Where Ladybugs Roar ~ Wendy's Writing Blog

YA Books and the Absentee Parents

2012-01-30T18:26:00.000-08:00

Over the weekend, we got into a discussion on Twitter about Disney cartoons and the scarcity of sets of parents in them. (This conversation carried on between the husband and I as we ran errands--the husband went through all the live action movies by Disney on the hunt for complete sets of parents--which are rare.) (You can play this game at home. Establish a safe word if you're playing between spouses so neither of you gets into a snit over the Parent Trap.)

This is something that comes up frequently in discussion among those that write and read Young Adult books. Parents are killed-off as either part of a tragic backstory or to move forward the plot or just to keep them from hindering the adventure. Sometimes, the parents' divorce is impetus for a teen's exploration of independence or the fact that only one parent is present means a lack of supervision. Woo! No supervision! Sometimes, parents just don't care and are in the house at the same time as a teenage werewolf boyfriend for months and they never notice... ever... at all. (I'm not going to mention any specifics here.) Sometimes, the parents leave on trips, or work or... whatever. You get the point. They're not around. FREEEDOM!

Let me break to say, so I'm not completely coming off as hypocritical: I stank of this plot device. In fact, let's tally it up.

Sentinel's Run: One character with two dead parents. The other is sent off to a war setting to fight for the humans. (Teens = 2, Parents = 0)

Good Girls Don't Date Mutants: One character's mother kills his father. (Doh! Tragic backstory alert!) The other (age 17) has two uber-responsible parents---who leave her alone while they go on a quick trip. (The shame is high with this one.) (Teens = 2, Parents = 3, but 2 go AWOL, and the other is a murderess.)

Secrets of Skin and Stone: Piper has two very involved parents. Gris has two involved parents--but he's over 18 and doesn't live with them. (Teens = 2, Parents = 4)

Scorched: Sidra has two parents who've gone through a bitter divorce and a step-mom just slightly older than herself. (Tragic backstory in overdrive.) Asher has two dead parents--part of his tragic backstory. (Teens = 2, Parents = 2, divorced)

Curse Me A Story: Sheri has a mother and a very involved step-father. Thomas has two dead parents--both part of his tragic backstory. *sighs* (Don't judge me.) (Teens = 2, Parents = 1 1/2)

The Unseen Kingdom: In my defense, this is based on the Odyssey and it's not my fault that Odysseus is gone for most of that story--he's like the ultimate of absentee parenting. And, technically, the female lead in this has a very active dead father because she can communicate with the spirit world. Actually, I don't want to talk about this. (Teens = 2, Parents = I don't even know how to tally this one--one is AWOL and the other has a dead but involved parent.)

I have to say, though... while this plot device/impetus might be applied frequently, it's so completely useful! Wait, that came out wrong. It's very hard to write exciting stories when two sets of involved parents are there preventing their teens (or younger) from getting into trouble. (Not that it can't be done....) As a teen, most of the moments that I remember as being fun and exciting--didn't involve my parents.

(cyber gasp)

I have super responsible parents. If they could prevent it, they tried to keep me out of danger or from making mistakes that would contribute to a tragic backstory. I never could have had a werewolf boyfriend in my room for months. They probably wouldn't have let me put myself in a position to be kidnapped and nearly killed by vampires. There was no way I'd be sent off to a boarding school where I'd discover I had magical powers--though, this I'm mostly blaming on the adequacy of public education and our middle class income. I'm sure there were times they'd have liked to send me off to boarding school.

Also, I realize I'm lucky to have parents still married and that two parent families aren't a requisite for happiness or responsible parenting.

Also, some stories are about growing up in a less-than-perfect homelife.

So, I'm not sure where I was going with this blog post other than to say that I find it interesting how other writers handle parents in their plots and to introduce the find-the-parents-in-Disney-shows game.

Also, my kids will never have any cool adventures. That's the goal. Just sayin.

So, what do you think? How have you handled parents in writing? Does your tally look as shameful as mine?

Being Incomparable

2012-01-19T14:24:00.000-08:00

I don't know if other writers suffer from this, but whether I'm doing well in my writing life or poorly, I need to compare myself to other writers--their success, their failure, their path to publication. I hate this about me. I wish I could stop. I hate especially when I find myself lacking, but I hate it even more when I find others behind me and take some pleasure in that. I'm not sure where this vindictive side to me resides--this bit of me that enjoys seeing others fail--because I don't feed it or indulge it, and I kick it out whenever it slinks into view. It's like the rat in the house of my mind. It's there--I know it's there--it leaves droppings.

The crazy thing is that you can't compare. It's not as if any of our paths parallel to the point you can see where someone made the right decision and you made the wrong one or vice versa. There is no way to say, "I could have been there if only I'd...." Life doesn't work that way. I know this. I believe it.

Yet... the rat.

I was talking with a friend about coveting a week or so ago, and they brought up the point that coveting is more than actual envy. Coveting begins with not being content with what you have. I mean, this in no way means you should lack ambition or the drive to improve yourself, but if that drive overwhelms your ability to be happy at the point you're at--then you'll never be happy. There it is. You'll never be happy. If you're waiting for something to happen before you can be happy, there will always be something to wait for.

I don't know what the answer is by the way. I feel like I was discontented most of 2011 for one reason or another--mostly related to my writing. I feel like the rat has made a nest in my mind and invited in some buddies. Today, sloth and gluttony are out to play and leave droppings. (I'm supposed to be working on that revision, but I've been eating chocolate instead.) (Mmm. Chocolate.)

So far, I've found some success in just getting back to writing or revising. If I'm working my tail off, I tend to keep too busy to envy or covet the success of others. I don't have time to compare as much. I get lost in the worlds I created and there is satisfaction in that... in being in another world and creating. I didn't write as much in 2011, and I think that contributed to my discontent. It seems ridiculous to have to remind myself that "writers write" but if you've spent much of a year buried deep in revision... the correlation of "writers revise and revise and revise" is also true. Revision doesn't seem to keep envy as far away, and I think I spent 3/4 of last year's "writing" time actually revising.

I also fake it until I can feel it. I really do appreciate and enjoy the success of others--even if I envy them initially. I love that friends are finding success--even if I feel a bit left out. The emotion is there--even if the spirit follows a little behind my initial "woo" and confetti. I love that others are successful... even if the rat is lurking in the corner wishing I was there with them. Like I said, I don't feed the thing--I think it lives on the cupcake crumbs I drop.

Lately, I've also tried to avoid diving into online conflict. That's more my personality than something new, though. I've never been comfortable with conflict or arguments. I'm the middle child in my family, and they tend to be peacemakers by nature... and that's how I've been most of my life. I hate arguing. I hate seeing it. It does seem to breed discontent. I've seen people content with their lives until other peoples are discontent and suddenly they hate their lives.

Finally, I'll have to admit that social media isn't a true window into other people's worlds. If you find yourself thinking that their lives are all too good to be true--they are. With the exception of crazies like me or chatterboxes, many people use social media to build either a cheering section or a sob corner. (I, of course, use it to tweet pictures of Mountain Dew's effect in my day-to-day life.) You tend to see the extremes of most people in social media. Some people will only tweet once or twice a day--so, of course, they're going to say something significant and usually something flattering to themselves or to engage others--depending on what they need emotionally. Or they'll tweet pictures of food... which is cool by me. I love pictures of food. The point is that no matter how much someone tweets, you're not in their shoes. You're nowhere near their shoes. You're like their nice dressy scarf... maybe. You go pretty places and get dragged out for funerals, but you're not seeing their life.

So, that's where I am... what I'm doing. I'm trying not to compare myself to others, and I hope no one is comparing themselves to me and coming up lacking. When my kids were having a lot of success in overcoming their delays, I was talking to someone who had a child a bit younger than B. I remember one day she said, with a bit of hysteria in her voice, "What are you doing differently? I'm doing everything you're doing! I'm doing more than you're doing! Why is it working for you and not for me?" She even told me she envied me--that she was jealous of me and my children's success. Of course, comparing children with Autism is a lot like comparing writing careers when it comes right down to it. You have different children. Your paths are different. Also, what I learned from this was that it didn't feel good. Whether you're the person being envied or the envier--there is a sour sense that goes with it. In fact... it made me discontent.

I'm also taking vitamins. I know that's rather out from left field, but this is the winter of our discontent because I'm not getting enough Vitamin D from the sun, and it's making me cranky. If you start out cranky, it takes a bit to pull up from there.

*gives you a significant look* Don't forget to take your vitamins. I worry about your health. Really. Yours.

So, how do you deal with not comparing yourself? Or is that just my problem and I'm a freak? (Wait... just answer the first part.)

That's Deep--Real Deep

2012-01-14T11:10:00.000-08:00

So, this is NOT a post about my OCD. I know. Weird, isn't it? I've been working from lists all week and I'm not sure if it's the illusion of control or actual control, but I feel like I'm doing better, and I'm definitely accomplishing more. There is the possibility that lists might become an obsession themselves, but I hope not.

So, while I'm waiting on various editing notes from various sources, I'm working on revision of Good Girls Don't Date Mutants--which I originally wrote nearly three years ago. It's gone through many, many revisions already. It had some plot issues--a major plot issue in fact--it had stalking that was just a smidge less severe than Twilight's. It gained and lost a point of view. The chapters have gotten smaller and more numerous--which I don't like--and I'm fixing. It's gained epistolary inserts between chapters--which I really like--but I wouldn't be surprised if they get discarded as being too cute or something.

This manuscript started out life in third person--just third person for the most part. Then, I switched it to first person. Now, I'm switching it to third person deep. Typically this would seem like a frustrating set of changes--to switch it back to the original point-of-view makes you just want to shake the characters and ask them why you changed in it the first place. On the other hand, third person deep will still retain some of the inner dialogue from first person, so it's helped the story evolve. Wanna see? You know you do...

Okay, this is from Lucas's POV. This story is set in contemporary society but there are a secret group of mutants living among us. Lucas is a member of the Strain--his genetics give him super-human powers, and he thrives on bacteria--the same bacteria that would kill "Outsiders" i.e. the rest of the world. He's studying botulism in his lab. Botulism is the Strain's version of a narcotic. His mother is a sociopath and an assassin... and GO:

First, flat third person:

“Hello, my lovely,” his mother said while breezing in. “What are we studying today, Lucas?”

“Botulism,” Lucas said.

“How delightful… are we studying or partaking?” she asked, sliding onto a stool beside him.

He glared at her… which made her laugh.

Second, its trip through first person where it picked up all the character's thoughts.

“Hello, my lovely,” my mother said, breezing in. “What are we studying today, Lucas?”

Damn. If only I’d put this away and been working on something else. Prevarication was out—she’d know.

“Botulism,” I said.

“How delightful! Are we studying or partaking?” She slid onto a stool beside me.

I glared at her—which made her laugh. This wasn’t unusual. She often found my serious nature amusing.

Finally, here we are in third person deep:

“What are we studying today, Lucas?” His mother stepped up to his microscope and peered in.

Damn. If only he’d put this away and been working on something else. Prevarication was out—she’d know.

“Botulism.”

“How delightful! Are we studying or partaking?” She slid onto a stool beside him.

Lucas glared at her—which made her laugh. This wasn’t unusual. She often found his serious nature amusing.

Another thing that this--rather laborious method of arrival added was that Hallie has a southern accent and during the first person conversion I added accent and voice to her character. Much of that will stay in third person deep. On the one hand, I might rather sell my soul than switch something from third person to first person and then back again just to gain insight into the characters' thoughts, but I can't argue with the resulting nuances it's added.

Still, don't do it. It's a misery.

If you have other questions on third person deep--and I have--I asked a bunch on Twitter two nights back actually after I read this post by Liz Pelletier: Demystifying Deep POV Liz is the publisher and lead editor at Entangled Publishing. That post is really helpful. She and I exchanged several tweets on whether Hallie should keep her slang in the narrative portions of the story. This post: What is Deep POV on the The Editor's Blog is also useful.

Eating a Frog--One Gulp at a Time

2012-01-08T23:02:00.000-08:00

So, just after the beginning of the year, I bought this book:

I'd hoped it would help me with my OCD and the procrastination it induces. It's getting to be ridiculous how much control my OCD has over my decisions--as I mentioned in the previous post. The one thing you should know about those with OCD--it's all about control. We use compulsive behaviors to gain control. We avoid things to maintain control. We fuss over things--for control. We hide our OCD because we don't want you to think we're not in control. One of the most profound influences in our lives is this balance of control. Does our OCD control us or do we control our obsessions? I'd rather use compulsive behavior to maintain control than go without control. It's that vital.

So, the premise of the book is based on the Mark Twain quote: “Eat a live frog first thing in the morning and nothing worse will happen to you the rest of the day.” In order to tackle procrastination, you prioritize the biggest and ugliest frog and eat it first thing. The book outlines how best to make use of your time and how to prioritize. It was really fascinating actually. One thing the author mentioned that stuck with me was that a feeling of success releases endorphins, and I've mentioned that I'm a total endorphin junkie--it's why I run. Endorphins also help moderate my OCD. On the other hand, the things I've been tackling and procrastinating--housework, laundry, dishes, etc... don't ever actually give you that feeling of success and closure--and I spend a decent amount of time procrastinating them because I hate them.

Much of the book wasn't aimed at those who don't work outside the home, but it could be adapted easily enough. One of the habits I've fallen out of over the years is lists of goals, both long-term and short-term. I know that's helped in the past. I think I'm going to start making a list in the morning of what I plan to do that day.

When I wrote the last post on Friday, I was sure the only available avenue was medication. Don't get me wrong, medication is more than just a viable solution, especially hand-in-hand with proper exercise and diet. On the other hand, everything that goes with the medication is brutal. Anyway, tomorrow I thought I'd try some of the things suggested in the book to try and calm my OCD and channel it.

So, I mentioned that I can't read books by friends because of my OCD. I realize now that was unclear. I can, of course, force myself to read books. I do it once a month for Book Club. The backlash is that I won't be able to sleep at night, and I'll obsess over what would come of telling the author I read their book for days. Some things are worth going without sleep for--some things are not. This is iffy in my mind. Beta reading lately has pushed me into wicked insomnia streaks that can last weeks. I am still trying to work on this, and I've come up with a few possible work-arounds. I'm thinking of telling myself it's research and then also reading my list in alphabetical order. The temptation is to do it from Z to A because I go counter-clockwise and backwards whenever possible. On the other hand, Kiersten White's third book in her trilogy isn't out yet but might be if I go the proper direction. My TBR category is up to 99 books, though, so maybe not. Anyway, by determining to go in alphabetical order and then letting fate pick that order--I'm in control again. Also, I really like letting fate decide things. Many with OCD are superstitious to the nth degree. I'm one of those.

I don't know how much the book will help--though I enjoyed reading it, and I highlighted throughout. I think I can use it to control my OCD. The solution may still be to go back on medication. I'm surprised I've lasted off of medication as long as I have. I never thought I'd manage longer than a year. Perhaps I shouldn't have. OCD is a tricky beast. Maybe with a few tricks from this book, I'll tame it... a bit... maybe. I hope.

OCD. It's what's for dinner... and breakfast... and snacks...

2012-01-06T13:11:00.000-08:00

I've mentioned this the last few days on Twitter, but my OCD lately has been really bad. Really bad. If you've come in the line of fire from my very pleasant personality these last few weeks, I apologize. If I've offended you, I'm sorry. By nature, I try never to offend or hurt anyone. I didn't mean it. My intention is never to hurt anyone. Ever. I feel out of control--like I'm on a roller coaster holding on to the outside of the coaster and hanging on for dear life. I can't seem to dig in and get a handle on it.

Typically, my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is vexed by a few different triggers. Hormones is a big one--one that I can't seem to work around right now, though I've tried various things when I was medicated. Estrogen patches were nice to regulate it, but they gave me nightmares--fairly horrific nightmares actually. Since I'm not currently seeing my doctor, even that isn't an option. I'm trying vitamins to control my hormones, but they're a piss-poor substitute for actual control.

Stress is another trigger. Another thing I can't really seem to help with. The funny thing about stress is that as my OCD escalates, it too becomes a stressor... so it cycles back to this never-ending push towards worse days. Clearly, we're just through the holidays so stress is almost expected. We had a lot of sickness over the holidays, though... the puking kind... and germs and body fluids are not my friend. I have "contamination" issues as my strongest OCD symptom.

I was at a church thing on Wednesday and one of my friends (who would be the polar opposite of me for mental health issues) said, "Just so you know, my daughter had strep and impetigo on Sunday, but she's just finished 24 hours of meds, so she's no longer contagious." My skin wouldn't stop itching from pretend contamination. I always err on the side of extreme and total caution when it comes to germs... far past what is reasonable. So, germs or the possibility of germs... always get to me. That same friend also licked her right index finger while dishing out ice cream and I said, "Did you know you just licked your finger?" She said, "Yes, but it won't come into contact with the food." I continued to stare at her finger... and stare... and stare... until I moved down the line because I couldn't handle it anymore. She has no issues with contamination. I have severe issues--and that's on me. I have to remind myself she is the normal one.

Another trigger is poor sleeping--which is both a symptom and a trigger. Over the holidays, I got nailed with some really intense insomnia. Most times, I didn't get to sleep before 3 a.m. despite hours of trying. One night, I saw the hairy side of 5 a.m. It was miserable. I'm lying there, thinking of everything and trying to think of nothing... and I just can't sleep. I even took one of my sleeping pills that should have knocked out an elephant. It didn't work at all. The insomnia jag finally broke a couple days ago.

