Total word count, Wicca book: 75,265
Total words today: 1,471
Okay, I passed 75K. Again, this is no longer a word count thing, it's now an I-need-to-flesh-this-out-so-it-will-make-sense thing. A few more pages now make sense. This is good.
The class in which I substituted tonight was terrific; wonderful students, and we had a guest appearance by WinterWolf who came to book people for a ritual and stayed for the whole class, adding a couple of very cool things to the Animal Lore section of the evening. I had more fun than I'd expected to have after a day like this. Thanks, gang!
Tonight: sleep more. Then a meeting over coffee early tomorrow morning. Afterwards, more reading of the manuscript in order to smooth it out and fill in sparse sections, and nurture a general hope that things hang together better than they seem to be hanging at the moment. I've become desensitised to it all; I can't tell, but I have a suspicion it's not as deep as I'd like it to be.
Nets Made By Spiders Fed On Drug-Dosed Flies
The one made by the arachnid fed on caffeine-spiked flies is actually rather pretty.
I am currently rhapsodizing about how delicious Welch's Fruit Snacks are. They seem to be fueling my discussion of how to close a ritual properly, so I'm not arguing. All too easy to pop into the mouth. Now racking memory for friends who hold Costco cards so I can trade a lift for the use of the card in order to stock up on them.
I just want to hit 75K today. I have to teach someone else's class tonight, so writing must wrap up earlier than I like to, but surely I can hit 75K.
I went for a walk around lunch. While I was out I picked up acceptable antihistamines and an air-freshener so that I am not continually offended by the smell of that neighbour who insists on boiling cabbage and spinach every day. (Maybe it's a personal Lent thing. Who knows.) On the way back I also acquired bagels, fresh cold meat, cheese, and a lime soda. The lime soda is waiting in the fridge for when things get really dire.
And now I am experiencing yet another low-grade headache despite the gallons of water I'm drinking, plus the more than adequate breakfast and lunch I had. Writing is boring, and what I've got on the page already is not engaging me in any way to refine, expand, or rewrite in any way. I went to bed irritated, slept badly last night, and woke up irritated too, which has not helped the headache or the mindset or the working-at-a-computer thing.
In a way, I'm glad this will be over in seven days. In another, I'm just wilting at the thought of how much work has to be done in those seven days to make the manuscript of acceptable quality, two of which are taken up by teaching.
I have just been informed that my contracts and advance cheque for the Wicca book will hit the mail tomorrow. This is right on schedule, as I originally predicted: I will receive them right around the time I submit the manuscript. Then, of course, the payment request for the second upon-submission cheque will enter the system. I am amused.
The cheque will go right into the ING account to serve as the down payment for our next habitation. All except for a couple of hundred dollars, which will buy the digital camera we've been increasingly needing.
I don't usually write on Saturdays and Sundays; I have coven and classes to teach, and basically other stuff that has to get done because it doesn't get done during the week due to The Book That Ate My Life and the Deadline Which Obscureth The Future Beyond.
But this morning I woke up in the mood to work on the book, so I did. Hey, the more work I do, the more time I get just prior to deadline to polish and tighten, to trim repetition (one love!) and expand places which need further development.
Total word count, Wicca book: 73,794
Total words today: 1,329
Bonus!
Now I really want to watch Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. Might have to hit the Den of Evil before class, because there's a new Tori Amos album out too.
Total word count, Wicca book: 72,465
Total words today: 2,464
The target word count is starting to come up really fast. Now I'm starting to worry that I won't be able to say everything I need to say in 80,000 words. Sheesh.
The local metaphysical shop just emailed to tell me that they placed an initial order for 35 copies of my book.
And they're using the page listing it in the catalogue to make posters to put up around the store telling everyone that it's "Coming Soon!"
I am fairly certain that once this Wicca book is out of the way and I have my brain back, I will start to officially freak about the first one being released in May.
CBC Radio Two is currently broadcasting a recording of JS Bach's Violin Concerto in A major (BWV 1041) as performed by Anne-Sophie Mutter and the English Chamber Orchestra. The recording balance is so perfect that it sounds like she's standing in my living room playing the violin. Unfortunately, the ECO still sounds like they're on the radio.
I finished my quick re-read of Chapel Noir last night. Now I remember why I wasn't thrilled with the turn the story takes: Nell, narrator and sidekick to Irene Adler and my favourite character, is kidnapped at the end. No wonder I didn't wait breathlessly for the next book to come out in paperback. The idea of reading a book without Nell at Irene's side wasn't much of an attraction; the interplay between the two characters is one of the series' strengths. Furthermore, Elizabeth/Pink, the new addition to the set of characters, does absolutely nothing for me. Now that I've got it I'll give the next book a chance, though; not only has Irene's companion been kidnapped, but so has her husband, which is interesting enough to draw me onward. Nell and Godfrey also work well together, and if the same party has kidnapped them, well, things have the potential to become quite interesting.
Ahem.
Total word count, Wicca book: 70,001
Total words today: 2,282
Considering that it was a writing jam day, and Ceri and I did some serious talking and brie-munching, I'm not sure how 2,200 words were written (or how she ended up with over a thousand herself), but it worked, and I'd like it to happen regularly, please. As in, every day. (The words, not the Ceri and I talking. We do plenty of that. The manuscript is on a deadline; Ceri and I are not.) I even like them, these new words.
The manuscript's really starting to develop some cohesion. The first four chapters are pretty much done; today I worked on the sacred space and circle-raising chapters, although there's still more to do on the circle one. Other than that, those first four chapters just need a final polish. Now, of course, I have to do something miraculous with the rest of the chapters. All nine of them. Cross fingers that the rest will flow as smoothly.
I just have to link to Lu's ongoing series of Winter Leaves paintings because everyone should see them and gawk at how beautiful they are. I asked to reserve the triptych after seeing only the first two pieces, but now that I've seen the new singles I'm all waffly about if I'd rather pick and choose from among the solo pieces as well. Augh! One way or another, at least three will be mine. I would love to buy them all, but that might annoy others who also wish to share in Lu's talent, and would likely also lead my husband to ask what on earth we would do with X abstract white leaf paintings. Hey, I'm going to have an office to myself in the new place (yes, it's a must); I can decorate it however I darn well please.
While I was out this morning picking up groceries, I took a pile of books to the secondhand bookstore and got about $22 for them. I walked out with pristine copies of the two latest Irene Adler books by Carole Nelson Douglas (which necessitates rereading Chapel Noir, and it's better than I remember it); a copy of Robert Rankin's Witches of Chiswick, a British humourous fantasy which I've been eyeing first in trade and then in mass-market for a while, but have been reluctant to take an $11 chance on a new author; and my ultimate score on this trip was a hardcover non-book club copy of Eragon for only eight dollars. The total of my purchases? $23. So I basically traded about ten useless books for four books I wanted in great condition. I like this game.
And when I got back there was a perfect parking spot right across from the apartment building, in the sun. I am smug.
Our Godless Constitution by Brooke Allen, from the February 21, 2005 issue of The Nation.
It is hard to believe that George Bush has ever read the works of George Orwell, but he seems, somehow, to have grasped a few Orwellian precepts. The lesson the President has learned best--and certainly the one that has been the most useful to him--is the axiom that if you repeat a lie often enough, people will believe it. One of his Administration's current favorites is the whopper about America having been founded on Christian principles. Our nation was founded not on Christian principles but on Enlightenment ones. God only entered the picture as a very minor player, and Jesus Christ was conspicuously absent.
This is a fascinating article on the separation of church and state as seen by the founding fathers of the United States. (And the article taken from the 1797 Treaty of Tripoli is particularly interesting in the light of current events.)
Though for public consumption the Founding Fathers identified themselves as Christians, they were, at least by today's standards, remarkably honest about their misgivings when it came to theological doctrine, and religion in general came very low on the list of their concerns and priorities--always excepting, that is, their determination to keep the new nation free from bondage to its rule.
Ah, history.
Hey, it's Wilhelm Karl Grimm's birthday today. Where would Teutonic folklore enthusiasts like me be without him, and without his brother Jakob? For that matter, where would nurseries, theatre, and studios like Disney be without them?
I think -- I really, really think -- that I felt the baby move while I was driving home from orchestra last night.
This wasn't the gentle flutter I felt about three weeks ago. No, this was a definite press of something, right low down in the centre of where it's lying. I know my digestive processes; this wasn't one of them. It felt like the kittens used to feel back when they were barely a month old, when they'd gently and barely touch my ankles with the top of their heads to get me to reach down and pat them, before they learned that throwing their whole furry bodies against my leg signals their bid for my attention in a way that's hard to ignore.
