying to explain the problem aloud to Ceri I saw all the ways to make it better. Sometimes, you just need a friendly ear, and someone who writes too and who will give you feedback on how not bad the words are that you've already put down.

And when I woke up after my unscheduled hour-and-a-half sick sort of nap this afternoon, I bashed out another 2K and leapfrogged Emily Horner again. Ha. (Actually, I thought I had done it yesterday as well, but when I logged on to the NaNo site to update my word count, she'd beaten me to it, damn her, so I had to do it all over again...) Emily is the other person keeping me writing this year. I'm so disillusioned with my story at the moment that I'm reduced to checking word counts and saying, "If I write just 1,673 more words, I'll pass Emily again", which is hardly the way to approach a creative project, but it keeps me at my laptop.

Current word count of Balsamic Moon: 30, 162

Balsamic Moon Update

Oh, by the way:

Current word count of Balsamic Moon: 25, 173.

I forgot I was that far along. What a pleasant surprise.

Not dead. Busy. Honest. Majorly

Not dead. Busy.

Honest. Majorly successful concert on Saturday night, teaching, writing reviews for a deadline, working with authors for another deadline, writing a novel for a deadline, descending to the Underworld with some good friends for a very special occasion; my agenda is just chock-full.

You all might get a detailed update, but maybe not.

Bye!

On Hecate and Ferrets

Those of my readers who have read my excerpt know that my novel poses the question, "What would you do if a goddess from classical antiquity showed up in your living room?"

The particular goddess in question is Hekate; or, if you prefer the Latinized version of her name, Hecate. (Yes, it's a hard 'k' sound; the Greeks, like the Celts, didn't have a soft 'c' sound. Which means that when I have discussions about Circe, and I pronounce it 'Kir-kay' no one knows who I'm talking about, and I have to swallow a sigh and politely say 'Sir-say', which makes my spine crawl.)

Anywhats. Revenons a nos moutons.

Those in the know are also aware that through an aural misunderstanding at a pre-November coffee meeting, the idea of the Psychic Ferret arose for as a gag challenge for Montreal NaNo participants. The ferret belongs to a family of mammals which includes otters, badgers, weasels, and so forth.

So when I ran across this little tidbit tonight, I just had to share. It's too perfect.

HEKATE & THE WITCH GALE

“I have heard that the land-marten was once a human being. It has also reached my hearing that Gale was her name then; that she was a dealer in spells and a sorceress (Pharmakis); that she was extremely incontinent, and that she was afflicted with abnormal sexual desires. Nor has it escaped my notice that the anger of the goddess Hekate transformed it into this evil creature. May the goddess be gracious to me: fables and their telling I leave to others.” –Aelian On Animals 15.11

[Also told as:]

HEKATE & HER COMPANION WEASEL

“The Moirai were aggrieved [...] and took away the womanly parts of Galinthias since, being but a mortal, she had deceived the gods [by tricking them into allowing the birth of Herakles which they were preventing]. They turned her into a deceitful weasel, making her live in crannies and gave her a grotesque way of mating. She is mounted through the ears and gives birth by bringing forth her young through the throat.

Hekate felt sorry for this transformation of her appearance and appointed her a sacred servant of herself.” – Antoninus Liberalis 29

So Hekate had a weasel as a servant. Or a servant who became a weasel.

Coincidence, or a Divine someone-is-trying-to-tell-me-something? You decide!

Balsamic Moon Update

Ha-ha!

Another chapter done, and I've put down a total of 4,701 words today. If I had the energy, I'd write for another couple of hours, I can pass Ceri's nemesis Tal. As Mondays and Tuesdays are my weekend, I'm about to begin another week of work, and my productivity will no doubt drag once again, darn it all.

After a bit of a break, though, I'm completely wiped. That damned cold has crept up and grabbed my ankles and is slithering back into a dark hole with me. Besides, I have no idea how I'd start the next chapter; I just had my protagonist take a tour of the Underworld. After the black gate (no, not that black gate, the other black gate), judgement, the Fields of Mourning and the Elysian Fields, I just don't know where to go. Besides, I've ben listening to Frankenstein by Patrick Doyle. Nice and over the top for Underworld encounters, but it leaves me in severe need to get myself back into a different headspace.