Insomnia often leads to depression for me--a deep-rooted depression that is more about chemicals inside my brain. It's an illusion of depression. I feel hopeless and despondent as if I'll never catch up and never be okay, but it's chemicals and smoke and mirrors. It's not real. It sucks to be depressed without reason and to know you can't fix it. The depression becomes a stressor also--I hate irony.

Diet and exercise are good ways to control it, but they can only do so much... and when my asthma is acting up or I'm injured, exercise won't help. Poor health is a trigger. Sickness, not exercising, and eating crappy--all come back to bite me.

Okay, so those are some of the main reasons my OCD is bad.

Some of the symptoms you might not realize are symptoms:

I binge on things and collect things. If I take up a hobby, I have to have everything I could possibly need for that hobby. Scrapbooking, beading, and painting have all been binge hobbies where I have more than I'd ever need for those. This last bout, it was holiday-themed books, stories, and anthologies. I have read more Christmas-themed stories in the last three weeks than probably all my followers combined. I had to have access to all of them. I read them with an obsessive drive that was terrifying. Some days, I'd read three novels--just to quiet the need.

Avoidance. My husband was home and drove nearly everywhere we went. I've always hated driving, but my destinations are limited during an OCD bout to destinations where I know where I'll be parking. I have to know where I'll be parking in order to even go there in the first place. Also, I'm afraid to drive cars that aren't running perfectly... which has been a difficult job for my husband this year. Our cars are getting older--and he's been kept on his toes trying to keep them running. He's brilliant but we've had a limited budget for car upkeep. At least we went places over the holidays because my husband is as sane as I am insane. He drove and I sat clutching the armrest and hoping we didn't die in a fiery wreck or be unable to find a parking spot--which are on the same level for me.

Avoidance goes deeper than you'd guess. If I've bought your book or you've recommended a book to me--I haven't read it. I can tell you that right now. I want to. I want to read it with all my heart. It's in a category in my Kindle that says "Books I'm Anxious To Read" but the anxiety involved is stronger than my will. I'm absolutely paralyzed by the worry that I might not like it, and I might have to tell you something less than the truth. It's the reason why I read my book club books the day of the book club--I have a paralyzing phobia of not liking a recommended book. I'm an obsessively honest person, and the thought of lying is horribly repugnant to me. I'm really trying to overcome this. I want to overcome this. But, right now, it's stronger than I am. I'm sorry. I'll continue to buy books of friends and continue to ask for recommendations, but it's not something going easily into that good night. I'm trying. That's the best I can give you right now.

Then, there are some of the obvious symptoms. I'm wearing non-latex disposable gloves to do some things. I'm washing my hands so frequently that my knuckles are cracking. I want to stay inside my house and never leave because the world is a scary ugly place full of contamination. I'm triple checking everything--locks, the oven being off, the signature on checks, the innards of envelopes, anything I've written for transposing errors, etc. These are the things you expect of OCD, though.

I'm sorry my OCD is making me be a bad friend, an impatient person... it's even making me into a lousy mother and wife. I'm trying. If nothing else, believe I'm obsessing about doing better and being less of a hot mess of dysfunction. I'm trying more than I'm coping. I'm trying more than I'm giving up. I'm really trying.

I have severe OCD. It's not just bad. It's not just complex. It's severe, and it's clinical, and it doesn't take vacations. I should be medicated again. I just can't seem to bring myself to start throwing money at it--and me being medicated is expensive... and there are side effects beyond the financial drain that I've mentioned before. The physical side effects are such that I wouldn't wish them on my worst enemy... not that I have an enemy who comes to mind. I wouldn't wish the side effects on anyone, though.

Okay, this was a novel. If you made it through, thank you. If you didn't, dude, there's no shame. LOL. This was far too long. I just wanted to explain why I am the way I am.

If you ever have any questions about OCD, I'm obviously very open about it. I haven't always been, but I am now. My daughter has OCD and it's not a dirty secret. It can't be. I refuse to let my daughter grow up thinking she has to hide the symptoms and seek unhealthy outlets to cope. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is a mental illness, though, and it's pervasive and vicious. It creeps into everything I do. It's like a liquid... it fills up the spaces I leave for it. Right now, there are a lot of spaces in my life for it to crawl into it.

Starting a new year freed me up a bit, though. I can consign all of last year's worries and awful situations to a number--2011. I can say, "That was a bad year," and move on. 2012 isn't going great at this point. My daughter's favorite teacher and my favorite teacher at the school--apparently has cancer. I'm struggling to keep personal relationships from feeling the strain I'm under. My kids are both struggling either quietly or violently with issues related to their Autism or sensory issues. 2012 is not the beautiful new day I'd love for it to be. It's a new number. Still, it is new and that's something.

Thanks for listening.

Goals Revisited

2011-12-31T21:45:00.000-08:00

So, it seems appropriate for the last day of the year to look back at my goals and see where I got. Mostly, I've decided not to have goals anymore because goals are a big freaking pain. At some point, I added submit one short story per month, but it's not showing up on here... huh.

Here are my goals from this year (I made them in March, so that's how I could cheat and add the agent thing) :

Writing Plans for 2011:

January:

Finish Honor 7. (Completed)

Revise Secrets of Skin and Stone. (Completed)

Submit short stories. (Completed--both stories were accepted in the anthologies I submitted them to. Mystery Times Ten 2011 and Undead is Not an Option.)

February:

Get agent. (Wooo wahoo!) (Yay)

March:

Do revisions of Secrets of Skin and Stone. (Completed a set of revisions)

Work on short story project. (I probably did.)

April:

Finish Sentinel's Run. (At some point during the year I finished Sentinel's Run.)

May:

Revision of Curse Me A Story for Sarah. (I did... but it's not quite done.)

"Six month" scheduled revision of Versus the Bounty and The Unseen Kingdom. (Nope.)

June:

Finish My Other Life. (Nope.) (I wrote Promises of Light and Dark instead.)

July:

Finish Chosen Changeling. (Nope.)

August:

Revise Honor Series. (Crap. No.)

September:

Work on short stories or Honor 8. (Short stories... done.)

October:

Revise Scorched. (Crap. No.)

Revise Good Girls Don't Date Mutants. (I started a revision on Mutants but I haven't completed it.)

November:

NaNoWriMo novel (Completed 50K. I did five novellas instead of a novel.)

December:

Revise Sentinel's Run and begin Sentinel's Run Book Two. (Uhh. No. I did manage to submit 11 short stories during 2011.)

I'm still working on a revision of Secrets of Skin and Stone... well, I'm waiting on Sarah with that. I've revised it three or four or five times this year.

Per my earlier announcement I did get a short story picked up by Entangled Publishing.

I did actually finish writing my entry for Mystery Times Ten for 2012, but I need to do another revision on it. I could have probably powered through it and subbed it tonight, but I like eleven better than twelve anyway, so there wasn't a lot of incentive.

I fell behind in some ways this year and made some progress in others. I read around 89 books, did five betas, and I did quite a few requested revisions for editors and for Sarah.

Outside of writing, I lost fifty lbs this year--so that's pretty cool.

Then, there were parenting struggles and sickness and injury. It hasn't been all fun and games.

Next year... okay, I do have some goals.

Goals for 2012

I want to do more reviewing. I'm hoping to review all my favorite books on Amazon--just my favorite books--and just on Amazon.

I want to lose the last fifteen lbs. to my goal.

I want to finish revising Secrets of Skin and Stone for the last time with Sarah.

I intend to submit to Mystery Times Ten Contest by its deadline of January 31st.

I have some short stories to revise for editors, and I'll do that.

My only specific writing goals are that I want to revise and resubmit Honor. I want to finish my revision of Mutants. Also, I want to do NaNoWriMo again this year. That's about it.

In social media goals, I want to work a little harder on keeping up on my blog and creating an author website. It's been a tough year, and I keep feeling like I'm dropping behind--in fact, I need to write a few blog posts and retro-post them in regards to Christmas and the nativity display. (I did take a bunch of pictures, and I'll post them--soon.) I can't seem to keep up. B got the stomach flu for Christmas and my son had it before her. It's been... fun.

Anyway, that's it. I hope everyone is having a good New Year's Eve. See you next year. ; )

News! News! New news!

2011-12-08T14:05:00.000-08:00

So, earlier this week, I signed a contract with Entangled Publishing for them to publish in ebook a short story/novella that I wrote. (It's 10K, so I'm not sure how that precisely shakes out in most people's minds.) I received permission from the editor I'll be working with (Heather Howland) to announce it, so I announced it on Twitter earlier. It's titled "On the List" currently.

It should be published in the spring in ebook. (So, it'll hit Amazon and such sites.) Here is a little more about the Flirt line: http://networkedblogs.com/rg0vo The covers of the books from Entangled are gorgeous... and that has me extra, extra, extra excited about it.

This will be my third short story published this year, but this one isn't a contest or for publishing credits, so it's a bit more exciting in terms of progress.

I've submitted other stuff to Entangled that they're currently considering so it's possible I might have more news with them to announce in the future. I hope. *fingers crossed*

Thanks, everyone, for your support. *hugs all around*

November--the Long and Short of it

2011-11-30T21:02:00.000-08:00

It's crazy to think that it's been a month since I posted. I actually started drafting a post at the beginning of the month, and I just couldn't really get into it. Tonight, I'm so exhausted that when I was reading to the kids right now, I was stumbling over my words, but it seemed wrong not to post at all in November.

I mentioned before the month started that I was working on short story submissions. I submitted a superhero novella that wasn't picked up for the anthology but they've asked to consider it for another line of novellas. I also submitted a bunch of other short stories and novellas... and I hope to have news to announce about those soon.

My goal for this year was to submit 12 short stories by the end of the year. It's nearly December, and I've submitted 9. I plan to enter the Mystery Times Ten contest by December 31st, so that leaves 2 more submissions.

I also completed NaNoWriMo this month. The novel I'd planned kept getting pushed back in favor of short story revision and submission and, in the end, my muse refused to cooperate and work on a YA horror story. Instead, I did five novellas that were holiday/season-centric. It was fun. I completed my 50K on 11/11/11.

I'm finishing the month of November with some really long days working on some silhouette murals for the nativity collection display at our church. I've done similar murals in the past, but this year in addition to the "Jerusalem" skyline they asked for wisemen, shepherds, camels, sheep, and then trees of various types. So, I've spent hour upon hour since Monday sketching and cutting and putting up the silhouettes. The murals are over 100 feet in length so it's a big task. Especially since camels are the hardest things I've ever sketched. Seriously... even when they look right... they don't look right. Their anatomy appears to defy all that I know of the natural world. I'm exhausted... partly because it's really stressful to work on projects like this where you have an immediate audience of other volunteers and you're trying to quickly adapt art to fit on the spot. Plus, there were also a few other non-mural things that came up that I've been helping with or making decisions on. It's just a very intense week. On Friday, it'll open to the public and there'll be hundreds of people going through to see several hundred nativities... and it'll all be worth it.

My nights have been long too. B isn't sleeping well. Yesterday, she stayed home from school because she wasn't feeling well due to lack of sleep. (She'd only slept a few hours all night.) My own insomnia kicked in to full gear around fifth grade, so seeing her struggling with this... kills me. I know it's not my fault, but it feels like my fault. I brought these genes to the mix and between her OCD and her insomnia... she really got nailed by the worst of what I brought. I think it's partly hormones and partly stress at school causing this insomnia... and her OCD. It just sucks, though. She can't seem to stay asleep more than a few hours and then sometimes she can't get back to sleep.

I also managed to injure my foot really bad two weeks ago. I tripped over the kids' metal stilts. It didn't swell at all, and I had it x-rayed and there's nothing wrong with it... per se... other than it's been two weeks, and I have to keep slamming it with the maximum dosages of ibuprofen and naproxen around the clock or it's crippling. The ER doctor called it a gnarly stub, but she said if it wasn't healed by 10 days, I should come back in or see my doctor because it's possible it's something else or they missed a fracture. I just really don't want to go back in, so I keep tossing back the meds... for a stubbed toe. It's ridiculous.

Then, there was Thanksgiving... and I really wanted to blog about all the things I'm thankful for, but time slipped away from me, and this mural thing started up. *sighs* I need a few more hours in my day. Hours that can be spent sleeping, not sketching or writing or revising. Maybe I'll manage a post on that in December because I really do have a lot to be thankful for.

So, that's been my November. I really need to submit another two short stories in addition to the Mystery Times Ten short... and I have a lot of revision ahead of me.

Somebody Wants Something

2011-10-30T15:45:00.000-07:00

And I'm tempted to give it to them.

*raises eyebrows*

No, I haven't lost my mind. Well, a little, but that's beside the point.

So, I was reading this article and, being as I've now passed my three years as a writer point (mid-October), I was feeling a bit snide when I read the title. I thought, "Yeah, I've written so many novels... I don't need to read this over-simplified advice on how to write a novel." I scoffed. *Wendy tsks self*

Here is the article: How to Create a Story.

To create a good story, you must first understand what a story is. I have a simple formula:

"Somebody wants something and has a hard time getting it."

Now, if you're like me, you're thinking, "It's not that simple and even if it is, so what?"

So what? SOOOO WHATTT? I give you gold, and you dare say, "SO WHAT?" GOLD!

Actually, that's exactly what I thought. Then, I boiled down the novel I'm preparing to write for NaNoWriMo:

A Mused: An artist wants peace and inspiration; an unusual girl he meets near the lake is going to make sure neither comes without a price... in fact, he might not even survive to see either.

My mouth dropped open, and I thought, "But that's like a tagline. That's sort of brilliant. It can't work every time... can it? But... really? Can it?"

Okay, fine...

Secrets of Skin and Stone: Piper wants to know if she's to blame for her dog's death... and if it's not her or her OCD... what dark secrets are hidden in Hidden Creek, Alabama. (Alternately... Gris's side would be: Gris wants to solve the mysteries of the neighbor girl and keep her alive--all while keeping the monster inside him hidden.)

I then mentally ran a bunch of my novels through this. It was fascinating. They all could be summarized with that same formula.

Still, what use is that for someone who clearly can write a complete novel? Writing the novel isn't my problem. On the other hand, I'm going back under the knife for yet another revision of Secrets of Skin and Stone. Sarah and I have been going back and forth on a few scenes I want to keep, and she says they need to contribute to the narrative in some way. (Isn't the fact that I like them and want to hug them enough? NO? Wuh? Why?) As I examined these scenes in light of the boiled down plotlines above... *coughs* they may not further the plot or entirely contribute to my MCs' main driving forces (those things they want, but are having trouble reaching....)

One of the downsides to pantsing is that you end up with these straggling scenes or narrative fills where you needed a plotpoint or scene to get you to the next scene or to fill in exposition. These aren't final copy scenes, but they're hard to cut completely or replace because they're entrenched. *sighs* I need to get rid of or fix a bunch of those in Secrets of Skin and Stone. I may be talking a lot about revising for the first part of November as I'm doing what I hope is my last revision.

Anyway, I found that article interesting and useful, and I hope you did too.

Happy Halloween, everyone.

Trapping Plot Bunnies

2011-10-21T10:45:00.000-07:00

NaNoWriMo is almost upon us! (National Novel Writing Month--where writers try to crank out 50K in a single month.)

So, I've gotten the go-ahead from Sarah to participate this year. I'm trying to decide which story to go with. I have two WIPs that I'm tempted to cheat and ADD 50K onto them to finish them, but that feels wrong. Then, earlier this week, I thought maybe I'd write a MG book which I plotted out a bit. My sisters are pushing me to do Honor 8 for this, and I'm almost tempted because Honor's head is fun to be in and that might help with stress--plus, with Honor on Twitter, there'd be someone to talk to about the plot. I also have a few sketched out ideas in their own documents that I've had... that could be expanded on.

So, in the end, what do you write about when you almost have too many choices?

You write the one that won't get out of your head--the one that won't leave you alone.

I've had this one story stuck in my head since April of this year which is in the sketched out idea in a document category. I considered asking opinions on what I should work on, but the fact that my brain keeps going back to this one idea and has since April... I'd just be annoyed with myself if I went with anything else.

It's nice that I've decided... now, I just have to write it--starting November 1st. By the way, the title is A Mused.

Five Things Thursday

2011-10-20T10:08:00.000-07:00

Since I've been down and depressing lately, I thought I'd post five things you might or might not know about me.

1. I once ate roadkill squirrel. My grandfather brought me some meat on a plate and said, "Taste it." I should have known better by then because my grandpa is funny in so many ways. It was only after I'd eaten a piece that I found out where it was from. (Yes, it tasted like chicken... greasy chicken.)

2. I used to work as a Barney impersonator, and I wanted to be a mime. I really did... on both. I used to do children's birthday parties, and I made some kickin' cash... but then it got too violent. (No joke.) I got punched in the stomach by a bunch of guys when I was dealing with heat exhaustion after being in a parade in Utah in 100 degree heat. I was done. I was around 18 then... and just over 100 lbs.

3. I lived in Vegas when a chemical plant in Henderson blew up. I was at school at the time and we went outside and saw a huge mushroom cloud in the distance. They put the school in lockdown and I was in art class (my favorite class) for three hours that day.

4. I went to high school in Vegas and on my first day of high school--freshman year... we went to homeroom, the school went into lockdown, and we were sent home because someone had been killed (gang war) in the cafeteria.

5. I met my husband fourteen years ago after bumping into him all over the state of Utah but never meeting... Our first date went until five in the morning and the moment he kissed me--I knew we were going to get married. We were talking about marriage within days, and we were married less than five months later. It was crazy, but I just knew.