It was ten past ten. I was on the highway just coming up to the lane which turns into the exit ramp to Decarie on the Turcott interchange, and I had both hands firmly on the wheel because there was a semi beside me and some idiot flying down the entrance ramp from the Angrignon overpass. And the baby rolled, or pushed, or did something. Kitten head touching my insides, gently, deep down.
"You have got to be kidding me," I said out loud, trying to keep the semi in my peripheral vision to the right while watching the SUV scream up to me in the left side mirror. My baby moves while I'm in traffic, and I can't even take a moment to cherish it.
But I did when I got home. I went to bed and laid my hands gently on my abdomen, wanting it to happen again, and loving it whether it would or not.
It didn't. But that didn't matter.
I wonder when it will surprise me next.
The galleys arrived at their destination. I can now put a stop to the subroutine of stressing that they might be lost or late.
Ceri sent me a cheerful little note this morning about how fabulous I am, and how excellent this book will be, which was sweet but not news. I know all this. None of it changes the weight of the deadline, and the amount of polishing that has to happen before the manuscript reaches a state of good enough. I told my mother the other night that it's not the subject or my doubts about my self-worth weighing me down, it's the knowledge that we don't have the usual year of editing and working through the publishing process at a normal pace. There's no room for error or moderate-to-heavy rewrites or even to take a second really critical look this time around: things have to be tight right out of the gate, thanks to the first disaster knocking six months off the project. No pressure or anything; I just have to hand in a manuscript that's already at the second or third rewrite and edit stage.
And yes, I'd do it again, despite the stress, because that's what you do when you're part of a team: you pull together in a time of crisis. Everyone else will have to halve their time on the project as well once I hand it in. I'm not alone.
Not that I will do it again. Nuh-uh. They've already been told that after I hand in the green witch project in June, I'm not accepting another writing contract for at least a year; I'm sticking to editing. Once that third book is in, there will have been a total of only one month where I wasn't working on a book over a period of thirteen months. Besides, I honestly can't think of any other topic I know well enough to be able to step in and rescue another project like this one should the need arise. The three I've worked/am working on pretty much cover my areas of expertise.
Total word count, Wicca book: 67,719
Total words today: 1,837
Meh.
I'm noticing a trend: I start writing later in the afternoon, and I work into the evening. Tonight I have to be at a ritual, otherwise I'd keep going.
I'm back down to just 2K per day to hit 80K by the due date.
Or, you know, the CD drive could reject every Beethoven CD I want to upload.
So, in an extreme shift of gears, we go back to Muppet Treasure Island, most of which is being added to my Editing playlist. (I mean, hey, with lyrics like "I love to hang 'em high and watch their little feet try to walk in the air while their faces turn blue," how can you miss?)
When you're a professional pirate, that's what the job's about.
I've just uploaded a whack of Haydn to my library of media. It truly is amazing how good an all-Haydn playlist can make you feel.
Now, of course, we're turning to Beethoven, which ought to make for an interesting afternoon as we continue to rwrite and expand the ever-unwieldy Wicca book.
It is, of course, Edward Gorey's birthday today.
Everyone hug a twisby.
The proofs have been FedExed back to the publisher. They're out of my hands. Now I will fret until my editor assures me tomorrow that they've arrived safely.
Total word count, Wicca book: 65,882
Total words today: 2,645
Yes, we're not quite sure what happened here. The dreadfully non-productive day kicked into higher gear when HRH got home. Maybe because we both sit at opposite ends of the apartment, at an angle so that we can still see each other, and we work on what we need to work on. Poetry in motion. Or something like.
First, my goal was simply to break 64K (please, at least 64K by the end of the day, or I may as well give up). And I was nowhere close even by five this afternoon. Then things got rolling (why don't I ever remember that rituals and recipes produce word count like nothing else does?) and the revised goal became 65K. And then, well, I almost revised it again to be 66K, but I thought, maybe not; it's nine-thirty, and I think my brain is broken. Besides, it makes a nice easy target to start off with tomorrow morning once I get back from FedExing my proofs back to Boston.
So we put on the soundtrack to Muppet Treasure Island in celebration.
"I'm in a good mood because I'm designing a cannon for my tall ship in 3DS Max," said HRH. Ah, fortifications. It's a good life on a boat.
Safely now, Mr Silver; let's not get sloppy just because we're singing...
HRH just got home, and he already got back his first mark from the 3DS Max course.
He got a 98.
This has done wonders to improve my day.
The review of the proofs is complete.
Huzzah.
Now to the empty chapter in the Wicca book that I created last thing on Friday, and to muddle something out there.
LATER: Or not. Moan.
::headdesk::
I came across a white supremacy BB while checking the sequence of a European chant for healing.
I feel sick. These people honestly believe that race, religion, culture, and skin colour determines worth and value.
No, you're not getting the link. I'm not sending them traffic.
It's noon.
When did it get to be noon?
This most likely occured while I was reading the news and ranting this morning.
I've just begun reading a NYT Books article about Disney doing The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe due out this December, and I can feel my hackles rising before I even hit the second page.
Read with me, and itch to tear something.
Peter Sealey, an adjunct professor of marketing at the University of California, Berkeley, and a former marketing executive for Coca-Cola and Columbia Pictures, nonetheless described the project's combination of religion and children's entertainment as "an absolute time bomb in these days of extreme sensitivity."Mr. Sealey's advice to Disney: "Either don't do it, or come completely clean, like a 'Ten Commandments' or a 'Passion of the Christ.' It seems duplicitous just to repress the religious aspects, and certainly they will all come out in this age of the Internet and strident voices on both the left and the right."
Come completely clean? Excuse me?
The beautiful thing about the Chronicles of Narnia is that they embody a story which is true to itself. You don't have to be Christian, or even be familiar with Christian symbolism to read and enjoy it.
Come clean? About what? About the fact that there's death and rebirth, and the redemption of a traitor? Hello? Did I miss the memo regarding the trademark Christianity put on those themes?
They're not exclusively religious themes, although they do appear in religious doctrines as well. Yes, Lewis became a Christian after evaluating his faith pre-Narnia. Yes, his general spirituality pervades the books. But they're not Christian texts. Come clean? Again I ask, about what?
Fortunately, there's someone else quoted in the article who gets it:
Of Lewis's work, M[artin] Kaplan said: "There's enough story and traditional emotion in the 'Narnia' books that they can let the Christian mysticism in it either be a subtext or not a part of it at all. I suspect you can portray resurrection in the same way that E. T. comes back to life, and that practically every fairy tale has a hero or heroine who seems to be gone forever but nevertheless manages to come back."
Thank you. Thank you for understanding that there's a real story in there, not just a pastiche of Christian mythology. And for suggesting that the concept of resurrection/rebirth isn't solely a Christian trope.
If Disney manages to create a "Star Wars"-like, generalized hero myth of Lewis's work without alienating its Christian fans, the potential rewards are huge.
Alienating!? Hello? Has anyone read these books? A faithful adaptation won't alientate either crowd!
Harper Collins, the publisher of the Chronicles of Narnia already went through this religious issue.
HarperCollins, the American publisher of the "Narnia" books, stepped into just such a controversy in 2001 when a memorandum from an executive with the its HarperSanFrancisco imprint surfaced with the assertion that "we'll need to be able to give emphatic assurances that no attempt will be made to correlate the stories to Christian imagery/theology." [...] A HarperCollins spokeswoman, Lisa Herling, responded then, "The goal of HarperCollins is to publish the work of C. S. Lewis to the broadest possible audience and leave any interpretation of the works to the reader."
Which is as it should be, in my opinion. Lewis didn't write them as Christian tracts; he wrte them as stories to be enjoyed. Yes, the stories employ traditional spiritual themes which happen to be found in Christianity, the author's religious path at the time, but they appear in other religious mythologies as well. In fact, having reread the series last week, I remember distinctly Aslan telling one of the children, "I am found in many forms in your world" (and yes, I'm paraphrasing, because I read them all in a row and I'm not going to dig through seven books to find the reference). The implication is that Aslan is a form of the Divine, and he recognises that there exist many interpretations of the Divine.
"They're seeing it from 10,000 feet, from which the religious themes are no longer specific to Christianity, but part of the great Joseph Campbell tradition of universal myth," Mr. Kaplan, of the Lear Center, said of "Narnia's" new caretakers.
Erm. Wouldn't that be the themes of universal myth narrowing to an exclusively Christian association in the Western world, and then being recognised by Campbell as universal once again? That is what Campbell does, after all; he points out the thematic unity between myths which predate Christianity as well as co-exist and postdate it.