My excerpt from the end of Chapter One is finally up here. Keep in mind that in Chapter One my protagonist is supposed to be not overly likeable or bright; in fact, she's remarkably saccharine. The excerpt details the life-changing mistake that she makes which I mentioned a few posts ago, rendering her much more interesting, not to mention creating infinite potential for comedy.

Current word count of Balsamic Moon: 19,147

Fear My Psychic Ferret, Emily Horner!

Current word count of Balsamic Moon: 16,707

Fear me and my psychic ferret, o Dread Pirate Queen!

She's Good for Me

Thanks to Ceri's presence yesterday, I hit 14,448 words. Yes, that's about 5,500 words in one afternoon. There's nothing that makes you write like the sound of someone else madly typing. I wanted to double my word count, but hitting 18,000 was a dream; I was so exhausted by seven o'clock that I had to admit defeat. Still, 5,500 is just shy of two-thirds of my goal, so I'm pleased. Ceri made me a little sticky-note with a secondary goal of 15,200 words on it on it, and I almost reached it. Granted, these goals were deliberately exaggerated, but they certainly kept me going! We also discovered that the perogies from the Russian shop nearby are absolutely delicious (thanks for the tip, Bev!), so the day was a remarkable success all around. Ceri made yummy spaghetti sauce for dinner, too.

I woke up feeling somewhat human this morning, which is a really pleasant switch from the sub-human feelings I've been experiencing lately thanks to this cold. I passed up the Remembrance Day services downtown at Place du Canada in favour of staying home where it's warm; I'm not going to risk a relapse when I'm so close to getting rid of it. Every year I do a small ritual for Remembrance Day at eleven o'clock if I'm home, and this year was no different. I burn rosemary and a yellow candle, and marvel every year at how the beginning of November is full of ceremonies honouring the dead: Samhain, All Souls, Day of the Dead, Remembrance Day. CBC Radio Two sucker-punched me this year by playing the 'Nimrod' movement from Elgar's Enigma Variations directly after live coverage of the Ottawa ceremony, reducing me to tears. This is a piece of music that unabashedly rips your heart to bits, and playing it with my second orchestra this year has only made me more sensitive to it.

On to writing! Let's see: got my tea, my afghan, my laptop, my cats, and my stuffed ferret. I'm set.

Bittersweet Nostalgia

This was a particularly bittersweet weekend, now that I look back on it.

Saturday was Montreal's F/SF convention, and it was glorious to be back in the midst of adult geekdom. I saw people I hadn't seen in years, talked SF talk I hadn't heard from my own lips in ages. The main difference between working with the occult community is that people come into a store asking you to save their lives and solve their problems. In the SF book community, the worst thing that happens is they bore you with all the details of a story.

I met two wonderful authors whom I'd never met before, and spent time with two others I had met way back when I was still working at the F/SF bookshop. I met famous artists and other funky retailers (let's face it, a convention is for networking as well as enjoying). And I counted at least six NaNo participants who ought to have been at home writing. Okay, three of us were working, but still. And there were probably more that I didn't recognise on sight.

I had to field repeated eager queries regarding our defunct F/SF bookstore, which was the bitter part. It closed three and a half years ago due to loss of customer base to the big box stores like Indigo and Chapters. We resurrected the store sign to hang next to the author signing table for the duration of the convention, and while it was a terrific idea, it dredged up all sorts of cry-in-your-beer feelings among ex-staff and customers alike.

I've been struggling with that cold for about five days now, and medication made me foolishly think that my vivacious rosy-cheeked healthy appearance at the convention was a reflection of reality. To my deep disappointment I awoke on Sunday feeling like someone had pummeled me all night and poured sand into my mouth. I was stiff all over, and the sinus congestion, hoarse voice and runny nose were present once again.