WIP Wednesday - Revise Me, Baby, One More Time!

2011-10-19T22:30:00.000-07:00

So, I'm working on revising that novella but, sadly, I'm not working on it. I can't seem to work up the motivation to revise. I'm not sure what's wrong with me, but it's making me crazy. I keep on hoping I'll magically feel motivated to do it but, thus far, Past Wendy isn't doing any favors for Future Wendy. My husband is out of town for the week, and I was busy today. I ran in and out of my house. So, it's not entirely just me slacking off, but I've been reading to calm down at night, and I have to go cold turkey on reading other people's fiction and watching TV for the muse to play nice. I have a very finicky muse.

I really need to get it done... not only is there a deadline, but there is also NaNoWriMo approaching, and I might still need to do another revision of SECRETS soon.

So, how do you magically motivate yourself to be creative?

Maybe I'll go sit in front of the fire tomorrow and turn the internet off.

Unsent Messages and Unsaid Words

2011-10-18T22:39:00.000-07:00

A long, long, long time ago, I won a book in a contest by a Twitter friend Regan Leigh. It was called Other People's Love Letters and I loved this book... it totally made me feel like a voyeur, but I still loved it. There is something about reading something you were never meant to see that appeals to the sneak in me. It's like people watching in someone's diary. I find human nature and psychology fascinating so that book was one of the best books I've read this year.

I bring it up because I was hunting for something yesterday, and I suspected I'd emailed it to myself to remember it. It's a trick I frequently do because my memory is lousy... it's even worse on meds, but it's not spectacular either way. Instead, I stumbled across a few other things I'd sent myself--weird emails that both fascinate and disturb me. I send myself is things I say, but don't say--like blog posts I don't post because I'm not brave enough or crazy enough. There are emails to people that I need to get out, but don't need them to read. A few years ago, I stumbled across a letter I'd written to an ex-boyfriend who'd just dumped me... one that was never sent. Between all these different things, I've got quite the correspondence with myself that isn't to me. There are all these things I've said, but never said.

It makes me wonder... how many sealed envelopes are out there that are never sent?

I know other people do this. Sometimes you need things to be said but not said. I've had therapists recommend this to me so I can "let go" of things that my OCD wants to obsess on, so I know it's a practice used by other people. There may be millions of these letters, emails, and so on... gathering dust. They're the roads left untaken, the opportunities for vehemence or confession left behind.

How different would my life be today if I had said these things? If I had sent these letters, emails, posted these blogs posts what would have happened? Did I make the right choice?

I don't know, but it intrigues me.

One of the blog posts that I didn't post in its entirety was written almost exactly one year ago. I'd been talking about getting off the meds. (I hit one year four days ago... and I think that's part of why it's been so difficult for me recently... those stupid date benchmarks.) It's very dark and that's why I didn't post it. It's dark and pessimistic, and I was afraid it was too honest. It still feels too honest... but it is interesting.

Here is a portion of what I left unsaid last year at this time:

I've been cutting back on my meds for a year now... because I hate letting anything control me. I'm stubborn and stupid that way... and it's everything to do with OCD also. Control is a commodity in my mind. I'm down to just one med... and its side effects. The one med I'm down to controls the dark, paranoid thoughts that are a hallmark of OCD. It's the reason why memory loss is a possible symptom. If you live in the current fifteen seconds, the rest of your life doesn't eat you alive. So, naturally, going off the meds means that I'll be plunged back into the hell that is the mind of someone with OCD.

I'll probably be moody the next few weeks... and distant and pissy... and angry at the world. I'll be frustrated as it settles its claws back into me because B also has OCD and it's probably as severe as mine is. In a few weeks, my strange sense of humor will overcome my pessimism and I'll pull on my facade of mental health and we'll all be happy again.

It's not an easy decision... and it might not even be the right one. Anyway, so there it is. Dr. Jekyll is sick of controlling Mr. Hyde after three years. We'll see if my dark mind can behave itself enough that I can be off meds for long enough to store up some long term memories for when it's time to go back into the cage.

We, the readers...

2011-10-17T18:02:00.000-07:00

So, I returned my first ebook today. It was somewhat liberating. I've deleted books that I didn't care for, but this was the first of around 400 books I've returned.

It wasn't because it was bad, though... it did suck somewhat, but I wouldn't return a book for that. It wasn't what it advertised. It was supposed to be a book of romance short stories--that was the title and the blurb. Only it wasn't. Usually I'll be the first to admit that the line in modern romances vs. erotica is becoming blurred--which sometimes bothers me as I don't really want to read erotica, but there was absolutely no romance in the few short stories I read. There was sex--a lot of sex, but sex doesn't always equal romance. In fact, I found it disturbing that one story in particular was in the group. If that was a romance... well... it wasn't... okay, it just wasn't. *shudders* *goes to get brain bleach*

I mean, where are we as a society when the word "romance" = sex? It shouldn't. I think that's part of what bothered me. This was edited and compiled by a female--does she not understand the definition of romance? In the short story that snapped it for me--the woman has absolutely no feelings or relationship with either of the two random people she has sex with. I skipped whole pages looking for dialogue because the descriptions were boring. The sex was boring without emotional context! Plus, it was skeevy and gross without that too. *shudders again* Blech. I should have stopped reading long before I did.

I'm tempted to write a review on this... and I never write negative reviews.

It's funny because it takes a lot to offend me as a reader. I like to judge books by their covers, and I think you should be able to. I think a book should live up to its blurb and its cover. I think books should also meet our expectations for content. I hate being disappointed in books. I hate deleting and, now, returning them. On the other hand, life is too short to waste on bad books... and with the money I get back from this book, I'll buy a book that is what it advertises.

Geez, I WANT to love books. Every time I open a book, I want to fall in love with it. I want it to be the best book I've ever read. I want it to make me feel like an inferior writer. I want that. I want to escape my life for a few hours and never want to return. I want to turn off my inner editor and just be a reader again.

I really needed the escape too. The car that my husband fixed on Saturday so he could leave me with a running car--it had a flat tire when I went out to go run errands today. He leaves tomorrow. I needed the escape. I've started rereading my favorite books just to avoid being disappointed. That's awfully pathetic.

LOL. This is sort of a boring blog post, but I've been annoyed all day about this book. However, I've already received two emails from Amazon informing me that my return is being processed. *thumbs up*

Peace in the Chaos of a Crowded Mind

2011-10-16T16:44:00.000-07:00

I don't normally do this--as I see my blog as my own little corner of my own little space. (I don't usually advertise my posts on Twitter or elsewhere--though I'm grateful for those who follow my blog. If I thought this blog got a lot of hits I might watch what I say a little more.) So, normally, I don't post warnings on content, but I will this time.

*Warning--this post contains content religious in nature and if that offends you in any way--well, first, it's odd that you're here, but anyway... this isn't the post you're looking for--move along. I won't apologize for my religious or spiritual nature, but I also don't want contention or to offend anyone.*

*Consider yourself warned*

I haven't been secretive about my recent OCD struggles, but I don't think anyone without OCD can really understand the nature of OCD and how difficult it is. I've now been off meds for an entire year, and it hasn't been a good thing. It's been a hard year. Unfortunately, the meds have nasty side effects. Severe memory loss. Elevated blood pressure. Elevated heart rate. Sweating. Palpitations. Muscle spasms. Muscle memory problems (I forget how to make my muscles move the way I want them to.) Dry mouth to the point my lips crack and the roof of my mouth peels and bleeds. Sometimes, my throat is so sore that it swells and I think I'm choking to death. Sexual side effects. Headaches. Insomnia. Drowsiness. Mood swings. Appetite loss. Weight gain. Nausea. Stomach pain. Dizzy spells. Hallucinations. Vision aberrations. I talk in my sleep... all night... when I can sleep. And these are the meds that I can take because they don't make me suicidal as some of the meds did. I have three different meds that have to be taken three times a day at exact times (so I carry them with me everywhere and have alarms set.) It's hell. The meds are hell. They control me rather than the other way around. They rule everything I do. I can't leave home without them--can't miss a dose--can't skip meals.

So, going back on meds... isn't a decision I leap into. It's not going to be fun. I knew it was an inevitability. I knew I wouldn't be able to be off them forever. I'll need to ramp up my dosage over the course of a month or two months. I'll need to go see my doctor and probably see him regularly again for the first few months. I hate hospitals. I hate doctor's offices. It's expensive. The meds are expensive. The month of ramping up back onto them--will be awful. The side effects as my brain fights the intrusion will make me wish I wasn't going back on them... maybe even wish I was in the middle of a nightmare that I could wake up from. It'll be that bad.

On the other hand, there's my OCD. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder can take many forms and have varied symptoms. Mine is considered severe. On the outside, if I didn't talk about it, you wouldn't know. My symptoms aren't obvious. One of my most severe symptoms never steps outside my head in fact. The dark thoughts... the dark and crazy thoughts that make me think I'm evil and violent and dark. It's all in my head. The darkness gets thicker and thicker and harder to ignore... until I reach a point where I feel too dark to even be in church anymore. I feel too dark to be around people. I want to crawl into a corner and let the darkness have me--if it wants inside so much--just take me already.

You were probably wondering when I was going to bring up religion.

I woke up this morning and my first thought was: "You need to talk to your bishop about this." For those unfamiliar with the LDS/Mormon church we have an unpaid clergy... in fact, we're all unpaid and volunteer. Our tithes and offerings go to support the meetinghouses and welfare programs and support administration needs, but the actual clergy and offices are unpaid. So, a Mormon bishop makes nothing for watching over and worrying over 500+ souls. So, my next thought was: "The bishop is too busy." I got ready for church and the feeling persisted until there was nearly a shout in my head, saying, "Wendy... talk to the bishop about your OCD." I shouted back, "No, he'll think I'm a freak... and I don't want to waste his time." I went to church and the prompting in my head continued... and I pushed it back... and in the clutter of my crowded mind, I thought it would go away.

There are three hour-long blocks in a typical Sunday church meeting time. During the second and third hours I'm the secretary in the children's organization and help out in there. During the second hour, we were practicing a program, and I discovered there was no trash can in the room. I went out into the hall to throw away some trash and passed the bishop. He said, "How are you?" and I mumbled something noncommittal under my breath... here was my chance, but I couldn't take it. I just couldn't. I didn't deserve it anymore... the darkness had won. I just couldn't. The shouting voice in my head said, "Oh for crying out loud, Wendy!" but I ignored it. When I turned from the trash can, he was watching me with a perplexed look and said, "I feel like we need to talk. For some reason, I think we need to talk. Do you have a minute to talk?"

So, we went into his office and I told him... I told him everything. I told him about the OCD and how awful it is but how the meds are their own version of hell too. I told him all the stress we're going through. How T seems to rage from one moment to the next. How we can't seem to have two running cars at any given time. How I don't even feel like I belong in the chapel anymore because I have such darkness in my head. I told him that I feel like this will be the rest of my life... this need to be medicated in order to be acceptable. I told him I'm a better person when I'm medicated and how much that hurts. We ended up talking for over an hour about it. He offered a few solutions to things, but mostly he just listened.

I've often wished we had confessionals in our church--so you could go tell someone these things. Sometimes the need to confess is so strong. And there is a cathartic feeling that comes from not carrying the burden of the secrets of your soul by yourself.

At the end, he asked if he could offer a prayer for me, and I agreed. And in the loud chaos of my mind there was the quiet clarity of his voice as he prayed for enough peace within me to make the decision I'll need to. For the first time in a long time, my mind is quiet again. I can't tell you how rare this is right now or how good it feels to not feel the crowd yelling in my head. I don't feel dark inside. I don't feel evil--just like he told me I wasn't.

Our bishop is an amazing man. I can't imagine the burden he must carry after days where people dump the emotional baggage that I just dropped on him. I'm just one person and there are a lot of members in our ward...

I never told him that I'd felt like I should talk to him all morning, but I couldn't bring myself to intrude on his busy schedule. He told me that he'd felt a strong prompting to talk to me when he saw me.

I don't really know how to classify this blog post. It's about OCD. It's a little about my family. It's about being LDS/Mormon. I don't even know why I'm mentioning it--other than maybe I still need that catharsis of unburdening myself after such an emotional experience.

My Mormon.org profile went live this week. For those not LDS, our church has been very vocal about what we believe and who we are. You've probably seen the "I'm a Mormon" ads on the internet and on tv. We were asked to fill out a profile so that others could find kindred spirits and see we're more and less than we're made out to be. I filled out my profile, and it was awaiting approval for quite a while. Then... because the world is a small one after all, someone I know from Twitter contacted me to let me know he'd reviewed my profile and it was "live." If you're curious, here's mine: http://mormon.org/me/6J6T/Wendy/ You can go check it out and see that we're not all freaks. (To find the non-freaks, you'll want to click on one of the profiles on the side, of course.)

Since this post is religious in nature--and I warned you--I'll delete comments that are negative in any way. I doubt I'll have a problem with that, but I get weird spammy moments on here, and it wouldn't surprise me if this post nets a few.

Thanks for reading.

Breakable Me

2011-10-11T16:37:00.000-07:00

So, the title of this post is based on this song by Ingrid Michaelson:

... and from the first time I heard it, it made me think of days and moments like today when you recognize you're fragile in so many ways. You don't feel badass or even sturdy--you feel breakable--like your skin is actually egg shells instead of a coat.

Right now that feeling is based on a lot of things. I'm very stressed out. Spring and fall are hard for me. The season changes bring allergies and time adjustments and the rain--which means less Vitamin D. I also have a lot of strange memories that get to me. In the spring, it's when B was diagnosed... and a few other unpleasant memories. In fall, I had a really bad October four years ago when I was trying to get on medication for my OCD. Every October since then I've felt haunted by those days. It's silly to let dates and seasons depress me, but I never claimed to not be silly. I know it's common in some with OCD to have these emotional connections to dates. Some of January, March 8th, most of May, the time changes, October 31st... they're fragile times. They've kept a piece of me that I can't seem to get back.

Then, there are my kids. T is having more bad days than good days lately. He's been struggling with manic violence again, and his school life seems to bounce between okay and upsetting. B is doing well in school, but she is spending a lot of time distracted and in her own little origami world when home. They're both fragile in their own ways. I want to protect them while not sheltering them and this strange balance is killing me each year. They have to adapt to a hostile world, but watching it and allowing it... is very hard. I have to deal with their parent-teacher conferences in two weeks, and I just found out my husband has been tapped for a business trip for then. He'll also be missing their annual church program. The timing isn't his fault and not within his control... but it's lousy.

There is also the revision I've been working on with Secrets of Skin and Stone. I've skipped around burn-out with this one. I also did a few more revisions this year on other manuscripts--revisions that will need to be revisited. Usually my revisions have felt more successful than these ones. Maybe with a little more guidance or some perspective I'll be able to figure out where I went wrong, but... *sighs* When you've done a lot of revision, it's a bit of a blow to your self esteem as a writer. I never feel like my first draft is fantastic, but having to rework a manuscript over and over and over peels off those layers of self confidence. There's some point where the fragile being inside you just wants to whisper "am I good enough yet?" That point was a month and a half ago. Sarah is going over my latest revision now, and I might have another round yet.

Is it really any wonder I feel breakable? Maybe other people handle it better. Maybe they don't. I just feel so fragile.

So, I thought I would write and submit to this anthology: http://www.entangledinromance.com/2011/10/03/call-for-subs-superhero-anthology/ Working on a new WIP has felt really good actually. It felt like magic and everything I love about writing. It was beautiful and perfect... until I had to show other people. Then, I got worried and fragile again. Now, I just need to revise it before November 1st. There's just one problem... there isn't enough time to just set it aside and come back to it myself in a few months and do most of the revision without help. I've used line-edit or intense betas in the past, but that was when I had some sort of shell. I've got nothing now. I write to escape from stress. Right now, both my worlds feel like they're under attack. It's got me thinking maybe I can't do this. Maybe I can't make that deadline without pushing myself too much.

I feel so fragile and breakable. I hate it. I hate it so much. I want to have that thick skin and pretend that nothing hurts and nothing matters, but I don't... I don't have that.

How do you handle the days like this? And what would you do about the anthology and revising something that you just want to pretend doesn't need to be revised?

And we are so fragile,

And our cracking bones make noise,

And we are just,

Breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys.

Shelving Books--Not in the Librarian Way

2011-10-07T11:14:00.000-07:00

So, yesterday, I stopped writing the WIP I was working on, closed the document, and walked away from it. It was a novella, and I was only about 7K into it, but I just knew it wasn't working. I had parts of it set in a lab, and I just didn't know enough about the setting or protocol. I could have done a lot of research and so on but, in the end, it wasn't worth it to me and the story felt forced. On the other hand, I immediately opened up another document and started another novella, and some of the aspects from the previously closed document were helpful in this new WIP already.

I've read a lot about trunk novels or shelved novels lately on the internet--most of it conflicting--which is common on the internet.

There is this post: Trunk Novels are an Endangered Species. (Quote: But the world has changed, and now, not to put too fine a point on it, keeping a completed and coherent trunk novel (or short story) in the trunk is a mistake. It’s bad business. It’s simply…well…dumb.) It's a very interesting take on it. I don't entirely agree, but his reasoning is sound, if aggressively business-like.