Gnash, gnash.
(To read the article, you may have to go through the NYT free registration.)
Inkheart was brilliant.
That is really all there is to say on the subject.
Good gods -- Hunter S. Thompson killed himself yesterday.
Thirteen chapters proofed.
I'm wiped.
I'm leaving the appendices and the second, quicker go-through for tomorrow morning. Nine straight hours of this (with a half-hour to make and eat dinner) has numbed my editorial capabilities.
But hey, thirteen chapters. Thirteen really good chapters. I'm excited about this book.
One hundred and fifty-five pages into my proofs, I am pleased to share a very important observation with you:
I am a frickin' genius.
I have laughed out loud. I have marvelled at my turn of phrases. Okay, sure, a couple of times I've scratched my head and wondered what I was thinking, but then I usually remember that we took a sentence out and so the intermediate bit of a thought is missing from the original link.
Overall, this book is very, very good.
Yes.
I am excited about it.
I wish I could be as confident about the Wicca book. I'm trying to tell myself that it is this good, that it will be, but there's such a gap between the two products at the moment that it's very hard to fully believe it.
Still. I am a genius. It does soothe quite a bit of anxiety recently incurred about how fit I am to write books.
I'm taking a break to make and eat dinner, then I'll settle down with the second half of the proofs. This should take about twelve hours total. I must thank my coven again for allowing me the afternoon off to work while they have the meeting elsewhere instead of here. You've all helped preserve what sanity I have left.
New total: 63,237. Just over 1K of new stuff. This editing and rereading thing can really work, or not so much.
The good thing is that my new minimum is 2K per writing day (of which there remain eight). This looks better and better.
Still stressful, though. I just wish I had more time.
So HRH just got home.
"I have homework this weekend," he says.
Uh-oh. New program. New program which he doesn't have yet. How will he do homework?
"I have to draw a storyboard for my final project [what, already? yikes!], and design my character," he says, all smug. "On paper. With a pencil. I love this teacher."
Yes, this teacher says that drawing on paper is an essential foundation for using 3D Studio Max. HRH is getting along with him just fine.
Publishers Look to Up-Size PaperbacksMass market books remain a vital, billion dollar product, enabling readers to snap up cheap, portable editions of such favorites as Dan Brown's "Angels and Demons" and John Grisham's "The Last Juror." But according to the Book Industry Study Group, a nonprofit research organization, annual sales have dropped by 65 million over the past five years, from 600 million in 1999 to 535 million in 2004.
In response, publishers are trying out a new paperback format, so new they haven't even agreed on a name for it. Penguin Group USA calls it "Penguin Premium." Simon & Schuster and Hyperion still just think of it as "new."
The new paperbacks will be at least a half-inch taller than mass market books - big enough to make the books more readable, but small enough to fit into pockets and existing store racks. In both size and prize, they will stand midway between mass market books and "trade" paperbacks, which are the same size as hardcovers.
People, come on. It's called "digest format." It's the size of most 8-12 YA fiction. It's been around for years. The UK calls them A format and B format paperbacks (can't remember which is which at the moment, though; it's been terribly long since I unpacked imported books). And frankly, I think this move has more to do with the publishers wanting to charge even more for a book than with baby boomers having a hard time reading a mass-market sized product.
(Read the whole article here.)
I have just been called a little editorial witch.
I take this as a compliment.
Total word count, Wicca book: 62,222
Total words today: 2,203
So there.
Headache. Enough. Good work for today.
Ploytheism: The belief that distracting someone will attain a certain end.
Mysery religion: The spiritual path of a someone who refuses to spend money. Alternatively, the spiritual path of someone who worships unhappiness. (The two may be found in the same path.)
Over a thousand words now. I just started reading at the beginning and adding things, as I had planned to do when I hit 60K. I'll go until I can't stand it any more, or until I've hit 2.5 K, whichever comes first. Once I've gone all the way through the manuscript on this first read, then I think I'll print it out to help on the second round of read-through-add-stuff-rewrite.
Also tired of being uninspired.
Will there never be worthy word count? Or heck, even unworthy word count? A few here and a few there don't help significantly.
If I had the energy I'd gnash.
I need to take this moment to publicly thank Ceri and Paze for propping me up in two very different areas of my life right now. I would be even more of a mess without them.
Oy.
I have just responded to a request for the right to reprint one of my articles written for the local Neopagan journal in 2003. It's for a new journal in Calgary, and the request came to me via the local journal editor (who of course fields such requests and subsequently verifies with the author).
I said yes, of course. What, turn down more networking and publicity?
But honestly. It never rains.
Oh, and I got another parcel in the mail. More books. At least I know why I ordered these ones back in December: research. And one for pleasure, because the gods know I need to relax. Not that I have the time, particularly now that I have a 282-page book to proof before I ship it back next Tuesday morning, on top of the usual trying to write a stubborn book on an insane deadline; but I do what I can and pass out accordingly.
Galleys.
I just got my galley proofs.
It's a real book, laid out on a double-page spread sheet. The sheets are 11 inches high by 17 inches wide. The stack measures about an inch and a bit.
Everything is as it will appear in the actual book.
The design is perfect. Beautiful. Awesome (as in, I am full of awe). I may have my problems with marketing and their insistence on buzzwords which mislead and turn serious readers off (in my not so humble opinion), but the design team makes up for it.
They've asked me to cut a total of four lines, two on one page, two on another, for the sake of layout. Easily done. That's it. That's all. I'll still read every single word. (Besides, I already found a layout error in the acknowledgements which needs a copyediting mark. There will be more.)
It's my book. Here. Now. The words I wrote last spring. Printed. On the pages.
I am numb.
I find it rather amusing that the traditional term for beginning to feel a baby move in the womb is known as "quickening." Once upon a time, people thought a fetus lay still until it began to wake up, so to speak; to gain life, to quicken. Now, we know that the kid's not moving any faster than we've already seen it move via ultrasound; it's just bigger, so we can feel the thuds.
If my baby quickens any more, it will break the sound barrier.
I am tired of being tired.
There are only two weeks left before deadline. Ack. (See previous paragraph.)
Naturally, being out at the store yesterday, I missed the FedEx guy. He came back today, and was terribly nice and cheerful.
In the mail today I got a book on literary terms that I'd ordered secondhand a week or two back. It looks nice, but now I can't remember why I needed it.
Blade and I are now An Army of Some. Fear us.
Happy birthday to HRH! You lived to see it!
And a hearty congratulations to both HRH and Jeff for surviving the three-week Maya intensive course alive, and with brains and sanity relatively intact! Today not only marks the day their final project is handed in (complete, thank you very much), but also marks the first day of the 3D Studio Max course. Incidentally, it was confirmed; this is the program they were supposed to start with to ease them into this whole computer animation thing, because it's less complex and less of a challenge to learn. A teacher scheduling conflict meant the two programs had to be switched in the queue. Cheers, gentlemen! Isn't it nice to know that it gets easier from here onward?
I
will
hit
60K
today
if it
kills
me.
And what with the stomachache and the headache, and a meeting ahead of me tonight which means I can't keep working on the book, it just might.
These personal writing tips from John Hewitt center around poetry, but they're applicable and/or adaptable to fiction and non-fiction writers as well.
The bigger your point, the more important the details are.Say what you want to say, let the reader decide what it means.
Don’t explain EVERYTHING.
Poems that focus on form (Sonnet, Villanelle, etc.) are rarely my favorites, but most of my favorite poets learned how to write in forms before they discarded them. Writing in forms is a challenge. It makes you think.
People will remember an image long after they’ve forgotten why it was there.
If you write a bad poem, at least you wrote.
Develop your voice. Get comfortable with how YOU write.
Don’t be afraid to write from a different point of view. Write a poem that says exactly the opposite of what you believe, and do it without irony.
Write in different places. Keep a notebook. Write in a park or on a street-corner or in an alley. You don’t HAVE to write about the place, but it will influence you whether you do or not.
Listen to talk radio while you write. Listen to the people who call. Great characters and voices emerge that way.
If you don’t like a poem or poet, figure out exactly why. Chances are, it reflects something you don’t like about your own poetry.
When nothing is coming, start writing very fast– any word, phrase or sentence that comes to mind. Do that for about a minute, then go back to your poem. (I call this flushing.) Whether to use anything you flushed is up to you. You can, but that’s not the purpose.
The more you read, the more you learn. The more you write, the more you develop.
Make a list of poems you can remember specific lines from. Go back and read those poems. Figure out why they stuck with you.
There are many excuses not to write. Try using writing as an excuse not to do other things.