If I'd been able to stay home on Sunday it would have been ideal. I had a rehearsal for one orchestra and a concert for the other, however, so off I went. We've lost yet another cello in my new orchestra, so they put me in the second chair next to the principal, which scared the hell out of me. I've had the music for two weeks and frankly, I suck. I was feeling dreadful as I packed up after rehearsal when one of the other cellists stopped me and said that if our mythical replacement cellist didn't arrive for the dress rehearsal and concert, she'd sit in the second chair. I fell over myself thanking her. She proceeded to give me a lovely pep talk, telling me that I was doing just fine, that it was difficult to come into any group a couple of weeks before performance, and to do so when the piece was the Elgar was even more difficult. She was absolutely darling, and so genuine that I walked away feeling much better. On top of that, they've asked me if I'd be interested in playing Beethoven's Ninth Symphony with them in February, and of course I said yes.

My husband had baked peanut butter cookies and prepared a roast beef dinner for me, so I was fed and warmed for a bit before we dashed off to my LCO concert. I have to say that this was the unexpected highlight of the day, and definitely among the top three performances the orchestra has pulled off in the last couple of years. It was thrilling, absolutely thrilling, and it's unfortunate that we had only a half house. My stand partner turned to me and said, "Seems like this will be one of those nights where the peformers outnumber the audience." "They call this intimate," I told him with a grin. We blew them away, and it's a pity that more people couldn't be there for it. Heck, even I didn't want to be there: I wanted a warm bath, candles, bed, and cats. I felt completely energised when we left, though, a complete switch from the dragging reluctance I'd experienced on the way in. Kudos to Ceri and my husband for making it out to support us. At least we have proof that the night was stunningly succesful on the artistic front, if not the financial front.

So yes, my overall weekend was quite bittersweet. Good things; painful things. I haven't added to my NaNo word count since last Tuesday. Ceri's coming over for another round of dueling laptops today, and I'm hoping to double my current total. I've lost five days due to work and illness, although I've been writing in my notebook at bus stops and so forth. I have major catching up to do. It will be nice to sit and create as opposed to running about like a mad thing. Lots of tea, more peanutbutter cookies, and a hot tasty supper will go a long way towards kicking this cold, too.

Fall Concert Reminder!

This reminder deserves a post of its own.

It's time for the Lakeshore Chamber Orchestra fall 2003 concert!

Over three decades old, this orchestra continues its strong presence within the Montreal community under new conductor Douglas Knight. The fall concert features Schubert's Third Symphony, a La Traviata prelude, Mozart's Andante for Flute and Orchestra, Rossini's Italian in Algiers overture, the second movement of J.C. Bach's Cello Concerto, and Mozart's Paris Symphony.

The concert takes place on Sunday November 9th at 7:30 PM in the St. Joh Fisher Church, corner of Summerhill and Valois Bay Avenue in Valois, Pointe-Claire. Admission is $10 for adults; students and children 18 and under are admitted free of charge.

Take an evening off and enjoy some spectacular music!

Inopportune and SF (Not Related)

I have a cold.

This would be a yucky thing at any time, but I am currently in the middle of a ton of Real-Life work that is pushing aside regualrly scheduled stuff like orchestra, practicing (yes, it does happen), teaching, prep work for teaching, and writing.

Not only that, I'm working a convention this weekend. What convention, you ask? Why, ConCept 2003!

Do you like fantasy or science fiction and live in Montreal or nearby?

Do you know someone who likes science fiction or fantasy?

This Saturday is the 2003 edition of ConCept, Montreal's annual non-profit, volunteer-run science fiction and fantasy convention. This year's guest lineup is very impressive. There will be guest of honour speeches, discussion panels, gaming, author signings, a dealers' room, screenings, a charity auction, an art show, and more.

Check out the website for information: www.monsffa.com/concept2003.html

What the website won't tell you:

Robert J. Sawyer, 2003 Hugo award winner, will be there.
Karl Schroeder, 2003 Aurora award winner, will be there.

Admission info etc is on the site. Things kick off at 9:00 AM.

So yeah. I'm currently experiencing severe withdrawal from my NaNo work, as well as crushing guilt over the fact that I wanted to have a ton of exam and homework correction done this week. And on top of it all, I'm fighting this rotten sinus/throat/chest thing.

I'm grumpy.