Then, there was a post this week on Kidlit.com which somewhat addressed the subject of "other works" from a querying perspective: What to Query With. (Quote: Every time you sit down to write, you are getting better. You’re learning. Sometimes it takes writing an entire novel-length manuscript to teach you a valuable lesson about your own craft. And sometimes, that lesson won’t get published. Sometimes, in fact, it takes five manuscripts, ten manuscripts, twenty, for you to feel your way around the novel form.) (And Quote: I think it’s more reasonable to see your early work and your early, prolific output as more of an exercise rather than a finished product. As such, I don’t want to see all of your exercises in my inbox. Some practice is better left for your eyes only.)

Which is mostly in line with something Kiersten White said on her blog: New! Books! Or, Writing is Never a Waste (Quote: In the end, these are two entirely new books. But they are two entirely new books that would be impossible without all of the books that came before them. So if you are a writer, and you're sad that you might have to leave an early manuscript behind, please know that it's never a waste. You learned. You grew as a writer. You wrote what you could when you could, and what you write in the future will always, always benefit from what you wrote in the past.)

Some of you have probably noticed I'm a very prolific writer... or I was anyway. I think I might only complete four novels this year--which is a lot for most people, but much fewer than normal for me. I have a lot of novels I've shelved, and I don't regret any of them. I learned so much about writing FROM writing. There are just so many things that can only be learned from practice. I know it makes some of my beta readers sad that I might not ever try to get some of my past writing published, but I feel like I'm stealing from and incorporating those books into every new story I write. My writing is a product of everything I've ever written.

Anyway, so yesterday... it was a little hard to close down that document because of how far along I was, but then I sat down and wrote 9K on the new story... the one that I couldn't write until I'd tried and failed at this other.

I'm not sure how other writers feel about trunked/shelved books, but I like the thought of only my best work making the cut. I might revise and eventually revisit some of those earlier books, but I'm satisfied if they were just really good books to practice on.

The Evolution of a Story

2011-09-30T15:02:00.000-07:00

Here is the story of Secrets of Skin and Stone from birth to where I am now.

Once upon a time in April of 2010, I wrote this story about a girl with OCD, and the guy who liked her a whole lot--and he was a gargoyle. Back then, it had the soap-opera worthy title of "Shades of Obsession." *Wendy gags*

There it is. Isn't it pretty? I thought so. It was 70K, so basically just a baby novel compared to most of mine. As I've done in the past, I set it aside once it was done so I could gain perspective. In September of 2010, I took another look at it... felt ill about the title, so I changed that and a good many other things, but I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with it. I was already querying on a few other things, and I'd been asked by Sarah to do a revision on Curse Me a Story. (She hadn't seen this book nor was she my agent back then.) So, I set aside "Good Girls Don't Kiss Gargoyles." (Yes, that was the name back then.)

Then, in January 2011, I got this crazy idea in my head that I was going to do Amazon's Breakthrough Novel Award and I was going to use this book... after I changed the name to Secrets of Skin and Stone and majorly worked it over. Majorly. Sarah contacted me about another revision on Curse Me a Story, and I said I'd do the revision for her after I finished this revision of Secrets of Skin and Stone because there was a contest deadline looming. She asked me about this book and then asked me for a look at it when I was done with revision.

I was determined to polish this story until it cracked to pieces and then polish them too. I was going to treat each chapter like a short story and severely revise it to death. I started reading it aloud, and I realized my novel set in Alabama didn't have an accent... at all. So, that revision took a while. Reading it aloud for over a week made me hoarse, and I talked with a southern accent for at least a week. The deadline passed, and I didn't enter, but the manuscript that emerged from the fire was the one that got me repped. When compared to the original, it looked like this:

The black is what lasted... so very little. It was up to 90K, though. Yay! 90K! Sarah helped me polish it again, and we worked through a lot of things, and it went out for submission. We got feedback from producers (through the film agent with my literary agency) and editors, and I went back to revision and worked on it over the summer. This time for a MAJOR revision. It needed more plot... and action... and cowbell. Yes, cowbell. Violent cowbell. I stripped it down to the bones and moved things and rewrote and revised and by the end of August, I was done--even though I knew I wasn't. It didn't feel complete. It was better, but it wasn't done. I sent it off to Sarah with a "Better?" email, hoping she'd be able to direct me. It looked like this:

Holy frijole, Wendy! It's all red! Yes, that's because I realized that I started off by telling about this traumatic event that had happened (her dog's death) instead of showing the event. In retrospect, I don't know why I did that. When you have a traumatic event, you don't throw it in the background and describe it as "this thing that once happened earlier today." Just FYI. Anyway, I knew it wasn't done. I just knew it wasn't. It wasn't a surprise when Sarah agreed.

At the beginning of September, Sarah started getting back to me with notes on how to do another revision. There were some line edits that I whined about. There were also a lot of notes in the form of "What ifs..." and they were brilliant. They were just what I needed. I did another revision, focusing on a new character and the later chapters. I finished that last night and sent it off to Sarah. I'm not completely sure it's done, but the novel has changed drastically since before the summer. It feels done, but Sarah will be able to tell for sure if I've finally nailed what the feedback was getting at. If not, we'll go back at it again with more cowbell until it says Moo.

Most pages, if the changes are tracked, look a lot like this when compared to April's version of Secrets of Skin and Stone:

It's at 87K now. I cut entire chapters and moved other chapters to a different location. It's been the most brutal revision I've ever done, and I couldn't have done it without Sarah because I couldn't have seen the possibilities on my own. It's interesting to see entire pages of red that are either entirely new or entirely cut. There's something deeply satisfying about seeing a novel emerge from words strung together. The focus is very different from where it was in April. The voice is hopefully the same. Both are worlds away from that first draft with the awful-awful-awful name a year and a half ago.

So, there you go, there is the evolution of this book up to last night. *fingers crossed* that it'll be less brutal revisions in the upcoming weeks.

One thing is for certain, that book is not the book I started with--it's much better.

Standardized Testing and the Non-Standard Kid

2011-09-26T15:59:00.000-07:00

As most of you probably know, B has been diagnosed with both Autism and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but she is fully mainstreamed, and the school dropped services for her right after Kindergarten because, among other things, her IQ was too high. Her teachers have definitely filled in any gaps this might have caused and been all around awesome. B has thrived and regularly gets awards for citizenship as well as academics. Her teachers have said she is the best math student in their class every year. It doesn't, however, change these disorders that hide under the surface. The teachers adjust and learn to accommodate. We adjust and learn to accommodate. Most of her peers probably don't know she has Autism; though, some sense that she is different and either gravitate towards her because she's sweet or try to bully her.

Last year, B's fourth grade teacher brought up a concern at Parent/Teacher conference. Though my daughter's creative writing is exemplary, the teacher said B is struggling with technical writing. When presented with technical writing, B tends to list things rather than keep to the accepted protocol for a paragraph. As a fiction writer, my first thought was, "And? What's the problem? Technical writing is boring." The reality is that, of course, technical writing is the bulk of your schooling output. (*whispers* It's still boring.) We discussed how she was presenting the assignments and the wording of the assignments and how it might be perceived by a very literal child with Autism and OCD. The teacher began rewording things and B's understanding of what was expected increased.

Then came the standardized testing. The government program No Child Left Behind has made standardized testing into a monster lurking in every teacher's closet. It's all they talk about in class for the last quarter of school. All. They. Talk. About. Parents are sent home notes about how to help their children prepare for the testing days. (Getting enough sleep, eating breakfast, and so on.) These tests are made out to be the beginning and end of all testing. Schools get closed or students can be sent to other schools if a school's overall scores aren't high enough--so schools take these tests very seriously. This means a very literal child will also take the scores very seriously.

B got her scores back last Friday in a sealed envelope which she excitedly brought to me. She'd told me over and over throughout the summer that she just knew she'd gotten everything right on the math portion. I kept telling her, "You might have missed some." She'd give me a serious look and say, "No, I didn't. I checked my answers." I'd respond, "It's okay if you missed some. Sometimes it's hard to understand directions." B would blink and say, "I didn't get any wrong. I checked my answers."

I opened the envelope, and stared... and stared. First of all, her math and reading scores were listed as advanced (though she did miss some on the math test despite "checking.") On the other hand, her writing score was listed as "not passing." My daughter was watching me with excitement so I said, "Sweetie, you rocked the math portion!" "I got them all right, didn't I?" "Not quite, but close." I hoped she wouldn't ask about the rest, but B isn't like that. "How about Reading and Writing?" "You did really well in Reading too!" "How about in Writing?" "Not quite as good, but that's okay." She wandered off, satisfied with my answers, but I've just been upset since.

I don't care about the score to be honest. I know my daughter can write, and her teachers are aware she has circumstances which will mean directions need to be worded in a certain way, and they can't expect her to learn in the same way as her classmates. Teachers accommodate. The world in general accommodates. Tests don't.

What offends me to my soul is that an autistic child's scores will be taken at face value, and a school's funding will be based on the fact that she failed a standardized testing section. Theoretically, her school may receive less funding because they have a Special Needs child and because a test wasn't worded in a way that an atypical child can understand. It boggles the mind that THIS is the monster that No Child Left Behind has created. THIS was meant to ensure that no child was left behind.

When B was in Kindergarten, she shared an aide with another Autistic child. When Kindergarten ended, the administrators decided that the other child's needs were too much for them to accommodate, and that B was no longer in need of specialized attention. The other child was sent to a special school though he'd previously been considered a good candidate for mainstreaming. B was sent on to her first "full day" year without even an aide in with her. Why? Because there isn't the funding for individualized attention. Why isn't there the funding? Because of a super special program called No Child Left Behind which caters to kids who are typical and test well.

Standardized testing has hurt my children time and time again. My daughter was given an IQ test in Kindergarten. An IQ test in Kindergarten. Her IQ was too high for her to receive individualized attention. We complained that Autism is a social disorder, and they replied that such needs weren't the responsibility of the school AND COULDN'T BE TESTED.

What has happened to our society that the only proof we deem worthy and the only success we measure is found in numbers? If it isn't in the numbers, it doesn't exist. It was what they said when they took away my son's services even as they were telling me he needed to be kept in services, but it would be my responsibility. "I'm sorry. He really needs these services, but the numbers just aren't there."

Standardized testing on non-standardized kids doesn't work. How do you explain a child who scores highly-advanced in reading and math, but fails in writing? Perhaps it wasn't the child but the test that failed. Maybe it wasn't even the test that failed, but the people who have elevated that test to be an indication of success. Perhaps all of us fail just a little bit when numbers become king like this and needs of individuals are lost in the process.

I don't have any answers, but I know those right answers won't be found in bubbles on a scantron sheet.

If you've never seen Matt Damon's speech on standardized testing, it's brilliant and you should really check it out here. You'll want to go find him and hug him.

Thanks for listening to me rant about this. I wanted to cry when B looked up at me and asked about her writing score. Some moments aren't fair... and that was one of them.

The Crowded Room

2011-09-25T07:22:00.000-07:00

I know. Two posts about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder in a row. It's madness, I tell you! Madness! And when it comes to OCD it really is actually.

I'll start off by mentioning this actually does apply to writing. I'm revising Secrets of Skin and Stone again and Piper has severe clinical OCD just like I do. It's been hard for me to write and work on her chapters at times because it strikes too close to home.

I said something to my agent recently that probably ought to be said to the world at large. OCD is 80% or so internal. Some people with the most severe symptoms of OCD aren't recognizable as having OCD. I think most people would have been able to guess my mother has OCD before they pegged me. My mom is OCD about cleaning... which is the physical manifestation that most people expect. I don't have that. I like things in a certain way, sure... and if the house magically became clean, I'd like that too... as long as everything was in the right place and there was order.

Still, OCD is mostly in your head--which is funny, in my opinion, but I have a broad sense of humor. (Btw, I wouldn't say that to anyone out loud; they might take it wrong.)

Living with OCD is like being in a crowded room. A very, very, very crowded room and everyone is talking at once. It's filled with versions of yourself, some older and some younger and some strange variations on you with deeper or higher pitched voices (I have no idea why.) They shuffle around so that sometimes, amid the fog of voices, some are more recognizable because they're closer to you.

There's one person nearby who spends all day everyday muttering, "This, not that. This! Not that! This, or maybe this, but not that... never that." All day.

There's the paranoid jittery soul to the side who keeps bringing up how dangerous or dirty everything is. "You know, you really should stay inside. There are bugs out there. Plus, odds are that someone is out there. It might be someone who hates you and wants to kill you." Usually, I tell that person to shut up, but they keep talking regardless.

There are three or four constantly talking about kids and family. "Have you sent a card or talked with your grandparents lately? No, you haven't. What if something happened to them? What if they died and didn't know you loved them? What then? You're a horrible granddaughter." "Have you checked your daughter's folder to see what she is doing in class yet? She's away from the house for hour upon hour every day, and it's like you don't even care what she is doing. She's practically being raised by the school, and you don't care." "What about your son? If you didn't let him do that, maybe he'd be less angry." "What about your sister? How is she doing? You don't even know, do you? It's been days. Days!" "Have you ever thought if maybe you cleaned more that your husband would like you better? You'd be a better wife. I bet he wishes he'd married someone who likes to clean." "If only you were more like your mother...."

Constantly. Talking.

Some worry about friends, real and online. "Did you offend them when you said that thing? It might have been taken wrong." "Have you noticed they haven't talked to you for awhile? They might hate you."

There's one on the constant lookout for typos. That one triple checks everything I write by reading it out loud which is useful... sort of. That person sometimes insists I open envelopes to make sure I've signed the checks I just put in there. That's less useful.

There's a couple voices that are much darker. Hopefully they just fade into the background noise, but they usually get closer at the worst times. One of the symptoms of OCD is being plagued by inappropriate sexual or religious or violent thoughts. Yeah, I have those too. Imagine sitting in church trying to concentrate and something so deviantly sexual slides right next to you and whispers. Or you're in your car with your kids and driving and your mind suddenly focuses on how easy it would be to drive off the road. Sometimes, it's hard to be in church. Sometimes, it's hard to drive. Even if you push it out of your head, it's left behind a bit of darkness because it was there. It was there, and you thought of it, so you must be dark and evil too.

My muse is there too. My muse may be the one person whose voice and looks I can't peg down. He or she usually stares out the window and throws out comments of "what if...." If I can, I'd love to sit next to my muse all the time. My muse usually isn't as strange and chaotic.

I have individual phobias who wander around. There's the one who spends all day worrying that it's too tight or too close in the room. I have an extreme contamination issue so naturally there is one muttering, "You should wash your hands. You may have gotten that on them. Did that person just cough? That's disgusting. Go wash your hands." I was at a meeting last night and everyone kept coughing. That person was very squigged out--not that I blame them.

There is one who is like the physical manifestation of the song, "Baby did a bad, bad thing." All day there is someone who keeps mentioning every bad thing I've ever done. This voice is especially vocal at night when I'm trying to sleep. So you can get a better idea of what this is like:

...only less sexy and with less film use.

I've been on a lean protein, low carb diet for almost three weeks now, so I also have this gollum-like person in the corner saying, "Bread... bread... we wants it, my precious. We neeeeeeeeds it." I mostly agree with that voice, though.

There are some rational voices, of course, but having them talking is sometimes frustrating because they're just adding to the noise. Also, my rational voices tend to be pessimistically rational, so that's not as helpful either.

All day, every day... this crowded room is in my head. I take it wherever I go. I can't get away from it. I'd assumed everyone had this fog of voices in their heads all the time, but then I found out that this is an OCD thing--at least with how crowded it is.

The meds quiet it down and get rid of a few voices, but they also have serious side effects. I've been off meds for a year, but I don't think I'll be able to be off them much longer. Some voices have been crowding out others and some are louder right now. Usually they mostly quiet down enough so I can hear my muse immediately after running or... uhh... other physical exertion. Sometimes, when I'm writing I can get out of the room and get into the world I created. That's really nice.

That's part of why Piper's chapters of this book are so difficult to work on. She has twice the inner dialogue of Gris and that alone is too close to my real life. It's nice to be in someone else's head for a change and work on Gris's chapters. It's nice to be out of the crowded room.

Anyway, that's what life is like when you have severe OCD. It's a crowded room.

Edited to add: I hid my OCD for the first 28 years of my life and while my mom has OCD and many in her family do, they hadn't realized it and none are as severe as I am--to my knowledge. My mom feels really guilty she didn't catch that I had OCD until I told her, but I don't blame her, and I never have. I began to be very open about my OCD when B was diagnosed, and I realized that I never wanted her to hide her OCD or be ashamed as I was. I chose to be ashamed, and I chose to hide it. My family never did anything to make me feel either of those things. In a way, the fact that I had OCD is an incredible blessing because I'll be able to help my daughter. I know some people with disorders are a product of their upbringing or their family life may have contributed, but I have the best family a girl can have. Honestly.

Obsessed

2011-09-20T22:22:00.000-07:00

For many of you the fact that I'm obsessive about things seems obvious in light of the fact that you know I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but you might not have noticed my obsessions as they've played out... or maybe you have.

Obsessions with OCD are very strange. It builds. I eat and breathe something, spending hour upon hour on it; my life revolves around it. It's all I think about. I itch when I'm not doing it. It's the magnet, and I'm the metal, and it's pulling me toward it--all day--all night. I need it like an addiction. I have to finish it. I have to complete it. My life... my sanity depends on me finishing it. Then I finish, and I'm done. Sometimes I walk away, and I'm fine. Sometimes I never pick it up again. Ever.

Remember my Angry Birds phase?