Keep a dream journal. Dreams are your mind at it’s most creative so listen to it. Don’t feel you have to write a poem ABOUT your dreams. If you want to, fine, but the main goal is to see what thoughts the dreams lead you to.
Use humor, irony, and melodrama, just don’t abuse them.
Write the worst poem you can possibly write. Use clichés, pretentious words, and beat your reader over the head with your point. Felt good, didn’t it? Now get back to work. The point is, don’t be afraid to write a bad poem. If it takes a hundred bad poems before you can produce a poem you like, fine, get that hundred out of the way.
That one perfect line in a thirty line poem may be what makes it all worthwhile, or it may be what makes the rest of the poem bad. Keep an eye on it.
Every great poet has written a bad poem, probably hundreds, possibly thousands. They kept writing though, and so should you.
When you write a good poem, one you really like, immediately write another. Maybe that one poem was your peak for the night or maybe you’re on a roll. There’s only one way to find out.
Follow your fear. Don’t back away from subjects that make you uncomfortable, and don’t try to keep your personal demons off the page. Even if you never publish the poems they produce, you have to push yourself and write as honestly as possible.
Submit your poems. Sooner or later you have to send your babies out into the world to find their way. Emily Dickinson was a fluke, most people who don’t publish while they’re alive will never be seen or heard of – no matter how good their poems.
Want to see the rest? Check it out here.
Here's part two of the SF Site interview with Susanna Clarke.
What characteristics in your writing do you feel separate you from other authors?
I'm less aware of what separates me from other authors and I'm more aware of what ties me in with other authors. I think the only thing I could say would be that I've very much followed my own preferences. For a long time, I've ceased to read what I felt I ought to read and I've just read what I really liked to read. Then I pulled them all together and borrowed shamelessly from all sorts of people to create Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. I've put together people as far apart as Alan Moore and Neil Gaiman and G.K. Chesterton and all of these people. I just sucked out the bits I liked and made this ragtag patchwork thing. I don't think this is a unique book. I just feel I've put the combination together in a completely different way.
No, Susanna, it's a rather unique book. You may think you're borrowing, but you created something very much your own that doesn't read like anyone else's work.
Just got an email from the publisher asking me for feedback on cover concepts for the green witch book.
Ow.
Total word count, Wicca book:58,035
Total words today:2,515
I'm not going to win any prizes for deep philosophical observations today, that's for sure. Or any bonuses for extra words past my quota. But I did it, and that's what counts.
Areas of focus? Oh, I was all over the place today. Drawing down, how to structure your growth when you work alone, a bit on tools, a bit on rites of passage, some work on moon phases... you know, five hundred words here, two-fifty there.
Fnyeh. Tired of this book. Want it to be over. Bored now. Need time away from it for more constructive headspace and ideas.
Many people I know will find this interesting:
How Much Does a Science Fiction or Fantasy Writer Make?
Tobias Buckell did a survey and has tabulated the first results to find out if having an agent helps, what your advances might be like, what various publishers offer as advances, what hardcover advances are like as compared to paperback, and how advances for later books measure up against the stats for first-time novels. Fascinating. Don't ignore the comments, they're just as interesting.
According to the Romantic Novelists' Association, these are the top five most romantic books of all time:
MOST ROMANTIC BOOKS OF ALL TIME
1. Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2. Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
3. Gone With the Wind - Margaret Mitchell
4. Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
5. Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
(Source: The BBC News article Austen tops romantic novel poll.)
Still have another thousand words to go, but this will clock in at the best typo no matter what:
Practicing Wicca on a daily basis will make your lie more harmonious, not more complicated.
I have pants that fit. Two pairs, in fact. Plus a new top. And everything I got was on sale for 25% off regular price, with one pair of pants being 75% off as they were last season's model. Thank you, gods! (And thank you, Mum, for the heads-up regarding said sale!)
I have a new cushion for my office chair, too. Also a great relief.
I did, however, miss the postperson when s/he arrived with the mail and a parcel for HRH. Ah well; it can always be picked up tomorrow.
FedEx doesn't appear to have been by, though, so at least I didn't miss the shipment of catalogues and such from my publisher.
To work!
The Chronicles of Narnia it is. Just finished Prince Caspian this morning.
Inkheart next, perhaps. Or the L'Engle. We shall see.
Off to run errands.
And happy Lupercalia, everyone!
Lu -- thanks for getting me the Cornelia Funke double pack of books. I read half of The Thief Lord last night before falling asleep, and the other half when I woke up this morning. It was very, very good.
And yes, I'll probably start Inkheart tonight after class. Looking back over my past reading list, I'm amazed at how many books I've read over the past month and a half. It's almost as if when I stop writing I need something completely different to focus on, and I plough through a book in one or two sittings.
I'm considering re-reading the Narnia series next, or perhaps Madeleine L'Engle's Time series.
And thanks to all who were there at Picasso's last night; it was good to touch base with everyone again! (And SavageKnight -- it was wonderful to meet you live and in person at last after two years of conversation!)
Over this past week I've seen some major changes in my body. Namely, my waist has completely vanished. My abdomen is now as hard as a rock, and I just feel so full all the time. Things have shifted around to such a point that I am definitely showing a curve when I stand and look at my profile. Fortunately, I still have one or two used-to-be-big-for-me skirts that I can wear, and longish sweaters too, for which I'm grateful. Wearing clothes that don't fit just makes me uncomfortable, and I'd rather enjoy this. Pasley's promised to dig out her maternity clothes for me, and after seeing how comfortable Chantale was last night in her new small-but-definitely-maternity-pants, I can't wait. Being comfortable is my new goal; perhaps it will improve my overall mood and take off some of the general stress I've been feeling. Paze told me that there's no reason to suffer; she felt remarkably relieved when she started wearing clothes that fit better, and she has a selection of bigger-but-not-maternity wear to pass along to me as well to wear out and about.
I've finally gained weight; only a pound or two, but it's nice to see that there's been some sort of increase to match the acquisition of volume.
After class we went out to spend half an hour or so with a few people I hadn't seen in ages; it was wonderful. Everyone there knew I was pregnant, which meant I could talk openly with Chantale and Karine about it. I finally got to meet SavageKnight face to face after two years of Internet-only contact as well, which was good!
Chantale has had the excellent idea of the two of us doing a spa day in June, when we'll both need it. It gives me something to look forward to for that point in my pregnancy as well as a reward for finishing the green witch book, due on June 1.
So far, so good.
Owls' Court is three years old today!
Mind your head; the owlies are swinging from chandeliers and singing. Personally, I think they started celebrating a wee bit early last night. And there's rumours of marzipan mice and chocolate frogs, but I have a sneaky suspicion that they're the real thing in a candy coating. Do yourself a favour and poitely refuse if they offer you a snack.
The margaritas should be okay, though...
Total word count, Wicca book: 55,520
Total words today: 2,684
Tried to write about Imbolc today. It's hard to write something on the sabbat you know the most about. What do you choose to say? What do you leave out?
Also finished up Yule, filled out more of the Drawing Down section, and began to write the Recommended Reading appendix. My neck hurts, as does my back. At one point this weekend I want to go out and buy a seat cushion for my office chair, too; the padding has worn out after being used for four years and quite frankly, it hurts.
Music: Apart from the 2-disc set of Metallica and the SF Symphony, it was all my mp3s on random, which meant we jumped from Bach to Emile Autumn to Diana Krall to Sarah Polley singing a Jane Siberry song to Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. Whoa.
Methods of Work Avoidance: the Internet, curse it; fiddling with the HTML on my web pages; and filing bank statements, of all things (I must have been really desperate! The good thing is I found the tax report for my student loan payments in among them, which I hadn't even been looking for as I didn't know it was there. Bonus!).
And now, two days away from the wretched book for teaching and other stuff. I passed 55K today; that was my goal. I have three weeks left before deadline. Once I've finished the sabbats section I'll have to fill in the missing parts of esbats (mainly the section on moon phases), and then I think I'm pretty much done the basic manuscript. (Note that I do not call this a first draft; I usually produce excellent first drafts, given adequate time. This isn't a first draft; it's a Frankenstein monster of a draft.) Then I'll go back to the beginning and start reading through and smoothing things out. A chapter a day, more if I can squeeze it in, will take up the rest of my writing time. I'm much more comfortable with rewriting and expanding existing material than I am with producing original stuff, so I'm looking forward to it. I think that will begin next Thursday, assuming that finishing sabbats and esbats will take the next two writing days (and it will, it will).
I know Arthur Miller died, but the news that Jack Chalker passed away this morning hit me harder. Probably because I enjoyed Chalker's work more than I ever enjoyed that of Miller.