NaNo Revived

I had a wonderful day amid the snowstorms and onslaught of freezing rain and - 7 C temperature yesterday. Ceri came over to escape the chaos of her water-logged apartment and we revisited the dueling laptops/NaNo jams we had last November. Since the weather was dreadful my husband was home as well, and he engaged in his version of the NaNo process: drawing and colouring artwork. It was a wonderfully cosy day. We started with a pot of Lady Grey tea, and progressed to wine after four o'clock (still not sure if this aided or hindered word count), and for dinner we had the first chili of the season and apple crisp. All in all, it was a perfect way to spend a dreary November day. Working within a community really helps progress, I find; no one is distracting anyone else by doing something different, and there's a feeling of support and companionship in the air. Even from the cats, who were terribly pleased that at last the humans had figured out the secret to happiness: curling up on a sofa or comfy chair and not moving for hours at a time.

I just checked word counts and we did pretty darned okay yesterday. Even my husband did some significant work. (And if we had an operational scanner, I'd show you, too. Stunning stuff.)

NaNo has really forced me back to my laptop, and I'm remembering what last year's process was like. Although this is a completely different style of story for a completely different audience, I'm encountering the same odd problems now and again. This year, however, thanks to my solitary hour in the Second Cup with nothing but a notebook and a chai latte, I have An Outline. Now when I'm stuck, I can check the outline notes and just go on to the next idea. Combined with the things that I make up on the spot, it makes for a relatively shorter stretch of time spent staring at a blank screen.

And now that I'm back in the swing of creative writing at home, I really, really don't want to go into work today. This weekend we're doing two seperate conventions, and the chaos of preparation will be insane. I want to stay home with my cats and my tea and my laptop and find out what happens next in my novel.

Although if I go out, I can come home with the new Sarah McLachlan album that was released yesterday. Hmm.

Current word count of Balsamic Moon: 9,075

NaNo Launch

We had a NaNo launch party at Bev's lovely house on Sunday (thank you Bev!), and it was so nice to be able to chat with other authors about the cheerful insanity of writing 50K words in thirty days. Emily and I now have witnesses to our challenge to see which of us hits 50K first; Eric thinks I need a title like Emily's Dread Pirate Queen of Montreal, but Ceri thinks I'm scary enough all on my own.

I took my NaNo notebook to the Second Cup this morning after I'd dropped my husband off at work, and drank a chai latte while trying to figure out certain events. I'd forgotten how motivating it can be to sit alone in a coffee shop with nothing but a notebook and a pen. Rather than sit there and look stupid, you just begin writing and all sorts of things pop up.

Then I made the mistake of stopping by a bookstore while waiting for the bank to open, and I came home with yet another edition of Jane Eyre, my favourite book. This one is about the size of my hand, has thin paper and gold-leaf edges, and a silky ribbon marker. It will be my bedside copy to read when I can't sleep. (Yes, pretty books impress me, okay?)

Current word count of Balsamic Moon: 4,827

One Chapter Down, Twelve to Go

Yawn. 2,973 words later, it's so bedtime. I have my first chapter done.

Good thing, too. I don't think I can stand my heroine like this much longer. Thank all the gods she just did something stupid that will change her life.

The psychic ferret has been introduced. He has not yet been revealed as psychic. That will happen in chapter two.

Current word count of Balsamic Moon: 4,008

I wrote 1,035 words before

I wrote 1,035 words before bed last night. Not bad for forty-five minutes of work. Of course, everyone's word counts leapfrogged past me today while I was teaching and rehearsing. My revenge is to write while they're all off at a Hallowe'en party tonight. Muah-hah-hah-hah.

The Elgar Variations are dizzyingly difficult. The Puccini seems to be intuitive, but Elgar constantly changes tempo and rhythm, and thinks accidentals are integral, which sort of defeats the purpose of an accidental. And he obviously wasn't a cellist - or, if he was, he was a virtuoso who thinks all celli ought to be able to play treble clef at high speed.

Emily, my noble foe, already it begins. Your 3,072 words mock me. Fear my psychic ferret.

Current word count of Balsamic Moon: 1,035