I played Angry Birds until my battery ran out, and then I'd plug it in and hunch over it near the wall even though it wouldn't run quite right on a low battery. I stayed up until 4 a.m. one night playing Angry Birds. It was all I could think of. It consumed me. I had to make it to the next level and the next, and I had to finish them. It was a rush inside me that built and built. Nothing mattered as much as completing levels. I didn't care about how many stars. As long as I finished, I was good. I played everywhere. I missed sleep. I forgot to eat. Nothing mattered as much as Angry Birds. Then, I finished all the levels... and it's been two or three weeks since I've played. It doesn't matter. I can't even understand why it was that vital to me.

This is how my life has played out. A new obsession. A new manic energy to finish at all costs. Stress makes it worse. Illness makes it worse. I will push myself to crazy ridiculous lengths to complete or finish whatever my latest obsession is. Then... I walk away, and it never has that same draw on me again.

Some of my obsessions have been more expensive than others. I'm sure my husband wasn't as concerned about my Angry Birds phase. Some of my obsessions have been hobbies like beading. When I start something like that I need a lot of options. I need choices--lots of choices laid out in front of me. I manically collect everything I might ever need. Then, it fades and I'm left with a load of expensive beads that are merely interesting and not my heart and soul anymore.

These last two weeks I've been obsessed with watching all of the Psych episodes. Every night I've watched five or six episodes in a row. It's hard to stop watching and go to bed. I don't want to. Last night, I finished. It's so strange. It's like coming up out of the water and realizing there is an entire world around you that continues. It's as if I'm coming out of a fog.

When I'm on OCD medication, sometimes I can walk away from an obsession. When I'm not, I've learned that I won't be able to stop until I finish it... so I work on finishing it. Inside my head, I'm thinking, "Wendy, this is nuts... you have things to do... you can't spend all your time doing this. Stop!" I can't stop. It's one of the absolutes: I can't stop.

One of the recent constants in my life is obsessive writing. When I start a WIP, the momentum is all-consuming. I'll sit down and write for hours and hours. Sometimes I'll write for 12 hours every day for a week. I can't sleep. I don't care about food. I'm certainly not going to clean. The only thing that matters is getting the story down on paper. Nothing else matters. Nothing. Writing is one of the few times when I like the obsession. I like the manic energy. It creates a product, an object--something to show for my obsession. I wish I had the same manic energy for revision.

On the other hand, in the middle of a WIP, sometimes I average about 2-3 hours of sleep a night. I can't concentrate on my kids' needs as much. It's hard to focus. Sometimes, I dream about my characters, and I wake up confused as to which is reality. (Luckily, I can figure it out... but it's disconcerting for even a moment to think I've gone that deep into my fantasy world.)

I've had other writers envy how prolific I am, but it scares me sometimes. At one point, after too many obsessive writing periods overlapping, I just wanted more than anything for my mind to be blank. Control is very important to me... and I'd lost control of my mind. It scared me. Luckily, these revision projects have broken it up so the obsessive writing hasn't taken over as much as it did that first year.

Obsession is a scary thing. Unless you've been there... you can't imagine how intense it is. You can't walk away without feeling like it would kill you.

So, tonight, I'm officially done with that obsession, and it's left me wondering: what next? What is the next thing that will devour my soul?

Maybe I'll be able to finish this revision on Secrets of Skin and Stone before the next wave sweeps me out to sea. I hope so anyway.

The Internet is Forever

2011-09-16T10:32:00.000-07:00

This post might strike you as the ramblings of an extremely paranoid person, but this has been on my mind this week--and it's a passive aggressive way for me to deal with my reactions this week, so forgive me as I ramble.

I've been back on Twitter trying to catch up in my relationships with people and get more involved after the summer swamped me. A good portion of people I follow are writers and those who aren't writers are good with words... I know that because, otherwise, I wouldn't follow them. I don't generally unfollow anyone I initially follow so I take a good hard look at people's feeds before I follow them. I look for severe use of profanity, overuse of text speak, poor grammar (I'm sorry but I do... my OCD will kill me otherwise), inappropriate content, solely self-promotion, negativity, frequency of updates, whether they interact with followers, how likely they are to follow me back or stay following me, and so on. I judge them. That's right, I judge them. If I follow your blog or follow you on twitter, I've judged you. I don't use a program. When it comes right down to whether I invite someone's words into my day, I go with my gut... with my emotion... and I judge them to be worthy or not. Most of the time, I don't give people a second look to change that impression. The old adage that you have one chance to make a first impression is true even on the internet.

The internet and Twitter are packed with people. I don't need to follow anyone because there aren't other people available. There are always more people. More people join Twitter and get on the internet every day, but what you've JUST said... that's what you're being judged on... or maybe they did a search and it's what you said yesterday... or three years ago... the internet is forever after all, and you've just been judged. Maybe the bulk of people who judge you won't matter at all. Maybe one will. You can't know which.

There is always someone watching you on the internet. If you're a writer, that person might be your future agent, editor, or your future reader. So, if you're on Twitter spreading vitriol because you're feeling cranky--it's 3 a.m. and you're still awake, it doesn't matter. It's the middle of the night, right? It's NOT 3 a.m. everywhere. The internet is a 24 hour/7 days a week venue. Even if you delete those Tweets, you haven't deleted them. They can be found. If nothing else, the Library of Congress has been nice enough to keep copies of all tweets. If we've learned nothing else from celebrity scandals lately, you should know that anything you put out there can't be snatched back--even if you really, really want to. The internet is forever.

This week there was an article in Publisher's Weekly that hit Twitter like a lit match in dry brush. It was "supposedly" about two YA writers who were asked by an agent to remove a character who was gay. The initial response from agents that I saw was complete and utter surprise because they'd never heard of such a thing. Editors were the same way. I read the article and just kept thinking of how many times I'd heard the opposite... of agents and editors requesting novels like that. It felt wrong. So, I just watched it go nuts all around me, and I felt somewhat bad for not participating, but I just kept thinking, "I don't think it's true. I think they sensationalized a lie." Yesterday, it turned out not to be true. While that hasn't spread quite as quickly... tomorrow it'll still be a lie. Next week, it'll still be a lie. It'll forever be a lie on the internet, and several people who jumped on the pyre to rage with these poor, maligned authors now despise them for lying to everyone. The internet is forever, and mobs love to grab pitchforks.

I've been trying this week to get information off the internet about me. It's not bad information, but it's information. Most of you know how intensely I guard the privacy of my kids. My kids' Autism makes them vulnerable, and my responsibility as a parent is to protect them. I don't want my desire to have a public profile and to be on the internet to negatively impact them. I'm afraid to be on Facebook because I know people from our church or friends might not think anything of taking pictures of my kids and tagging them with their names. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get something off the internet once it's there? I already knew that, but it's been ground into my brain this week. It's like letting go a bag of feathers in a windstorm and hoping to gather them all up. One site takes it and passes it to the next and to the next and to the next. Anything you put on the internet can be passed on like an endless game of telephone. It's a runaway train. It's a raging river of information. The best thing is to never put that information out there if you don't want it distributed. The internet is forever, and it's often malignant, and what you write will spread.

This week, my blog started giving malware warnings for a brief amount of time. My blogroll followed other blogs who followed another blog who'd been attacked by hackers. It trickled back through the blogs back to mine. It was interesting to see that as broad as the internet is--there are groups that are not. In the writing community, we're all connected if you're trying for an online presence. If you think there isn't a chance that your blog or your tweet won't be seen by the person you're talking about, you're wrong. There is always that chance. I remember once upon a time I asked for advice on which YA books to buy based on whether they had profanity or sex in them. At the time, I didn't know the authors but I'd seen the covers of the books and read the blurbs and been intrigued. It was kind of a shock to see one of the authors had responded himself to tell me about the content in the book. Once upon a time, I was also discussing the content of the book Shiver on Twitter and Maggie Stiefvater jumped in to discuss it. The internet is big... but google can make it as small as a corner cafe.

We tend to feel a certain anonymity as we type away on our keyboards at wherever we are. There's a disconnection when you can't see the results of your words on someone's face. Sometimes we forget that words can hurt. Sometimes we think no one is reading. It doesn't matter if no one is reading it today, though. It doesn't matter if no one is reading it tomorrow. Yesterday, I stumbled across something someone posted in 1993 when the internet was still relatively new (in the capacity it exists today.) Eighteen years ago, that person had that opinion. I'm not sure if they still do today, but it doesn't matter... because the internet is forever. Your words will eventually be read. For better or for worse, they will be read. Maybe they'll be read by the audience you'd intended and maybe not. How would you feel either way? It takes very little effort to be kind and to say nice things. Sometimes it's hard to control your temper but some words are better left unsaid. The officiator marrying my husband and I advised us to not say anything in anger that you'll wish you could take back because you won't be able to. Just like in real life, once you say something--it can't be unsaid.

The internet is a big world.

The internet is a small world.

It's full of people, but it's full of individuals. The opinion of one single person can make a difference.

The internet is forever.

Unless, of course, the machines or zombies take over; in which case, it's every person for themselves. ; )

Back into the Fray

2011-09-12T10:53:00.000-07:00

Oy, once again, I seem to have forgotten to keep up with my blog. I don't know how other writers who are parents manage to get it all done. I'm really struggling to find the hours while still allow for down time at night to recover from the day. My kids have only been in school since last Wednesday so maybe I'll start to find more hours for social networking endeavors and writing.

So, Sarah got back with line edits on the first eleven chapters of Secrets of Skin and Stone's revision but the remaining thirteen are going to take more than line edits... which is sort of what I felt when I finished them. It's a complicated emotion this whole revision thing.... On the one hand, you want it to magically be done and perfect, but when you know it's not... you don't want your agent coming back and telling you that it is.

September might be another month spent on revisions. Possibly October. I hope not October.

Diana, early on, told me to learn to love revising because I'd be doing a lot of it. I won't say I absolutely adore this later revision process. I do like reading it the first time after it's complete almost as much as I enjoy the creation process. I'm okay with revisions, though, and it's a good thing because Diana was right. Holy cow, writers spend a lot of time doing revisions.

So. Much. Time.

Someone asked me how many times I'd revised Secrets of Skin and Stone, and I have no idea at this point. There have been major revisions... and I've done four or five of those. There have been endless amounts of smaller revisions where I'd read through it and catch smaller things.

So. Many. Revisions.

I'm approaching my third year anniversary of finishing my first novel, and I'll have been on Twitter for two years at that point. There are a ton of writers out there. A ton. There are a lot on Twitter. Finishing a novel is hard but you learn so much along the way. Revising is the same way. A writer who doesn't write is not a writer. A writer who doesn't revise will never improve. I have improved and continue to improve, and it's a process that your writing needs... that you need.

Anyway, this blog post feels rambling when all I really planned on saying is that I'm back to working on revisions.

As far as the kids go, they're both loving school, but T's sensory system is very touchy, and they've both managed to pick up their first colds already. (Gotta love the school's petri dish.) B is in a class with my best friend's son, and she loves her teacher. I think this is going to be a good school year. *fingers crossed*

So... back into the fray... *opens Word document* *battle cry ensues*

Thoughts on the Business End of Writing

2011-08-29T12:05:00.000-07:00

*snort laughs* I hear the phrase "business end" and think of it as a euphemism for butt.

*snickers*

Sorry... no, really... this is a serious blog post. *puts on serious hat*

So, while we were down in Utah, I had an interesting experience. My mother-in-law (henceforth referred to as MIL) loves an ice cream shop that uses liquid nitrogen to make its ice cream. You sit and watch as your ingredient choices turn from cream to ice cream right in front of you. It is pretty cool. Anyway, the owner of the shop and my MIL have gotten to know each other and the owner wrote and self-published a contemporary romance, so my MIL thought we might like chatting about publishing. It was a really interesting conversation and it left me with two thoughts rattling around in my brain.

One of the first things to come up was that I have an agent, and this other author said, sounding defeated, "Oh, I tried querying. I queried 38 times!" I responded, "I queried 131 times, and I emailed back and forth with my agent for eight months before she signed me." I said it as nice as I could, but... the reality is that most writers who sign... don't sign with the first dozen agents they query. I won't say that not all do, but I could tell from this author's voice that she thought she'd failed when 38 queries didn't net an offer of representation. She was shocked and said, "Maybe I should try querying again." I won't say that traditional publishing is the way for everyone, but it just killed me to hear someone assume that they couldn't get an agent after less than 50 queries.

If you get no response, then, at the very least, you need to work on your query, but I've used dozens of different queries for the same books and some queries generated more interest than others. Sometimes, you need the right tone and so on.... Also, I researched agents thoroughly... like really thoroughly. There was about an hour of work behind each and every one of my queries. BTW, if you've never heard the story of how I got an agent, I'm going to cheat and send you to my QT story: http://www.querytracker.net/success/wendy_sparrow.php

The second interesting thing I took from that discussion happened when she asked if I was published. I immediately said, "No, I'm not published yet. My agent is submitting a novel right now." My husband jumped in and said, "Yes, you are! You've had two short stories published this year!" It reminded me of how lucky I've been to have a really strong support group--who'll jump in and remind me of my success when I forget. There has been a lot of times when I've wanted to walk away from this whole thing. Trying to get published is not all fun and games... it sooooo isn't. It's a lot of waiting and stressing and thinking you suck. My husband has always supported me in whatever I wanted to do. Whenever I show an aptitude for something, he's jumped in my corner... even when it's been expensive. (She says while typing on the laptop her husband insisted she buy when she first started writing.)

I don't know what the other author took from that conversation. Success can be measured in a lot of different ways. I have an agent. She has a published book. I won't say either of us is more successful than the other. I don't think any single path as a writer can be duplicated or mimicked to find success.

On the other hand, if I've learned nothing from my experience--things happen sometimes in their own time. And the experiences I've had while waiting my turn were invaluable. It takes time to learn to write well... time and practice. Sometimes, it takes time to get an agent or a publisher or whatever your goal is... time and often luck or fate or divine intervention--depending on your beliefs. There are aspects of success which are outside of your control so the best you can do is to keep doing. Honestly, I believe that.

So these are my Monday thoughts on the publishing world... and now I really need to finish that revision.

Cutting Deep

2011-08-28T16:58:00.000-07:00

Wow, it's been a crazy August. I just got back from a vacation with family last Monday. It was a rough trip. We managed to catch the stomach flu and one or the other kid was hurling half the days we were there. We still did a lot of stuff and saw family, but it was rough.

I finished off the revision on SECRETS for the film agent with my agency yesterday. I still have a lot of polishing and reworking to do, but I got through to the end. I connected point A to point B. It wasn't pretty. At all. I stripped the story down to the bones and then rebuilt it. The most significant alteration she wanted was for more plot. Adding more plot to a story isn't pretty. I never want to do it again. I will if I have to, but it's not fun.

When this all started, my agent, Sarah, sent me two things to help me with this revision. First, she'd compiled all the revision notes from a lot of different people including one of my beta readers and my husband. If more than two people said it and she agreed, it made it into the revision notes. The second thing she sent me was extremely helpful, but not in the way I'd have guessed: she sent me chapter notes on SECRETS and that's when I realized that entire chapters were about character development not plot development. So, my goal was to change that... to add events so that every single chapter had a significant event in it.

The frustrating thing is that when a story changes this much--you're sort of left in shell shock when it's done. People keep asking me if I've improved it, and I can't tell. It's different. It's very different. I'm not sure what to think of it. The previous story was all about the relationship between Piper and Gris. This one is about the story around them. It's focusing with a broader scope than before. I like it. It still makes me cry, but it's very different. Some chapters started from scratch.

I'd told Sarah before beginning that I expected this revision to end with about 80% new/altered material. I think it's about right. I went from 36 chapters to 24 chapters. It decreased from 92K down to 89K. It's just so very different from before. Plot points moved around or were dropped. A substantial amount of plot points were added. I stole a scene from the second book.

It's madness, I tell you! Madness!

Every time you add an event to a story, it ripples out. All the stuff early on meant that chapter 23... was entirely new. I had to toss out the next to last chapters in their entirety. They meant nothing and made no sense. The only thing they had in common with the previous novel's final chapters were the location and the same characters.

Another hard thing about this revision is I've been sending Sarah six chapters at a time as I finished them so she could make sure I was on the right track. Sending chapters from a book that was incomplete... nearly killed me. I never send off chapters to people unless I'm really not sure it works at all... and then I just send it to my sisters usually... very close beta readers... not someone I'm trying to convince that I'm a good writer. I just finished my Kindle read-through to look for major plotholes and typos... and it makes me sick that I sent off "rough draft" chapters to Sarah. *shudders* My rough drafts aren't hideous, but they aren't anything I want to show anyone... ever... at all.

Anyway, I've been a bear to be around this summer while I was working on this. This was a tough revision.

"Easy reading is damn hard writing." ~Hawthorne

*Wendy hugs a dead writer* Yes, Hawthorne... yes, exactly.

I'm hoping to finish off this revision completely and email it to Sarah tomorrow. (This will make me a wreck while I'm waiting for her reply.) She is talking about sending me a hardcopy of revision notes which, frankly, scares the crap out of me and will be my first real experience with a gritty red pen editing type deal. I might go out and stockpile a case of Mt. Dew for that. It might be the only way.

In other news, my kids start school in a week and a half, and my husband will be in Hawaii all week on a business trip. Fate, you crazy minx... you do like to mix it up, don't you? This week should be interesting. (In the previous sentence, "interesting" actually means "likely to suck hard, hairy, grimy rocks." So, that's interesting, huh?)