I found a stack of CDs that t! had lent me a while back, and I'm uploading them to the computer as I work. On is S&M, the 1999 Michael Kamen/Metallica/SF Symphony collaboration live double-disc set. I remember when the SFS announced this engagement; the classical music world was livid, which annoyed the heck out of me. Being an open-minded classical musician, I thought it was a fantastic idea; what a way to introduce the complex and remarkably classically-constructed music of Metallica to a world that thinks anything electric is evil. The recording is glorious, and you can tell the SFS is having a brilliant time. Despite the hide-bound critics' conniptions at the idea, the two concerts were sold out.
I now have two versions of Morricone's "Ecstasy of Gold", one by Yo-Yo Ma and the one on this disc. I adore them both, and they're both very different.
I should start noting down what music I'm listening to while I write this book, much as I did on my NaNo days. I'm sure it will amuse me in the future to look back and see that I wrote the section on sabbats to "Bleeding Me" and "Hero of the Day."
Half an hour later, I have a 399 word review.
Apparently I have become so used to spinning ideas out to create word count that now I can pull off reviews without thinking too hard about them. I just wrote it, and it wasn't hard to do. A nice change from writing in general. (Have I mentioned slog, slog lately?)
I can't really see how I might cut this down, as all of it is essential information about the book and how it's set up. Okay, there's an aside in the first paragraph, but I really do think it's justified as it remarks on the book's misleading title.
I think I'll submit it as is and let the copy editor (read: Ceri, muah-hah-hah) worry about it if it's too long.
Total word count, Wicca book: 52,836
Total words today: 2,771
Slog, slog. I feel like I'm dragging a corpse around.
The good thing is what with all the finger-waving and soap-boxing about people not doing research and assuming that Wicca Is Exactly How We Did It Before The Christians Ruined Everything (nrgh! gnash gnash! about both the error and the attitude!), I didn't use up all the sabbat writing I'd intended to cover today. That means I have seven and a half topics ready to go over the next couple of writing days. Huzzah.
I am exhausted.
I now have to pull a review out of the abyss of my soul. It's only 250-300 words, but ye gods, it may as well be another 3K. At least now I'm vaguely amused about the contradictory mix-up of deadlines, now that I'm over my "what do you MEAN I missed a deadline -- ME!?" outrage.
HRH brought me a millefeuille today when he got home. I love him. Plus he's promised to make tacos for dinner. I intend to take a warm bath later on as well. And I have clothes that aren't ones I've worn to death and am subsequently sick of coming my way, courtesy of sympathetic friends who can share things that don't fit them at the moment. (I'm in an anti-shopping mood because I'm anti-people, and I don't really have the spare money, plus I'm hating all the clothes out there these days -- ick, ick, ick.)
Things are looking cautiously up.
Well, I've written over 2000 words this afternoon, so I must be doing something right.
To prove that I'm not all "no" and "never" and negative in general, I generously share with you one of my favouritest links ever ever ever:
And if you all glom onto it at once and suck up all the bandwidth so that I can no longer use it, I will hunt you all down and kill you.
Have fun.
I've spent the past four hours making plain and straightforward comments about how modern Wicca is not a perfect recreation of what the ancients did, and how you can't look at one local festival and from it extrapolate a culture-wide ritual and spritual association and practice. Particularly when the local festival was last enacted in the late nineteenth century, and you're trying to tell me it's exactly what pre-Christian people did. Nuh-uh. Not even close. Historical parallax and bad research (what research is possible) abound in situations like this. (Yes, Dr. Murray, this includes YOU and your work, you who read some accounts of a single witch trial in Scotland plus some demonology texts and built it all into a Europe-wide surviving witch cult! Argh!)
Goodness, I've been negative. Much has been the "it's not" and "there is no support for" and "it cannot be assumed that." I'm being negative with the intent to educate, though, unlike prior work submitted to me which just bashes the opposing point of view.
On top of this I have discovered that my book review for a local journal has missed the deadline by two days because the announcements were stating two different days in the headline and the body of the text, and I, of course, skipped the headlines and went right to the text where important stuff is usually said. I am not pleased.
I wish I could be angry with something in particular, but I seem to be just irritated in general. This can stop any time.
I need a vacation.
Writing is like dragging every word from the depths of my abyss-like soul today. Every time I finish a passage which feels thousands of words long, I check my word count and gods, it's only a hundred or so words more than the last time I checked. After two hours of work I've only produced 1,200 words, and that is pretty bad for me; I usually average about 800 words per hour.
Although when I wasn't looking I hit 204 pages.
My calculator tells me that I'm 65% there. I wish I was further along. I have thirteen writing days left (four per week, remember, if I keep doing Wednesdays at the store) and I have to hit a minimum of 2,200 each time to make 80K. I know, I know, that's far below my average and below my self-set daily quota, but I would still rather it be easier.
The good news is that after this one's submitted, according to the revised deadline I have another two months to finish the poor sidelined green witch book. I have about 15K done on that one, with a contracted word count of 60K. Doing 45K in two months will be a cinch after this.
Well, my domain transfer finally went through. Not that I was told by any of the three parties involved. No, I had to go check it on my own, as I've been doing obsessively for every day this past week to make sure I don't lose the domain due to someone else's idiocy like I did last year.
The domain is now secure till Feb of 2007. This makes me happy.
Hurrah! The little owlies spin and dance and dive back into the prep for their annual party, for they will now be able to properly celebrate their anniversary on Saturday without fear of someone yanking their location out from under their feet. I think they've already started mixing the margaritas. I'm staying out of this one; they're on their own. I've seen them on a sugar high, so I can only imagine what alcohol and sugar will do to them.
I will NOT miss the smell of other people's cooking all manner of food at odd hours of the day.
Particularly those families who have an obsession with cabbage and spinach.
Come to me, jasmine incense!
Among Michael Eisner's not-so-smart business decisions was to close -- yes, close -- all the hand-drawn Disney studios, thinking that computer animation was the only way to go. That's right. He severed Disney from what made it successful in the first place.
Someone on the 2D front lines has decided to document it in a film called Dream On Silly Dreamer. Muah-hah-hah.
The film's director, Dan Lund, worked for Disney for 15 years before the company decided to shut down its hand-drawn animation studio.He documented the layoffs that marked the end of an era in American filmmaking by interviewing his co-workers. [...]
Long a giant in the animation field, Disney was responsible in the 1990s for such hits as Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid and The Lion King.
But following flops like Atlantis: The Lost Empire and Treasure Planet, the firm laid off its hand animators in 2002 to focus on computer-animated features.
One person who is giving the film a rave review is Roy Disney, the nephew of the company's founder, Walt Disney, and a former member of its board.
"It should be seen by everyone who still believes in the magic of Disney," he said in an article posted on the SaveDisney.com website, adding that Dream On Silly Dreamer puts a human face on an "institutional tragedy."
Roy Disney has campaigned to return the company to its roots as a maker of hand-drawn films.
Lund says that Roy Disney "saw the film and is 100 per cent behind it, emotionally and creatively."
The film, which is partly animated, will have five screenings on Thursday in Minneapolis that are free to the public.
Lund says he hopes that, after seeing the film, shareholders feel "a sense of loss" and tell management that "maybe that division means more than just a financial thing."
As I'm sympathetic to the hand-drawn cause and somewhat knowledgeable about the animation industry, there are a couple of things in this news report make me twitch. The first is that none of Disney's early successes are mentioned, the movies that made the studio's reputation, that made them famous for technical achievement and telling a good story in a challenging medium. The second is that the reporter parrots Disney's claim that Treasure Island was a flop. It wasn't. It just didn't bring in as much as they expected it to, or as they wanted it to. It made a tremendously respectable take at the box office.
And what has always irritated me about Eisner's decision to close the classical animation branch of Disney is that he blamed the medium on the failure of mediocre films, not the lousy scripts and ideas upon which the films were based. Oh, no; it must have been the fact that it didn't look slick. Why, by Eisner's standards, A Shark's Tale must be miles better than Sleeping Beauty! (Pardon me while I gag, and growl.)
Read the full CBC story here
Three doctor's appointments in three different places within four business hours. Okay, so there was a night in there too, but I spent most of it awake, so it doesn't count as time off.
I have another hospital card to add to my collection. This one is green. So far I have a white, a blue, a grey, a red, and now a green, too. The green will enable me to get blood tests done in the near future, because I'll be damned if I'm going back to another clinic, hospital, or medical office for the next week. (How is it possible that I have not had a blood test in five years? Have I just not done it whenever the doctor handed me a referral sheet and hoped she wouldn't check on me, which she evidently hasn't done?)