I have more in my brain to blog about, but I need to get to this revision and knock it out. So, some other time... *blows kisses*

If you know a writer, go give them a hug because sometimes writing isn't fun and I don't know why we do it other than it's in our blood. I just hope this is what Sarah and the film agent wanted because... well, this was some damn hard writing.

Truth is Much Stranger

2011-08-11T23:27:00.000-07:00

I had an odd experience today. I spent time at a playground with a child whose father's body had just been found after he committed suicide. This sweet little four year old didn't know that somewhere else in the city adults were white-washing his father's image... because his father is the son of a local celebrity. I watched this child play in the sand and laugh and have fun... and have no idea that outside of the playground his life would change forever. Such a cute kid. Such a sad legacy he'll now receive.

I'm somewhat disgusted by the scrubbing this news story is receiving actually. Can you even call it news when they've highly-saturated it with spun versions of events and when they're actively deleting any comments that address the facts? It doesn't seem like nonfiction at the very least. Let's call it an opinion piece rather than a news story.

*sighs*

It's made me realize that news is horribly impartial.

I'd already started feeling that way after watching the London Riots rocket across Twitter while the mainstream news channels kept it quiet and buried for so long.

Still... this child is only four... and just barely four... and his father was selfish. By the time the journalists and publicists have scrubbed everything, I'm curious who'll be the victim... the four year old who now has no father or the man who made that choice.

Reality isn't pretty. I learn something new about human nature daily... and most of the time I'd rather not. I was still somewhat reeling from the riots. Mob mentality scares me.

Anyway... it was a strange day. I was glad I wouldn't be breaking the news to anyone. I was just there for moral support and to share pretzels. (I'm good at sharing pretzels.)

In writerly news, I'm almost done with my revisions. This has been a really severe revision. I've only got a few chapters left, but the revisions have snowballed throughout the story so the conclusion is going to be a far cry from the previous version. I hope it works. I think it works. I'm still nervous though. I've made so many changes.

I should try to get my brain to be quiet so I can get some sleep. Night.

The Obsessive Side to OCD

2011-08-06T22:45:00.000-07:00

I can't sleep. I'm exhausted. I want to sleep. I had a good workout at the gym. I got far too much sun. I spent the day watching my kids and my sister's kids while my husband and sister worked on her treehouse. By all rights, I should be able to fall into my bed and go to sleep right away, but I can't. My brain won't let go of one event that happened today, and it keeps going back again and again and again.

So, my sister painted her house in latex paint... and it's been really hard on my lungs and allergies. When I went to her house last night, it was bothering me still... even though it's been days since she painted. So, today, I was on the fence about going back. My husband told me that it'd be okay if I stayed home. I wanted to stay home. On the other hand, my sister has a two year old and having the older kids watch a two year old didn't sit right with me, so I went.

My sister's two year old is a wild child. He is trouble... boxed... canned... compacted... with a capital T. Trouble. So, I was checking on him frequently and trying to keep him out of too much trouble. One of the times I went to check on him, I found that he was downstairs with all the other kids... which was good. They were all engrossed on DSs or playing. On the other hand, the two year old had thrown my sister's little tiny dog into the aboveground pool before going off with the others. I dragged the exhausted dog out of the pool (because the sides were too slick for him to get out.) The dog collapsed in the sun for a long time to reheat and recover... but he was fine.

I'm not fine. I just keep thinking, "What if I hadn't gone outside to check on him?" "What if I hadn't gone today?" "What if...?"

My brain won't let it go.

I just want to turn it over and over and over in my head.

I can't sleep even though... technically... nothing bad happened.

I live my life in careful mode. I examine everything from every possible scenario several times. I plan for the worst possible eventualities.

It's not good. It's not easy. It's not fun, but that's how I live my life. That's what OCD means to me. I have to be extra extra extra careful because the world is full of people who won't be as careful... and bad things happen when people aren't careful. Bad things.

Bad things like my nephew drowning their dog because my sister has told him that dogs can swim and they've watched her put the dog in the pool to swim. Every time I've been there and they've put the dog in the pool, I've said, "Do you really think you should do that? If he gets put in there and they forget him... he'll drown." My sister has rolled her eyes at my overly careful attitude for years now... and, in so many cases, she's right. She lives her life with a lot more abandon than I do. She lets her 10 year old daughter use sharp knives and cook on the stove... and has for years. B will be able to drive before I let her do either of those things.

I'm stuck in permanent careful mode.

When this pays off... it's not a good thing, trust me. I just want to wrap the world in bubble wrap and tell them not to play with sharp objects. I just want to shake my sister for not planning for every possible bad thing in the entire world in multiple and often implausible scenarios.

I might never get to sleep.

There is this phrase: "You can never be too careful." It's a lie. You can. I'm living that phrase. I am the poster child for what happens if you're too careful. On the other hand, I also think it's true to the depths of my very OCD soul. It's true, you can never be too careful because, chances are, even if you try very, very, very hard, you'll never be as careful as me.

And that's the truth.

Prying the Words Out

2011-08-01T10:18:00.000-07:00

So, my insomnia finally broke a few nights back... when it no longer mattered what time I needed to be up in the morning. That's the bitter irony about insomnia--you get the sleep when it doesn't matter anymore.

I'm up to my neck in the hardest revision I've ever done. Revising Secrets is like drowning slowly. I've made so many changes to characters and scenes that it keeps snowballing to later chapters... nothing can be the same in the end if you overhaul where it began. Plus, I'm meant to be adding more plot points and action, but I just don't know if it's enough. This is hard. Really hard. My husband kept coming up to check on me yesterday when I'd dragged my laptop into the therapy room to work. Every time he'd come up I'd rant at him about how hard it was and how much it kept snowballing to more revision. I was living up to the crazed writer stereotype yesterday.

Part of this is summer being what it is, though. It's rare for the kids to have a quiet "nothing scheduled" day. Every day is a new scheduled activity or a planned playdate or something. I'm insisting on down days for T because he isn't handling the strain any better than I am. We've had long keening/crying jags and last Wednesday he started banging his head against things to cope. On Saturday, we spent the day in Seattle watching "Aladdin the Musical" in the kids' first real theatre experience. By the drive home, both kids were crying and overwrought. We had a whole week of day camp for T the previous week. He was a wreck by the end of it. I was a wreck by the end of it.

*sighs*

Anyway, today is one of those rare "nothing scheduled" days, so I'd planned to work more on the revision. I've told Sarah that I'll have it done by the end of August, but I haven't added that I really, really, really have to have it done and have moved on to something less stressful.

This revision... this summer... this chaos... is killing me.

On the other hand, I think the kids are having fun. The parts they'll remember... will be fun. I'm hoping they forget the crying and strain and their mother hiding in the therapy room and remember the fun. I'm also confident I can do this revision. I just wish my brain didn't feel so muddy from trying to mesh the old and new and change everything while keeping the good parts.

I'm nearly to the point where I drop the old manuscript other than a few scenes. I'm not sure how to do it... at all. I don't think Sarah knows how to do it. She's been cheerleading me on Twitter and through email, but I don't think anyone really knew how to cut and yet save with this. Sarah took advice from like eight different sources and sent me their notes... but it was pointless to give revision notes throughout the story because this revision was going to change so much.

This revision/reinvention/reimagination is the hardest writing work I've ever done and most of the time, I feel like I'm floundering as I think: Does this work or am I just creating more stuff to cut?

I sent Sarah the first six chapters reworked a week ago and she approved them... but now... that seems like the easy part comparatively. It just keeps snowballing to more changes. It feels like I've got a crowbar, and I'm prying the words out of my brain. I know when I've finished it's going to take some serious work to make it flow and not look like it was crowbarred out of the muse.

It's so hard. I quoted this on Twitter but it's worth resaying: Nathaniel Hawthorne said, "Easy reading is damn hard writing." It's true. Making this flow so it reads like it did before... is hard. I think it had a natural flow before but it lacked in other ways. Trying to make sure it's not just all character development... is hard. I mentioned before how I sometimes "Clark Kent" characters. I give my paranormal characters some great powers, but then I tell their Clark Kent story. It turns out... the Clark Kent story is easier. The story about character development is easier. This... this is hard.

I think I'll need to go for a run later. Running always seems to help me clear the fog of too many voices and ideas out of my head. So do vitamins and caffeine and Vitamin D (via sun exposure)... I've been trying to get all those ducks in a row. Strangely enough... sleep has never helped or affected my writing. I do some of my best writing when sleep-deprived--even if it needs more clean-up. I'm hoping I'll get on a roll soon and it'll just turn into magic where the ideas seem to have a life of their own. I'm hoping to ease up on the crowbar. I'm hoping.

I wish I had a time machine and I could get to the end of August where I'll have this revision done, and I could just pick up the completed revision without all this mind-numbing chaotic stress... but that's just fiction... and possibly lazy. And while I am often lazy... even I don't believe in time travel. Besides, that'd totally mess up the space time continuum.

I close my eyes, and it begins, and it doesn't end.

2011-07-16T23:43:00.000-07:00

I thought my insomnia had broken a few nights ago. I'd hoped it had, but I think it was wishful thinking. Some nights, I spend more time trying to get to sleep than actually sleeping. Some nights, I'll spend six hours trying to get to sleep and only three or four hours sleeping. This last week has been like that... and to add to the misery, I've started getting tension headaches from lack of sleep and stress. It's like the insult I could have done without.

If I've seemed short with anyone this week... I apologize; I haven't been myself. I've been that other Wendy... and none of us like her. She's mean. She yells everything. She's a little like the Hulk... only slightly less green and bulky.

Tonight, I've been lying in bed for an hour and a half staring at the back of my eyelids. I've tried to con my mind into focusing on fiction rather than nonfiction (aka stress)... but not SECRETS because then I'd have to get up and write it down. In some ways, it's working. I've got a full story going on in my head... but I'm still awake.

Last summer, I spent the summer writing short stories--writing the stories that I used to get to sleep. The summer's story collection is an ode to insomnia. It's around 150K. My insomnia generated 150K worth of stories.

This summer, I'm trying to focus on projects, but it's not working as well as the short stories.

I feel wrung out, shattered... hopeless. I know most of it is because of a lack of sleep. You can only go without sleep for so long. Your body starts dragging your brain down to sleep regardless of whether you're awake. Plus, everything seems impossible and hard when you're this tired.

Then, there is the kids. T isn't doing so well. He is in constant overload. I'm not sure how he is going to handle scout camp this week. B is doing better, but they argue when T is like this. The arguing and the constant noise is getting to me. My skin itches to be in right now.

I know I can get through this and work on what I need to. I know I can. I know it'll be done by the end of August. I just wish I could get from point A to point B as easily during the summer as during the fall.

Even the moon is annoying me tonight... it's too bright. It's freakishly bright.

*sighs* Insomnia is brutal. Your body is so tired. You feel exhausted clear to the bones and, yet, you're awake. It feels as if you've piled sandbags on every square inch of you--you feel THAT tired... and yet you're awake.

For hours.

Staring at the back of your eyelids.

And you have early morning church.

*sighs*

Okay, I'm going back to stare at the freakishly bright moon. Night.

Conversations with an Eight Year Old--Part Two

2011-07-14T23:45:00.000-07:00

So, the endless questions continue with T. They go on and on. Sometimes, I wake up to him staring at me, waiting to ask me a question. His Aspergers means that he doesn't "get" why this is creepy and weird. Sometimes, he also doesn't get that when people have their eyes closed while in bed... they're sleeping. The other day, he woke me up by throwing a can of raviolis at me while saying, "I'm hungry." In the car, I'm a captive audience to throw questions at... endless questions... forever and ever and ever and ever....

Today:

T: "So, school is like slavery, isn't it?"

Wendy: (sputters out laughing) "What? No! School is nothing like slavery."

T: "Well, there are rules and rules are like laws and laws are like orders. So, school is like slavery."

Wendy: "School is nothing like slavery. Learning and math and reading are nothing like slavery."

T: "A little, though, right?"

Wendy: "No."

T is silent for a bit and I think he's conceded the point, but I don't know why I think this anymore. He cannot and will not concede any points as long as he draws breath. (See previous post on genner.)

T: "They tell you what to do at school, though; so, that's like slavery."

Wendy: "School is nothing like slavery."

T: "Why?"

Wendy: (I'm tired... exhausted actually, so my ability to form logical arguments has completely deserted me.) "Because I said it's not. You're in school to learn, and it's not that bad."

T: (mutters under breath) "School is a little like slavery."

B: "What's twenty times twenty-four?"

Wendy: (has nervous breakdown)

*head slap* Okay, so some of you might think, "Hey, Wendy... you missed a wonderful and touching opportunity to explain the plight of slavery in history and modern times. You missed a glorious teaching moment! For shame!" First of all, this is my blog... and how dare you? HOW DARE YOU??? *diva slap* Actually, in all honesty, I was too tired to do anything other than "because I said so!" but also THIS IS T. T will pick the worst possible moment to parrot back comments or ask awkward questions. Until you're in a grocery store and your son says loudly, "So, I know the Chinese kill their boy babies due to overpopulation, but I have one question..." well... you just wouldn't understand. Trust me. He does that.

*makes note to thank husband for explaining infanticide in overpopulated Asian countries to second grader*

So, next time you feel like saddling up your moral high horse and riding it around my blog... first... nice horse... second... I'm not touching the land mine that is slavery until he's in fourth grade, and I won't sound like a zealot when my son parrots it back in the weirdest terms possible. People expect fourth graders to know crazy weird things. People don't really expect small boys to spout weird facts and info in grocery stores. Trust me, I know these things. I've learned these things. I'm waiting.

In the mean time, I'm going to continue to throw my poor eight year old into what he thinks is akin to cruel oppression.

Actually, I can't wait until third grade rolls around, and he's forced to go back to that hell hole where they worry if he doesn't have a coat at recess when they send him out to play on the biggest slide I've ever seen at a grade school.

Because that's what slavery is... the cold cruel world with a giant slide that they force you to sit down on when you slide down it.

These awful rules... which are like laws which is almost the same as orders! This oppressive regime. What are they thinking? They're monsters! Monsters!

We also got into a discussion about what constituted singing vs. humming vs. whistling vs. chanting when I asked them to be very, very quiet because I had a really, really bad headache. (I've had headaches nearly every day for a week... I've been a tiny bit short-tempered.) Specifically... I first asked them not to hum because it made my head want to explode. Specificity is often my downfall.

Today:

Wendy: "STOP!"

T: "I wasn't humming anymore. I was singing then. Humming isn't the same as singing."

Wendy: (moans) "Just be quiet."

B: (whistles)

Wendy: "Stop whistling."

T: "I can still sing right? You didn't mention singing? I can still sing right?"

Wendy: "Stop making noise!"

B: "What if I whistle quietly?"

Wendy: "No."

(Someone in the back seat starts banging things together.)

Wendy: (snarls) "We're playing a game... it's called "If you make any noise with anything, I will throw it out the window." Stop clicking things together!"

T: "So, if I hum you'll throw my mouth out the window?"

Wendy: "Yes! Yes, I will. Would you like to test that theory?"

(Blissful silence for nearly a minute while T tries to figure out how that might work... and then he starts humming.)

B: "What's four hundred plus three hundred and sixty-seven?"

*sighs* When is September again? Can we skip August just this once?

In the Darkness, There is More Darkness

2011-07-13T23:08:00.000-07:00

Every so often I talk about OCD on here. It's not something I'm ashamed of. Not anymore anyway. I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It's severe. It's really severe. It eats away at my thoughts all day and into the night. I avoid triggers. I wash my hands a lot. I get worse. I hide it better. It can be bad and not at all useful. I don't clean due to OCD. That would be nice. I'm not like that.

There are a few other things I have that most medical professionals would term co-morbid.

I get a little crazy at certain points during my hormone cycle. By crazy, I mean mental and psychotic, but I try to hide that so mostly you don't see that.

I have sensory processing issues that sometimes rival my kids'. It's mostly noise. I can't stand noise. I don't like white noise or loud noise or noise pollution of any kind. There are a few other things that set me off, but noise is the worst.

I have insomnia--not sissy, it-takes-me-a-bit insomnia, but lie-awake-for-four-hours-staring-at-the-ceiling and a-week-with-only-three-hours-a-night insomnia.

I also have agoraphobia--which, for me, translates into not wanting to go outside or to any place I'm not familiar with. One example is that I'll never go anywhere that I don't have a plan for where I'll park beforehand. I can't do it. I'd rather stay home. I need to know where my car--which is an extension of my house in my brain--will stop. I also don't like people in my home outside of my husband and kids. That's it. Sometimes, we'll go six months without having anyone else in our house and that's fine with me. I like it that way. I wish it could always be that way.

All of my issues ebb and rise with my hormones and stress levels. They also tend to aggravate one another. If my insomnia is bad, it trips my agoraphobia. If my sensory-processing is bad, it keeps me up at night. They bang off each other and make everything worse.

I don't know why I'm bringing this up... maybe sometimes I just like to talk about it to prove that it doesn't scare me like it once did. I know I'm stronger, and I've always been stronger than this disorder that devours my thoughts. Sometimes I do stuff just to prove who is in control. I go outside just to laugh in the face of my agoraphobia. I jump in a mud puddle just to mock my OCD. Then, I pay for it. In some small way or sometimes in a big way, I pay for it.

Okay, maybe I do know why I'm bringing this up.

Writing SECRETS was hard for me to write, and it'll be hard to rework too. It's going into my dark corners and yanking what roosts there out into the light. OCD isn't pretty. My mind is a dark, dark place that sometimes feels so dark that I can't imagine there ever being light in there. You can't imagine the darkness. I guarantee it. Unless you have OCD or one of its cousins, you can't imagine how convoluted and dark our minds are. You can't imagine how the thoughts build and twist and torque until you're convinced that if you don't do something or if you do it... people will die.

When I wrote SECRETS last year around this time, I remember thinking, "Why can't I just leave these monsters in the corners? Why am I doing this? Why am I trying to show people that inside me is a leashed darkness that I barely keep from eating me alive?"

Then, I wrote SECRETS and I eased up and left some of it in the corners. There were pieces that disappeared in revisions because I wanted to cut the ties to me. Maybe it was gutless, but I wasn't sure how people would react. I played up some aspects and maybe downplayed others, and what emerged was a good story but perhaps not the one I meant it to be in the beginning.

So, now, I'm reworking SECRETS and I'm staring into a cave, searching for a monster I've created, and it'd be easier to walk away. Once I leash that thing and drag it out into the light...

I can't imagine.

OCD is a horror story. It doesn't go away. The thoughts will smother everything if you let them. Your brain is crowded like a loud train station on a hot day where everything is coated with the heat of too many things in a shared space, and the hum is so loud it could make you deaf. My mind is like that every moment of every day for the rest of my life. The meds keep it from bothering me as much and make the noise more dull. I'm not on meds right now, though. They have a lot of side effects so I've been trying to go without them... which feels like the wrong choice this week, but the right choice other weeks.

Out of this madness I'm to craft a story about something that isn't horrific. Something hopeful. Something that will help and not hurt.

That's madness, isn't it?

Anyway, Sarah thinks I can do it. I sent her the revised beginning of SECRETS and she liked it. I just wonder, "If we poke in the dark corners, will we really like what pokes back?" We'll see I guess. I have the rest of July and August to figure it out.

We'll see. I've never backed down from a challenge or failed when I believed in something, and I think I can do this. We shall see.

At the very least, it won't be boring.

Conversations with the Muse

2011-07-11T14:14:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to con my muse into helping me work on Secrets of Skin and Stone. Thus far, it's not going as well as I might like.

Wendy: (dangles Mountain Dew in front of muse.) C'mon.... it'll be fun. Sarah said it will be fun.

Muse: (raises eyebrows) Really? That's what you're going with? Mountain Dew?

Wendy: (sighs) We've got to do it. You know we do.

Muse: We already wrote this book. (points at other WIPs) We haven't written those. We should work on those.

Wendy: (snaps in front of muse's face) Hey! Focus.... focus. Ignore the shiny.

Muse: (rolls eyes) Okay... what else do you have?

Wendy: Uhh danger music?

Muse: Danger music?

Wendy: Yeah... you know the music that plays during movie trailers and during actions scenes? I though maybe we could hum it while we work on the chapter summary. I thought maybe if we pictured the book as a series of flashing action scenes and then filled in the blanks....

Muse: That's what you're bringing to the table? Mountain Dew and danger music?

Wendy: Possibly sex. We might be able to con the husband into sex tonight if we finish this chapter summary.

Muse: Dude, that's all you... otherwise it's creepy... it's like a threesome.

Wendy: Yeah, I suppose. I was hoping... the endorphins...?

Muse: I do like endorphins.

Wendy: We don't have to tell him.

Muse: There is that.

Wendy: Plus, danger music and Mountain Dew. (eyes house) I should probably clean, though. Possibly do some laundry.

Muse: Okay, you do that... and bring the danger music and Mountain Dew and we'll see what happens.

Wendy: Hopefully some very dark things. BAWAHAHAHA!

Muse: Don't do that.

Wendy: What?

Muse: The laugh. Don't do the laugh.

Wendy: (rolls eyes) Fine. (Starts humming)

Muse: That's the Last of the Mohicans theme. What the hell kind of book do you think we're writing?

Wendy: Uhh....

Muse: (rolls eyes) Go with something from Terminator or maybe Transformers.

Wendy: Fine.

Muse: Fine.

Wendy: Pass the Mountain Dew.

Muse: (passes) You finish off that diet crap. I don't run on diet crap.

Wendy: Oh for the love of....!

Muse: Don't profane.

Wendy: (smiles)

Danger Music:

Taking a Story to the Bones

2011-07-10T16:16:00.000-07:00

I can't tell if that title sounds just dirty or ominous or both or ominously dirty... you decide.

So, I'm working on a... reimagination of Secrets of Skin and Stone and it may incorporate but not gut Promises of Light and Dark.

Part of this will involve bringing in the larger story that I didn't even imagine when I started writing SECRETS... and it wasn't until Sarah asked me to open up SECRETS for the possibility of a sequel that I realized it wasn't just a single book. It still will read as a stand-alone in the end, I'm hoping, but there are other people involved that I never hinted at when I wrote SECRETS.

I've mentioned this before, but in case this is your first time here... my agent wants me to write a version of SECRETS for the film agent with her agency to present to producers. It needs more... plot points that involve action. So, I've got her notes on what several sources mentioned needs to be in the final draft and I'm working from that.

This will take SECRETS down to the bones of what it's about. I've never actually done a revision this deep. Of course, I'd never done a chapter-by-chapter summary before Sarah asked me to. There's nothing saying I can't do it, so I might as well try.

It comes down to "what's sacred" will stay in, but everything else is up for grabs. If you've never read Maggie Stiefvater's thoughts on revision, you should check out this post. It's brilliant.

So, what's sacred in SECRETS?

I told Sarah when we first started talking about SECRETS that there was one thing I would fight for... that I refused to sell my book to an editor who'd take it out. I was absolutely adamant on this one single point... You'd think it would be about Gris being a gargoyle. It isn't. That's not actually sacred. He's a gargoyle as a foil for Piper's issues... which are sacred. I told Sarah that I absolutely wouldn't tolerate having the cutting scenes tamed for public consumption. I knew that they made SECRETS a bit edgy but, if anything, I wanted Piper's OCD to be that way. I wanted readers to know that OCD is not simple and pretty.

So, Piper's cutting and her OCD are sacred.

Nothing else is sacred.

Everything else can be cut.

Those are the bones of the story.

I have to keep telling myself that.

Voice is king.... voice is always king. I'll revise until the voice is as strong as it is in this version in the new one. That's the other thing I keep telling myself.

So, my goal, to start off, is to go from Sarah's notes and chapter notes (my agent is a super hero, btw) and write a new chapter-by-chapter summary of this new SECRETS. It'll steal some from SECRETS... possibly some aspects of PROMISES but I want to add a lot more of an ominous feel to it as well as more action. Gris has some cool powers as a Watcher that I under-utilize. I need to really grab those and hype those up.

It needs more cowbell. More violent cowbell. If you don't understand the phrase: more cowbell--> Go HERE.

When I wrote SECRETS I only knew what was happening in Hidden Creek, Alabama for the few steps ahead of what I was writing. Now, I've written out PROMISES and I've written out a chapter-by-chapter summary of Betrayals of Blood and Spirit (the third book in the series... should it turn into a series.) I now know exactly what is happening in Hidden Creek. I've seen what is lurking in the corners.

I feel almost as if I've been given a unique gift in some ways... how would you rewrite the first book in a series if you knew exactly how the rest of the books went? Because of knowing this, I can knock out continuity errors, plant more hints, and really focus on what is sacred and where the action is.

It's a gift.

It's still scary.

I might have a breakdown.

I'll probably need lots of Mountain Dew.

In other news, I sent Sarah Sentinel's Run. That was also scary. I keep hoping such things will get less scary, but having a story bleed out of your brain onto the screen and then sending that off for someone to like or not like... it's a strange process. The world of Sentinel's Run only existed in my mind but it felt bigger than that. It always does. So, showing someone else that... it's always a little freaky.

Okay... back to that chapter summary. *takes a deep breath* *dives in*

Riding in Cars with Boys

2011-07-08T17:31:00.001-07:00

I could have also titled this post "How I Spent my Summer Vacation" because it amounts to the same thing. Summers are spent shuttling my kids from place to place to place to place.... endlessly. Either it's playdates or activities or scouts for T or stuff for B. I spend an outrageous amount of time in the car with the kids during the summer.

B has her annoying car ride moments. She likes to play this math game which makes everyone want to beat their head against something sharp. "What's one plus one plus two plus seven plus....." She genuinely enjoys these little math word problems, but the rest of us (and specifically me--due to the repetition... well, it's hell... it really is.)

She STOPS though... (once I scream her name in a voice that sounds like I'm on the verge of a breakdown) not so with the son.

T's annoying car moments beat B's to a bloody pulp and then stand on the corpse and kick its head. No. Really. T asks question after question after question. Car rides are like a long endless game of Jeopardy where everything is in the form of a question. Most are science questions which I can't answer. Some are about computer games... which I also can't answer. Some are logic problems--I'm not logical. A handful are about movies--YES!!!!! They're rare and usually he bounces to a completely different subject immediately. My husband can answer about 99% of the questions. This has led my son to believe his mother is an idiot. Sometimes I agree with him.

T has Asperger's, though which often leads to a belief that he is always right... even when he is wrong... he's right. He's also a genius--for only being eight... he's a fricken genius. One thing he is frequently incorrect on is the pronunciation of things. He's so far ahead for his age that he's read thousands of words that he's never "heard" before. So, rather than correcting the pronunciation in his brain, he stubbornly insists that his pronunciation is ALWAYS the right one. This comes up, at least, once a day.

Today, this is how our car ride went:

Wendy: "I'm tired of approving all these accounts for you on these online sites. I wake up to emails every day now saying, "Your son has opened an account on..." well... actually it says "your child...." not "your son." (I have to make this corrections because T will dive bomb them.)

T: "Yeah, it says "your child" because it doesn't ask for my genner on the sites."

Wendy: "It's pronounced GENDER not genner."

T: "I pronounce it genner."

Wendy: "I'm not having this conversation with you." (I fought him on feature which he was pronouncing future the previous day for ten minutes, and he is still intending to pronounce it future.)

T: (seriously) "Because you know I'll win?"

Wendy: (Laughs so hard that she nearly can't breathe)

T: "That's it, isn't it? You know I'll win. I always win."

Wendy: "No... well... maybe in your mind."

T: (not seeing a difference between what I just said and reality): "Exactly. I always win."

Wendy: (Takes a long drink of Mt. Dew)

B: "What's one plus two plus one plus three plus....?"

Wendy: (Takes another long drink of Mt. Dew)

T: "Mom, one question: if you took those pull-string party poppers and cut them in half and then...."

Wendy: (ignores son and daughter)

T: "Do you suppose that's a future of them?" (He means feature.)

Wendy: (Has nervous breakdown)

So, now you know... I drink (Mt. Dew) and drive... also you can see why my sanity is slipping and raggedy around the edges... which is why I took my kids to their aunt's house tonight and they're spending the night with her... because I was pretty sure I was at the end of my rope. Really. Their cool aunt Heidi is intending on taking them to the Drive-in. I'm so excited. It's so quiet in this house without them. Blissfully quiet. Strangely quiet. And no questions. Le sigh. *eyes Husband* He'll probably ask questions just to annoy me now. I should drag him out on a date before he tries that.

Yay or nay. Yeah or nah. Oui or Non. It's done.

2011-07-06T15:13:00.000-07:00

So, I took Sentinel's Run from a level zero to a level... five... with seven being the highest. (Because I like seven... that's why... so shut up.)

The continuity errors gave me fits at first, and I wanted to weep, but I made it through those via lots and lots of Mountain Dew and late nights.

Then, came the voice revision... and you know from previous blog posts that voice is king in my world. A book can have all kinds of problems, but if the voice is good... that saves everything. If I can hear their voice in my head, it's perfect and wonderful and I love it.

I wasn't hearing it on Sentinel's Run... not completely. The world was good. The plot is awesome... it has a lot more action, and it's tighter than my other stories. I might do chapter summaries from now on when I'm preparing to work on a book. But the voice wasn't as obvious as in other books I've recently finished.

Voice is king.

Then, over the weekend, I stumbled across the perfect fix for the voice, and everything fell into place. Usually, that's the way of it--when the voice works, I hear birds and see magic, and I just want to run out into the streets and scream in relief. That's how this was.

In other books, once I figured out a few key words that my MC would say... then I knew what they'd say about everything.

In this book, it was all in how Coby responded to questions... did he say "yes" or "okay" or "fine" or "yeah" or what? Was it "no" or "not really" or "nah" or.... When I realized he'd say "yeah" or "nah" and "fine" but never "no" or "yes" and rarely "okay" it all started slipping into place.

Then, I had Mori... who is from an area heavily influenced by French Quebec... and she keeps slipping into French. So, I went through and made sure that she always responded with "oui" or "non" especially when she was under stress, and I watched for those stressful points and added even more French. All week I've had several tabs with French translations and Quebec slang open... right beside sites with farm equipment pictures. I've looked like a cultured hick according to my browsing history.

So, Sentinel's Run is done... and it's well done. I'm really proud of myself. It's not often that I want to hug a manuscript once it's complete, but I want to hug this one. I've sent it off to three betas who'd read the beginning of it last year when I first started it. Then, I suppose I'll let it settle for six months unless Sarah tells me differently. So, I should be revising it the beginning of next year if I can manage it... which is probably when I'll start the second book in the series... if my schedule holds. Looking back, I haven't really kept to my planned schedule at all so far.

Next up, I have a beta read to work on over the next few days, and then I'm burying myself in SECRETS for the rest of the summer. I need to create a more high-stakes version for the film agent. Woo! Violent cowbell!

My muse wants to work on the other WIP that I walked out on last year, My Other Life, so maybe I'll work on that when I'm done with SECRETS or while working on SECRETS. It takes place in Las Vegas so the voices aren't at all the same. It's also in third person... so that might factor into when I can work on it. I don't know. I might create a chapter summary for it just to keep my brain on task. I might do that for SECRETS too.

Well, that's my writerly news.

In non-writerly news, my husband got our Subaru fixed which entailed swapping out the entire engine. It's pretty amazing. It's been out of commission for a while, so it's weird to have another car. He worked on it all weekend and then some. It's so awesome having a husband who can do stuff like that. It feels magical. He's magical. He can fix anything... I'm pretty sure. Everyone should marry useful geeks like him. The world would be a better place... but not him... he's mine... I found him first... get your own.

My kids had a good 4th of July. T is severely spun out from fireworks and hanging out with friends and family. He fell to pieces today at the park when he thought we were out of water for a moment. (My friend had extra water... and it wasn't more than a short walk to get some.) That's how it works with T... the little things add up until he starts falling to pieces over everything. B is doing really well. We got a YMCA membership and we've been taking her to swim at the pool which is perfect for her sensory system. They have a slide, and she goes down the slide over and over and over and over--in a loop.

I'm really, really stressed out. My OCD is so obvious to me that I just want to make excuses for it and say, "I'm sorry... but I have OCD and that's why I'm acting like this." It's probably not all that obvious to those that don't know, but it feels obvious. It's like when the kids were young and would have meltdowns in grocery stores over minor things and I just wanted to shout "They have Autism! They're not bad kids!" I just want to shout, "I have OCD... I swear I'm not psycho... but can you NOT keep repeating yourself or I'll be forced to kill you! Also, your kid isn't being safe! Go stop them from doing that, or I'll be yanking them off the slide while screaming and shouting and ranting... okay? Okay... good. We're clear that I'm not psycho, though, right?" It's so severe that I can't sleep. I stare at the ceiling for an hour or two or three while my brain obsesses over one thing or the other. Finally, exhaustion is knocking me down at three or four in the morning before T stares me awake at eight a.m. (He has got to learn a better way to wake me up... the staring is so creepy.)

Okay, so that was a long update.

So, how is your summer going? *hugs*

There is Now a Level Zero...

2011-06-28T16:40:00.000-07:00

For those who don't recognize the title of this post, it's from Kung Fu Panda. Po wants to start on level zero with his training, and Master Shifu says there is no level zero. Then, Po gets his panda tail kicked by the practice equipment and Master Shifu says, "There is now a level zero."

So, I finished my rough draft of Sentinel's Run last night... uhhh... this morning after a five hour writing jag that went until three in the morning. (It was crazy and Mt. Dew-fueled and my husband caught me typing the last sentence at 3 a.m. and said, "You're still up??? You're not supposed to be up!!!" Yeah, it was crazy, but I was on a roll.)

Normally, and my betas can back me up on this, I don't write rough drafts really. My first drafts are typically fully-realized and clean. (I do revise as I write so that's part of it. Also, my OCD keeps my brain at attention constantly for typos.) They're not final drafts by any means, but they're typically not that rough.

The world in Sentinel's Run is more complex, though, and I've stumbled across a bunch of continuity errors I need to work through. So, while it's done... it's not really done. I'm looking at a genuine rough draft. It's killing me. *shakes manuscript* It's a level zero! Okay, maybe not that bad.... I am a little surprised at how many more traps there are for continuity or contradiction issues when you're dealing with a dystopian world. As my world fleshed out throughout the story I noticed that I'd need to explain things and really establish the rules of my world and make sure I don't stray from them.

A lot of it revolves around non-human characters that I've established. I played fast and loose with some of the rules that I set down for the machines, and I need to go fix that. If you have non-human characters... you know... they have their own motivations and responses and you have to stick to that or give a good reason why you're not. I got a bit sketchy at points. Oy. Bad Wendy.