And I'm wiped, so I'm doing office work from home this afternoon. Yeah, I know; it kind of defeats the purpose of Wednesday office work being a reason to get out of the house, but I am so out of it that I don't particularly trust myself to take a bus straight downtown, let alone drive. Besides, I have spent a total of six or seven hours elsewhere recently. There is a nap in my immediate future. And perhaps one of the GIANT strawberries I picked up this morning. I've already gorged myself on a bowl of the red grapes.
My eyes are crossing. Nap time.
At 8:10 AM today, we settled in to a private darkened room to see the first moving pictures of our child. Yes, there's only one (a relief to my doctor, and she told me it ought to be a relief to us as well), and yes, the age of the fetus is accurate! The spine is developing beautifully, as are the limbs; the heart is strong, and the face is developing as expected. It even has ears (which are a good sign, according to my doctor). Overall, the Newt is really healthy, with no visible problems or defects.
So no, the baby is not big; I'm just a small-framed woman, so the only place for the uterus to grow is up!
I met my obstetrician today at the clinic, and I love her, I absolutely love her. She can't be much older than I am, she's about my size, with brown hair and sparkling brown eyes, and she has such wonderful energy.
Chantale was right: lots of waiting for a very short appointment. Papers and papers for hospital registration, birth plan, blood test done now, second blood test done in mid-May. No need for a paper for an 20-week ultrasound because I already scheduled it (that pleased her no end).
While doing the fundal measurement and uterine examination, she said, "Hmm; your uterus is awfully large for thirteen weeks." "Is it?" I said. (I've mentioned here before in the Newt Chronicles that hey, I know nothing about how this is supposed to work; I'm a writer and a priestess, not a medical professional.) She nodded. "I'm going to ask you to come in tomorrow morning for an ultrasound, just to see if we have twins in there."
Oh!
"Or to reassess the age of the fetus," she added with a grin.
And then, my gods... we heard the heartbeat (or a heartbeat, anyway: it came and went out of range, so it could have been one baby flipping around a lot, or the Doppler could have picked up two separate heartbeats... won't know till tomorrow!). It was so strong; so regular; so steady. It sounded like one of the kittens' hearts sound when I nestle my head against their furry sides. HRH was so overcome that he had to bend over and hide his face in his hands. My doctor couldn't stop smiling at us, at how relaxed and happy we were. I've had such an easy pregnancy with no oddities or bad starts that we must have been a relief for her.
Before I even had the appointment itself, the nurse had scheduled my next appointment in six weeks' time; March 22, which is, curiously enough, the day after my originally-first-now-second ultrasound occurs, at the usual 20 weeks.
I'm thrilled that we're getting an ultrasound this early. We decided against the 12-week Nuchal-test ultrasound because of the cost. I envied Chantale and Mike their chance to do it simply because they got to see their baby so much earlier, and had the opportunity to check for defects or problems early on. Hearing the heartbeat today made the baby all the more real, but this unexpected ultrasound is going to make it positively surreal. Particularly if it confirms the presence of twins, which is a sneaky suspicion we've always had since before we conceived.
And you can bet that HRH is now fixated on the idea of holding our very first baby pictures!
So tomorrow morning, we head into the hospital for a quick ultrasound at 8 AM; then I drop HRH off downtown for school, and I drive out to the West Island to see my regular GP for my annual physical at 9 AM (ironic, I know). Then, if I'm not exhausted, I'll go back downtown and do my weekly shift in the back office doing book maintenance and communications stuff.
I added nothing to my word count today but did a lot of reading and note-taking (ah, waiting rooms); and tomorrow being a day chock-full of doctor stuff and office work, I doubt words will be added then, either.
Know what? I don't care. We heard our baby's heart today. And tomorrow, we'll see it. Or them.
I had the oddest sensation last night as I was lying in bed drifting to sleep, almost like a little bird wing brushing the inside of my abdomen. It was deep inside, not in a place where I usually feel digestion, or regular uterine contractions. I'd never felt anything like it before. I wondered later if it was baby motion, but when I saw how much room there is inside the uterus at the moment, well, it probably wasn't. It's a couple of weeks early, anyway. But the idea that it might have been startled me when I thought about it the next day. I don't know if I'm ready to be that pregnant yet.
Later: Well, what do you know; my mother told me that her first feelings of fetal motion were like angel or bird wings brushing the inside of her abdomen, too. I've never run across anyone else describing it this way; most people say it feels like gurgling or regular digestive stuff. There hasn't been any sensation since then; if it was the baby, then it must have been a pretty violent somersault or flip in order for me to sense it. But now I'm looking forward to feeling something again, so I can compare it to what this felt like.
Total word count, Wicca book: 50,065
Total words today: 3,632
I started in January 10; it is now February 7. In less than thirty days, I hit 50K. Good to know I haven't lost my touch!
Today I was simply aiming for my daily quota of 2.5K, which brought me to 48,924 words. That was only a breath away from 49K, so I added three more sentences. Then I thought how cool it would be to hit 50K today. As a result, today counts as my third-best daily score since I started the project (and it only misses tying for second place by three words).
I have less than 10K to go before I turn to rewriting. I'm remarkably pleased by this.
And HRH brought me lime soda. Mmm.
To KOL!
Since my Blacklist 1.something was no longer compatible with the new installation of MT 3.15, and since the spammers found me again as of early this morning, I decided to install the newer version of Blacklist as well. I uploaded and installed Blacklist 2.something all by myself today, including figuring out how to run all the test scripts, and changing permissions when the scripts wouldn't run. It now all works. I did it all on my ownsome, without asking Blade to do it.
Well, I'm impressed. I've never done something like this before. And I managed to do it without knowing what perl and mySQL are. (Yeah, I could look them up, because I know they both have .com sites, but I didn't have to, so there. I don't want to further clutter my mind with knowledge I don't need right now. I'm writing a book on Wicca, for heaven's sake, and I've been cutting out extraneous stuff for a reason. Can I focus, please?)
I just can't get over how amazing this whole process is, and how quickly everything happens.
How your baby's growing: Head to bottom [Ed: that's not including legs, either!], your baby's 3 1/2 inches long — about the length of a lemon — and weighs about 1 1/2 ounces. Her body's growing faster than her head, which now sits upon a more well-defined neck. By the end of this week, her arms will have lengthened and will be in proportion to the rest of her body. (Her legs still have some growing to do, though.) She's starting to develop an ultra-fine, downy covering of hair all over her body (called lanugo). Her liver starts secreting bile this week, a sign that it's already functioning properly, and her spleen starts contributing to the production of red blood cells. You still can't feel your baby's movements, but her hands and feet (which are now half an inch long) are more flexible and active. Thanks to brain impulses, her little facial muscles are getting a workout as she squints, frowns, and grimaces. She can grasp now, too, and she may be able to suck her thumb.
(From the BabyCenter's Your Pregnancy: 14 Weeks.)
The first trimester is over!
By the way, it's Charles Dickens' birthday today.
After a month of screw-ups and redirection and being bounced around like a ping-pong ball, I think that I have finally resolved my domain transfer issue.
Long-time readers may vaguely remember that a year ago, I had major communication issues with my previous host: in short, someone else had purchased the domain and the hosting space for me, and I was trying to get both services transferred over to my own account and payment info so that the services wouldn't expire, as his credit card had changed in the meantime. My original host's emails were arriving with no message body, no matter how many emails I sent to them detailing the problem (and the email issue), so in the end everything went bottom-up. The domain went missing for about ten days, during which I screamed at my original host and outlined the problem in living colour for them. They surrendered the domain to me without making me pay for getting it out of suspension, and gave me a free year of registration, which was really, really nice. I still transferred my hosting service elsewhere, though.
Well, in early January I realised that my domain renewal was coming up, and with Blade's help we ascertained where my domain was currently registered. I was listed as admin, registrant, and the tech of the domain, which meant that I should have been able to authorise a transfer to a new registration service. Or so all the transfer request emails coming to me indicated. Right?
Wrong.
I initiated the transfer a month ago. In that time, to try to get the authorisation codes, I've had to talk to my current host (through whom I'm trying to register the domain), the original registation service, and my old host twice a week at least for the past three weeks. Everyone kept sending me to someone else for the codes to authorise the transfer.
The final frustration was a request from a company that I didn't recognise, trying to assume registration of my domain. Since my original host (who has now been identified as "the reseller") removed a cap called a TransferGuard as a result of one of my emails, I assumed this was a move by an opportunistic company to snap up the domain for resale or expensive post-expiration release to me. I blocked it, naturally. Only after the second attempt by this company to assume registration did I contact my hostng service to verify under what name their registration service operated. Sure enough, it was this mystery company. Would have been nice to have been informed when I paid for the transfer and two years of registration for the domain.
But once it resolves, it will all be done and clearly laid out this time, I will know where all the services are coming from and under what name they all operate, and it will all be (gods willing) normal. I paid for two years of service up front, plus initialized my hosting and domain registration for automatic renewal. I refuse to deal with this for a third year in a row. The transfer should resolve sometime this week, which is good, because the domain expires on Friday.
So yes; a very good thing that I began the process a month ago, otherwise I'd be livid and even more stressed than I am right now.
Yesterday Jane asked why people blog. Naturally, I had so much to say about it that my comment was cut off not once, but twice.
I blog for a variety of reasons:It keeps me honest. As a writer, I have to remind myself that a book appearing once a year means that readers only see what I think once a year. A daily web log makes me write every day, and makes me write things that are important to me every day, and write things which other people will read every day. Even if I just comment on my mood, I make sure it's professional to some degree. I want to keep contact with my readers, and a web journal is an extended method of doing this.
It keeps me focused on who I am. I blog about what's important to me, what amuses me, or what's occupying my mind. Sometimes I get conversation in return, sometimes not. I don't blog for the comments, I blog to work my ideas out. (Not necessarily ideas for writing, but most often ideas about writing.) My journal allows me to explore issues in a structured fashion. And, also related to the previous reason, I write them in such a way that it's "publishable" without going through without going through the process of finding a market for a 300-word piece on the subject of whatever's on my mind that day.
I blog as a method of staying in touch with friends and family. I've also met dozens of wonderful new friends via my weblog and/or theirs.
I blog to keep a record of my progress through various situations. I find it extremely useful to be able to look back and see what I was working on at any given time, how I felt about it, and what sort of challenges I faced. I find it fascinating to read the online journals of other authors and artists as they work through a project, and I imagine that I have readers like this, too. Again, it has to with documenting the process of creation. (Can you tell I find the creative process fascinating?)
I agree with your final point: I find personal journals more interesting than the weblogs of companies which detail news and upcoming releases. I think the format of weblogs allows individuals the opportunity to re-examine the concept of personal expression. And while it's true that the format of a weblog means that anyone and everyone with varying degrees of skill at self-expression can post stuff (and yes, there's a lot of dreck and wasted space out there), it also means that people who may otherwise not have had the opportunity to express themselves in a semi-public fashion can share their ideas.
And in the keeping in touch with friends department, I'm declaring a social time-out for the next two weeks, folks. I'm not fit company, everyone and everything irritates me, and I'm going to hibernate for a bit in self- and friend-defense.
Blade upgraded my (and his) MT installation to 3.15 (don't get me started on why, just know that it involves an a lack of courtesy, an invasion of privacy, and lousy communication from the powers that be). This is a test post to make sure it all works as it's supposed to.
Other than this, I really have nothing that I want to say, and if I did, you wouldn't like it anyway.
UPDATE:
Aha. Due to the stranglehold MT's put on comment spam, your comments may not show up immediately; they do directly to a suspended status until approved by me. Then technically once you're approved you should be able to post freely.
FURTHER UPDATE:
I found the problem, thanks to the MT support forums, and removed a couple of outdated Blacklist files in order to allow the MT commenting regulation to function smoothly. Everyone should now be able to post as usual.
Now, if my migraine would just go away...
Total word count, Wicca book: 46,424
Total words today: 3,233
Gee, when I don't care about what I'm writing, I can really ramble on, can't I? Maybe I've finally hit on something.
Today's subject: circles. I know this will need to be edited; the style is much too laid back and casual to match the rest of the book. That's what comes of playing Kingdom of Loathing for two hours and using up your daily allotment of turns, though; the wonky game style insinuates itself into your brain. I'm thinking in stick figures and saucepans.
Or maybe it's because I reached the point where I couldn't care less about pretty much everything today.
Whatever. There's an increase in my word count. I not only hit my daily quota, but I made up for falling short yesterday too -- and I have a half a thousand extra words to toss into the general pot. For those who think in terms of pages, the book is currently 187 pages long. To contain 80K words, it has to be approximately 320 pages.
Now I have to go work on rebuilding some rather important shields which hold various parts of me in place. I'm currently a danger to pretty much everyone I know.
Only conquering Undead Elbow Macaroni of Unusual Size with my enchanted saucepan could make me laugh this much on a day like this one.
I love you, Ann.
Oh, yes -- the day just keeps getting better and better.
The only thing worse than shopping for a bra is shopping for maternity bras.
Shopping score: zilch. Not even a sports bra to fit properly.
Found in an old entry:
I’ve been experiencing feelings of inadequacy in my work, as well. I can’t seem to do anything right, or anything write. I’ve re-read work and been turned off by most of it [...]. Ideas all seem like limp dead mice or tasteless dried-up apples. Nothing works.
Limp, dead mice. That's rather good. The imagery is... well, um... pretty accurate, actually. And dried-up apples; that's remarkably dead-on as to how I feel about what I'm writing these days. Sawdust and wood chips. Dried-up apples: the mealy dead kind, not the oven-dried snack sort.
Dry, sifted, colourless, bland. None of it inspires me. But then, I'm not writing it for people like me; I'm writing it for people like the person I was about five years ago.
I just couldn't fall asleep last night, and every time I managed it, I bounced awake again. I slept badly all night, and woke up like a shot when HRH's alarm went off, already in a bad mood (or possibly still in a bad mood from not successfully sleeping). He did not wake up, which further grated on the bad mood. I poked him. He got up and turned off the alarm, but it was much too late.
Tried rolling over to go back to sleep. No such luck. The living room light bouncing off a narrow wall reflected directly through the crack in the door to shine into the bedroom and into my eyes. The smell of his coffee drove me up the wall. And damn it, I itch all over; I'm so tired of winter and electric heat.
And it never helps when you tell your partner that you're cranky, and he says, "I can tell." No matter what you truly feel, friends, saying this only serves to make your significant other even crankier. Honestly, a simple "mm-hmm?" will do if you can't think of something more supportive to say such as, "Would you like some tea?" or some such phrase. The worst response you can get from a question like that is, "No, I don't want any tea," which means that you have made the tea the object of your significant other's current irritation, and not yourself. Saying something like "I can tell" leaves you wide open to be selected as a target. I'm just sayin'.
You're welcome.
I'm going to do one last quick review of that manuscript, send it back to the line editor, and then I am so out of here. I'm going to aimlessly roam shops. Okay, well, not aimlessly; there are a couple of places I want to scout out. Chantale mentioned cocoa butter cream yesterday and now it's obsessing me; I love the smell of cocoa butter, and although I have a cocoa butter stick from the Body Shop, at the moment it pulls on my skin because the stick is so cold (curse you, winter, and you as well, electric heaters which are too small to warm the apartment appropriately!), so cocoa butter lotion or cream is on my list to find. Going out early will mean that there will be a minimum of stupid people in my way, which is a good thing, because otherwise, there would less stupid people to worry about. (Hmm; wait. No, the consequences would irritate me even more, and then we'd have something akin to an apocalypse on our hands as I finally and completely lose it.)
Gnash, gnash. (No, gentle readers, not a delicious cake filling made of chocolate and cream; 'tis the sound of teeth sharpening.)
Total word count, Wicca book: 43,191
Total words today: 2,302
Not terrific, but better than I thought I was going to do today. I took plenty of breaks to allow myself the time and space to deal with the mess of contradicting emotions which are now surrounding this book. Earlier today I found an email I wrote last year while writing the spellcraft book, sent to a friend and mentor who went through the first-book blues over a decade ago. Here's what I said:
I'm wondering if I'm experiencing a common situation for authors. I feel as if I no longer know what the heck I'm talking about, and that I've said all I have to say. I gave the manuscript to a trusted writer-type friend who gave me the thumbs up outline/sequence/content/writing-wise, but I'm still sabotaging myself. Intellectually, I understand what's going on in my head and my heart, and I'm fine with what I've already written; but that doesn't help the feelings of panic that rise up when I stare at the screen, then at the calendar. I know that I'm creating my own obstacles. I know that if I just keep adding two thousand words each day to the manuscript, I'll be finished on time. Meditation helps, ritual helps, but when I do them somewhere in the back of my mind I'm checking the clock and thinking that I could be using this time to write. I'm cranky and irritable and I don't like myself very much right now.
She wrote back and welcomed me to the club, dubbing me "a REAL writer now." She told me that what I was feeling was "Absolutely. Positively. Normal." And she gave me these words of encouragement:
Babe, you got it in you -- I knew it from the beginning. You can do this. I know you can. You are a shining star. Glow.
So I'm doing my best to glow, although today it was very difficult. I made it through, and I broke 43K, which replaced my usual daily quota goal when it became apparent to me around mid-afternoon that I would be lucky to get anything added to the manuscript at all.
Glow, glow, glow. It's not that I'm hiding my heart-light under a bushel; it's more like the wick is kind of drowned in fuel right now, and it's flooded and hard to relight. I'm halfway through. I have 176 pages of book that did not exist twenty-four days ago; that's astonishing. I just wish I could walk away from it for a little while.
I'm sitting at my desk, working on the book. I'm writing about the importance of language in ritual, specifically bringing attention to rhyme, rhythm, and meter, because I'll be damned if I allow the masses who will read this book to go on writing stilted rituals and painful doggerel to be used as invocations.
HRH is sitting over at his desk, animating a walk cycle on a figure in his Maya program. He showed me each different axis he has to animate for eack key point in the figure, all of which have to be programmed into the cycle in order to get the figure moving smoothly and correctly. The amount of stuff going on simultaneously in this simple walk cycle makes my head hurt.
We're both engaged in what we're best at, our specialties. And we're listening to musicals like Chicago and Guys & Dolls a haute volume to keep us both awake and chipper. It makes me feel good.
(Allow me to boast for a moment: not only did he get a 93% in his first course, but he got a 84% in his Intro to Maya course. Not bad for a guy who barely knew how to turn a computer on in early January!)
I should write an entry on how well orchestra went last night (except for the moments where I wanted to strangle Mozart, which, come to think of it, is rather odd, because usually it's Rossini I want to punish, but the Tancredi overture was really quite uneventful). However, I'm feeling a bit raw emotionally this morning because of something gut-wrenchingly meaningful I read earlier which made me cry for fifteen minutes straight. I didn't just tear up, but engaged in full heaving sobs which simply wouldn't stop. 'Tis the season of working things out, and if this is one of the ways I have to purify, then so be it.
So anyway, I'm going to be anti-social for a while. I still love you, gentle readers. I just love you from afar today.
What happens when the six-year-old child of an author writes her first story?
Check out John Scalzi's Athena's First Story to find out.
And for further amusement, here's an amusing and remarkably accurate instruction on how to grab your readers from the very first words of your novel, illustrated with example of a gripping story starring, er, cats.
(Lu, this should amuse you in your never-ending search for entertainment during the day!)
Today I was asked if the local Neo-Pagan journal could book an interview with me, to be published in the Beltaine issue.
You know, getting the ISBN of my first book, seeing it listed on Amazon and B&N and Indigo and all those other online booksellers, and getting the cover; all those were unreal moments, each of which lent a little more weight to the "this is actually happening" aspect of publishing.
But this? This hits me on a much deeper level.
They want to interview a local author, and that author is me.
It's possibly more unreal than all the other little celebrations along the way.
Another incredibly productive day has passed. While my word count hasn't budged (it's Wednsday, store/office day) I got a pile of office stuff done, and I'm feeling terribly pleased with myself. The enthusiam of my colleagues helps a lot. I enjoy being there (when it's not an icebox, of course) because it stimulates my brain, and gets me thinking along the occult/New Age publishing lines in a different way. And really, I love the store; it was the working with the public part that broke me down. Now that I'm a member of the office crew, so to speak, and consult privately, things are much, much better.
Tonight is orchestra, and I wish I could gear myself up for it properly. I've attended a grand total of two rehearsals in the past two months, and haven't practiced at home at all. I'm just not as excited about it as I should be. I reread my post about the first rehearsal of the year and I remember how good it was, but I just can't stir myself. I think my body's establishing some sort of energy/no-energy routine that entails me shutting body and brain down from six to nine PM, which is, unfortunately, when I have to pack up and head out to the West Island to play. I know it's a vicious circle: I don't play, I dread going to rehearsal because I'll sound horrible, I miss rehearsal, I don't play, I dread rehearsal... There's a momentum there, on both counts. If I was at rehearsal, I'd be excited about going back again, because that's just the way it works. I've simply been so tired that I can't bring myself to care. It used to be fun; now somehow my mind has decided that it's work.
Granted, three of the rehearsals I've missed over the past two months have been for legitimate reasons: a Christmas function, for example, and the severe cold two weeks ago, and last week it was sciatica so bad I couldn't get out of bed let alone imagine sitting on those torturous metal chairs that slant backwards (awful for anyone's posture, but for a cellist who sits on the edge of the seat and leans forward, absolute agony on a good day). Still, I wish I was looking forward to it instead of thinking of it as one more thing I have to do.
A blessed Imbolc to all!
Blessing for Hearth-Keepers by Caitlin MatthewsBrighid of the Mantle, encompass us,
Lady of the Lambs, protect us,
Keeper of the Hearth, kindle us.
Beneath your mantle, gather us,
And restore us to memory.Mother of our mothers,
Foremothers strong,
Guide our hands in yours,
Remind us how
To kindle the hearth,
To keep it bright,
To preserve the flame.
Your hands upon ours,
Our hands within yours,
To kindle the light,
Both day and night.The Mantle of Brighid about us,
The Memory of Brighid within us,
The Protection of Brighid keeping us
From harm, from ignorance, from heartlessness,
This day and night,
From dawn till dark,
From dark till dawn.
Beannachta Bhride dhuit, gentle readers.
Total word count, Wicca book: 40,889
Total words today: 3,040
For someone who thinks she's run out of things to say, I seem to keep on doing a relatively okay job with the word count.
Only 39,111 words to go!
HRH brought me a cold Alexander Keith's; I'm making lasagne. His school day went really well. All in all, a good day for everyone involved.
Life is good.
Just passed 40K. That means that after three weeks, I'm officially halfway finished this book, and I still have four and a half weeks until deadline.
Onward!
Or, you know, I could finish the editing of the copyeditor's queries in one sitting. Wow! (How existential -- the series editor edits the copyeditor.) Not that I'm going to send it off right away or anything; I'll put it away and look at it again tomorrow or Thursday morning.
I wonder where Ceri is.
To amuse my fellow Morrighan's Marauders:
Cat and Girl: What Would Senor Wences Do?
I woke up at 4.30 this morning, and got about two hours of work done on store/office book-ordering type of stuff, which is actually a blessing because I have no idea when else I'd be able to do it. Because I'd woken up so early, I was awake and real-world ready at around nine. So I took the car and picked up a small order of groceries. I shouldn't feel this pleased with myself for accomplishing something so minor, but I do. Astounding: when one shops during regular business hours, there are people at the deli counter who will slice your cold meats fresh! What a concept! And there aren't as many annoying people around and about!
After having had little appetite for over a day, I have just eaten three thick ham sandwiches. I picked up a small loaf of fresh bread this morning; it's now two-thirds gone. Perhaps I should have picked up the regular sized loaf. And I'm still hungry, which means the lovely little box of grape tomatoes is next on my list of threatened foods. Hello, appetite; welcome back.
I forgot to pick up more fizzy water, though. Alas. I did, however, remember the cat food.
Maybe this all means I'll go to sleep earlier, and wake up ridiculously early again tomorrow, so I can finish the store/office work and bring it in with me. It also occurs to me that I'll have to drive into town tomorrow, because I have two boxes of catalogues to bring back. (I am secretly happy about this, even though it means I have to remember to put gas in the car and scrounge up dollars and quarters for the parking meter.)
And now to editing that manuscript which is due back on Friday. I will go back to my own book when Ceri arrives for the writing jam in an hour or so. I figure if I can edit at least three chapters each morning, I'll be done on time.
I'm really feeling remarkably more alert and optimistic than I have been in recent days. The nice weather has helped my mood immensely as well. Happy February, gentle readers. I remembered to say "white rabbits" this morning; did you?
The OB/GYN called me; someone cancelled a prenatal, so they've moved my appointment with her from March 1 to next Tuesday, Feb 8! Of course, my ultrasound is still scheduled for March 21, by hey, at least I get to meet my doctor earlier. And she might schedule an earlier ultrasound if she's concerned; she probably has that authority. She's the one who's scheduled to perform the ultrasound, after all.
And wow... we'll get to hear the baby's heartbeat a month earlier than we were going to!
Mind you, Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell ended up being 782 pages long:
Did you have an end point in mind when you start working?I know roughly where the characters are going to end up. I just have to get them there. There was no worry in my mind that I would just reach a point and think, well is this the end or isn't it. I would know when I got there.
Read all of the SF Site's A Conversation with Susanna Clarke, Part 1.