So, yay... I finished... but I didn't. I also need to work on Mori's voice and decide on some of the intricacies in Coby's speech patterns too, but that might be a further down revision. Then, I'll send it to the three betas I promised it to, and I'll shelve it for six months. (I always have shelved my manuscripts for this long... so that I can get perspective before doing a serious revision on them. I "have" done this anyway, but it's something that might change I suppose with Sarah's involvement in my career.)

It's a weird sort of anticlimactic feeling to finish a level zero manuscript. I don't like it. There's not the adrenalin rush of other manuscripts where I can immediately send it off to betas or read a "finished" product and give myself mental high-fives. On the other hand, I really, really, really like this story. I think once I work out some of these kinks it'll be my best manuscript yet, but we'll see.

*eyes level zero*

I hope.

I also got my revision notes from Sarah for the SECRETS version for the film agent from my agency, so that goes onto the calendar for me to complete this summer. It should have plenty more cowbell... even some violent cowbell... by the time I'm done with it. *punches sky* Violent cowbell!

In non-writing news, my kids' summer schedule is filling up. This morning we went to a reptile display and then to the beach. Tomorrow is yoga, a picnic, and the zoo. Thursday is... something... and so it goes. We'll have to take days off every so often so my son can decompress. Unfortunately, my kids tend to fill my life with noise--happy noise--bickering noise--tv--the computer--their DSs--noise, noise, noise, and I have a hard time writing during the day with background noise. So, I see many Mt. Dew-fueled writing sessions at night in my future. My tolerance of noise is so low right now that even my phone's alerts are making me snarl.

Summer is fun. Loads of fun. Really.

Weird Research is All in Day's Work

2011-06-25T15:00:00.000-07:00

So, research for Sentinel's Run means that I've had tabs up in google all the time on heavy machinery, and I've been watching videos on equipment too. (Right now, I've got a Wikipedia article on backhoe loaders up.) I also spent quite some time today trying to figure out whether I wanted to spell it "plow" vs. "plough."

Being a writer is all about exciting research like this.

I spent an hour yesterday calculating the possibly velocities of all heavy machinery Mori and Coby might come across in a future world where technology might have improved, but also while relying primarily on solar power. (There's an unladen swallow joke in there somewhere.)

I can't imagine writing during a time when I'd have to go to the library for all this research--the librarians would have thought I was a total freak. Really.

Wendy: "I'd like a book on mean heavy machinery."

Librarian: "You mean ON heavy machinery."

W: "No, my heavy machinery has to attack people. I'll need something with grabbing capability... Oh! Oh! Maybe something that stabs... can you think of something that might stab a person? That'd be awesome!"

L: "Uhh. Are you the person who was asking about sleeping chickens a few months back? And whether you could kill a large amount of chickens without being caught?"

W: "Err... possibly."

L: "That's what I thought."

Writers are such freaks.

On the other hand, I'm really on the home-stretch for Sentinel's Run. I'm to 57K out of the projected 60K... but I think it'll be closer to 65K in the end... maybe. So, I should finish it sometime this weekend. Then, I'll do a revision run-through of it. I've got some squirrelly little continuity errors that I need to fix, but I don't want to ruin my momentum by dealing with them on this draft. After a revision run-through where I also work on the voice a little more... I'll do a Kindle read-through. So, I should have it to betas by next weekend... I think. I hope.

I'm not sure what to do with it after that. That's one thing about having an agent. We're focusing on Secrets of Skin and Stone and Curse Me A Story, so all my other little projects... I don't know why I'm working on them... other than my brain won't hush up AND it is good practice. I don't know.

I guess if Sarah wants to see anything else of mine... she can just ask.

Anyway, back to writing... it's time to kill a few more machines.

Finding the Story in the Music

2011-06-23T09:06:00.000-07:00

So, I mentioned on Twitter that I was eating breakfast this last Saturday and the song "Crash into me" came on in the diner, and it seemed to fit the relationship and feel for Sentinel's Run so completely. The following day I was still singing it as I was getting ready for church and the husband asked, "Do you need a different song stuck in your head?" I said, "Are you kidding... I love this song. There are worse songs to have stuck in your head." He laughed. "Yeah, but at church? That's a dirty song... the line just before "show your world to me?" I had to think about it and listen to it again to figure out what he was talking about.

So, this morning, I finally looked up the words to this song on lyrics freak and then I went to song meanings to see what other people thought of the words. (I find that site fascinating, btw... even when I think they're all crazy for what they think.)

I don't know if other people do this, but when I listen to a song... a storyboard plays in my head like the old videos from the early nineties where there was a story behind all songs. (If you don't believe me, check out Meatloaf's I Would do Anything for Love but Taylor Swift's Love Story is a classic for storytelling in a video in my opinion.) (On the other hand, anything by Lady Gaga just makes her songs make less sense. LOL.)

So, I've been thinking about the storyboard that plays in my head to Crash Into Me... and it's not the least bit dirty (though, I'll admit it depends on your definition of dirty--and I could see where my husband was going with that.) So, for fun, I thought I'd narrate the storyboard in my head for the song Crash Into Me by Dave Matthews Band. It looks nothing like the song's actual video which you can see here. I swiped the lyrics from lyrics freak and, of course, they're not mine at all... just the pictures in my head.

You've got your ball. You've got your chain--tied to me tight--tie me up again.

A man is coming home from a long day working. He is walking up the front walkway and he sees a light coming from the side of his house where they've got a big willow planted. With a smile, he goes around the side and stands underneath the willow and sees his wife is getting ready for bed after having waited up for him. They've been married a long time... but she still makes him hot.

Who's got their claws in you my friend into your heart I'll beat again.

His wife turns and sees him through the picture window of their bedroom. He's been coming home later and later because his job is demanding. His wife smiles... and instead of motioning him in... she gets closer to the window.

Sweet like candy to my soul. Sweet you rock and sweet you roll. Lost for you. I'm so lost for you.

His wife presses her hand against the window and tips her head and then she leans forward and kisses the window.... he smiles and then laughs outright when she does a big, nasty blowfish on the window.

You come crash into me and I come into you. I come into you. In a boy's dream. In a boy's dream.

He thinks back to the first time he saw her... he was only a boy compared to what the world has made him now. He was a teenager and he thought he knew of passion and happiness. She was a comet that smacked into him and turned everything upside down. He fell in love as a boy and that stayed with him as he became a man. Sometimes, the boy inside... well, he still loves the way she laughs... and the way she teases. Over a decade later... the man inside thinks they still feel like liquid heat when they make love.

Touch your lips just so I know. In your eyes, love, it glows so I'm bare-boned and crazy for you.

He can see in her eyes that she's remembering too. She touches her lips, kisses them, and presses her fingers against the glass. In some ways, he misses the days when their love was simpler, but it's grown and gotten into him, so not having her in his life makes him feel crazy. He should tell her that... he should, but it terrifies him at the same time. She has so much power over him. Even while he's at work, he's thinking of how things will affect her. If you stripped him down to the essence... down to the bones... she'd be there. Even when she makes him crazy and mad... she's his and he's hers.

When you come crash into me, baby. And I come into you. In a boy's dream. In a boy's dream.

She smiles slyly and undoes the first few buttons on her shirt. Matching her daring, he takes off his... shoes... which makes her laugh. Suddenly, they both feel like teenagers again, swept up in the rush of hormones and heat... and it's crazy... and giddy.

If I've gone overboard then I'm begging you to forgive me in my haste. When I'm holding you so, girl, close to me.

He has laugh lines now... perhaps they're also from frowning--he's been doing his fair share of that too. Once upon a time they only laughed together, and now they fight. They fight over money--over the fact that she wants him home more. He yells that he's trying to give her the world--like he always promised her he would. Somehow, he hopes that the times he's holding her make up for the times when he's trying to prove something that she already knows--that he's a man--that he can be what he thinks she wants. Of course... all she wants is him.

Oh and you come crash into me, baby. And I come into you.

One of her buttons gets stuck. She scowls at it for a moment and then just pulls harder. The button pings off the window in between them a moment later.

Hike up your skirt a little more and show your world to me. Hike up your skirt a little more and show your world to me--in a boy's dream--in a boy's dream.

Their bodies have both changed with marriage but the way he feels about her--hasn't. She still makes him crazy with want. He loves how female she is... that she sometimes puts on skirts at home when she gets home... just before sitting on the couch with him and a bowl of popcorn and late-night TV. He's pretty sure she does it just to tease him, but he likes that too. He likes it a lot. It makes him feel like a hot teenager again, making out on the couch. She's wearing a skirt now... and now she isn't.

Oh I watch you there through the window and I stare at you. You wear nothing but you wear it so well.

She finishes undressing, pretending he isn't there, and even turns off the light in their room before lying down in the white sheets on their bed. Normally... she wears one of his over-sized t-shirts to bed and steals a pair of his boxer shorts maybe. Tonight, she doesn't bother... she knows he'll be in soon.

Tied up and twisted the way I'd like to be--for you--for me....

She turns in the sheets and the white sheets twist around her as she does, twining around her body as she stares through the window into his eyes. She crooks her finger for him. With a smile she's always loved, he grabs his shoes and runs to the back door... tripping in his haste... She hears the back door slam and she grins at the ceiling. Their bedroom door opens--and he's managed to toss off most of his clothes throughout the house... and she sees the boy smile within the man she loves. They crash into each other in a mix of hungry mouths and arms and legs... and love.

Come crash into me.

So, what do you think? Is it dirty? Maybe, a little. Is my story anything like yours? Probably not. Maybe you don't even do that. I won't pretend that there aren't a few double entendres thrown into there. "Come into me" could be quite dirty... which I sort of like.

The story I just made around the lyrics actually has nothing, but nothing to do with the story surrounding Sentinel's Run--if anything--it's more like my own relationship with my husband (and, yes, we have a willow tree shielding our bedroom window from the world, but I promise this scenario has never played out.) But the idea of two people crashing into each other's lives with an explosion does have a lot to do with Sentinel's Run. I was venting on Twitter that I can't seem to stop my characters in Sentinel's Run from kissing--even though there are a lot of reasons they shouldn't be kissing... it doesn't matter... my characters keep kissing. That's why the song reminds me of them--that fiery hot explosion of emotions between people that seems to be obvious in young love.

Anyway, this is probably one of those posts that maybe I write just for myself and perhaps I've ruined this song for some of you. *Wendy sticks her tongue out* Yesterday was the kids' last day of school. I'm hoping to get some writing down today, but I might not... but I might... who knows. I'm making good progress, but I'm tired and my allergies are acting up. (I know... I talk about the sexiest things. Pollen is technically the reproductive matter of trees, so there's that.) Annnnnd now I've ruined pollen for you too. ; ) You're welcome.

Sample Sunday- Sentinel's Run

2011-06-19T22:12:00.000-07:00

So, I worked into the wee hours last night on Sentinel's Run, and I'm about to start off another stretch of writing tonight. (My kids get out of school on Wednesday so I'm running out of time.)

This book is all written from a 17 year old boy's perspective, Coby's. It's a Dystopian about a world where the machines have taken over and all boys aged 17 are sent off to fight on the front lines of defense against the robots for five years. Most never come home. Coby meets Mori and he's trying to save both their lives and right now they're on the wrong side of the line--they're on the machines' side of the line. He's managed to "rip out the brain" on an excavator and they're driving that around when this scene takes place--they've just run from a large drill, and it's chasing them.

This is what I wrote last night... it's rough... straight out of the tips of my fingers as it were.

The rotating cab meant that I gave Mori one last shot at the drill. When we were a good distance away, I gave into her shouts and pummeling on my arm and swung us sideways so she had a clear shot.

“Don’t act like you’re doing me this huge favor,” she said, scooting to the edge of the cab and putting both hands in front of her.

I wanted to shake her, just shake her. How could anyone be so aggravating and charming at the same time? It seemed impossible. I’d just saved both our lives! We’d nearly died a dozen times—some of which were her fault. I was doing her a favor.

“Don’t take the shot if you’re not sure,” I said.

“Oh, and now you’re telling me how to bolt?” She tossed me a look over her shoulder that seemed like it was meant to make me wither up and die on the seat.

I leaned forward and rested my arm on the steering wheel while shaking my head. Mori was something else. She was a piece of work. When I was leaning forward, I could see even more crows circling above us. I’d never seen this many near the line.

The drill was coming hard and fast toward us, but it had been damaged by some of the trees it had torn through. I was less worried now that we were off the ground. If worst came to worst, I could always swing my bucket and maybe knock the nasty tunneler onto its side. It was a possibility anyway.

Mori was grumbling “wait… wait… wait…” under her breath.

“Don’t wait too long,” I said, just to annoy her.

She snarled without looking at me. It made me smile. Something might be wrong with me that I was starting to enjoy fighting with her. It was most likely too much adrenalin and maybe the radiation even. Still, she looked beautiful when she was angry. Blessed earth, she looked beautiful all the time.

She groaned a sigh. “I can’t get a clear shot, Coby. That stupid drill is in the way.”

“Are you giving up?”

She gasped… which was answer enough even before she said, “Of course I’m not, you silly trencher.”

“You’re a silly trencher,” I murmured, smiling.

She glanced over her shoulder at this, and I didn’t drop my grin in time.

“You’re enjoying this.” I thought I could hear a smile in her voice, but she’d refocused on the drill which was now listing slightly to the side and clunky in its movements. She bolted a few crows while waiting for my reply.

I sat back against the seat. “It’s probably madness setting in from being in your company too long. Every time you start to make sense… I should just punch myself in the head.”

“I’ll punch you,” she offered and finally took the shot when the drill tipped just a bit. The bolt hit like a brick to the digitals inside, and it thunked to a stop only a hundred yards from us. She leaned back with a very satisfied smile.

“Nice shot,” I said.

“Yeah, it was.” Nice. Real humble.

O’course I sort of liked that about her.

Yeah, I should just let her punch me in the head for that.

Putting on the Plotting Pants Post

2011-06-18T13:12:00.000-07:00

*snickers* If you didn't notice the alliteration in that title... and giggle... I can't help you. *washes hands of you*

So, a while back, Sarah conned me into doing something that might just rewrite all my rules. Seriously. She asked me for a plot summary for a book I hadn't written. A BOOK... I HADN'T written. Naturally, my brain exploded, my world shrunk, and somewhere a fairy died, but I decided to give it a shot. What I came up with... was not at all pretty. I couldn't write a book summary. I could write a chapter-by-chapter summary, but not a book summary. I sent it off, with my apologies for its Frankenstein presentation, and Sarah was good with it... and didn't hunt me down and shake it in my face while shouting, "What the crap is this?" (I sometimes have paranoid and implausible fantasies about what might happen in a worst case scenario.) That was then... and I immediately turned around and did heavy revisions on two books right after, but the fact that I could summarize a book I hadn't written... hung with me... and it got into my brain.

Now, I'm trying to work on Sentinel's Run. (Sarah is distracted with other projects temporarily, so I'm working feverishly while she is.) It's been a year since I worked on Sentinel's Run. It fell casualty to other projects taking precedence and it's gone mostly untouched for a year now. I started it last June, wrote 25K, received a request from Sarah for a full and then copies of my other stuff... and then buried myself in other projects.

Ideally, I want to finish Sentinel's Run while still working on other revisions if requested. Moving from a YA paranormal to a Dystopian sounds like a nightmare, though. So, I decided to try a chapter-by-chapter plot summary. I've been working on that this week and I did it... I actually plotted out the remainder of the book. I can't believe I can do that. Then, yesterday, using my chapter summary, I added a full chapter to Sentinel's Run. I created a cheat sheet for voice while I was creating the summary, so I'm all plotty-plot-plotterton this time even.

In some ways, it's still pantsing because I can only write as far as the next chapter... and then the next chapter. It turns out looking like a fairly boring short story. I can't summarize the whole book--my mind doesn't work that way. I can build on each chapter, though.

So, how does this change all the rules?

I know this won't be the same book I would have written without the plot summary. My mind rambles down random paths in novels much like I do in these blog posts. With the plot summary in place, I won't do that. I really think this might tighten up my writing in a way I'm not managing in revisions. I'm wondering if I should do chapter summaries on some books after the fact... I'm thinking, seriously, that I might force myself to do this for all my books in the future... though possibly not until after the first few chapters are written.

For the record, I hated writing the chapter summaries. I let myself have a cupcake after I was finished and patted myself on the head and said, "You did it, Wendy! You're not a hack." It was seriously pulling teeth and my muse kept screaming, "We don't write this way! This sucks! I hate you! I'm going to go stick a dead rat on your pillow!"

So, when I finished writing the chapter last night... my first shiny new chapter on this WIP in a year... I wanted to find someone and shake them and shout, "I did it! I can plot! I can use a plotted out summary! I'm not a hack." Sadly, it was one a.m. and I was insane for still being awake, but it's the thought that counts.

Anyway, so my posts over the next few weeks will probably be all about Sentinel's Run and how much I love it and how I want to hug it and squeeze it and call it George. (Seriously, I love this story... I've tried to marry it, but our love will have to be a thing of dreams, but that didn't work out so well.)

Deriving Miss Daisy--Embracing the Derivative

2011-06-17T18:26:00.000-07:00

So, I first started thinking on this subject long ago, but it was brought to mind when I read several reviews on City of Bones and reviewers compared its themes to Star Wars and the writing style to work she'd done on Harry Potter fanfic. This isn't the first time I've heard of a book being compared to Harry Potter or Star Wars. I want to argue that the themes in both books were hardly invented by their creators but, on the other hand, what does it matter?

As a writer, you live with two big fears. The first being that someone will beat you to telling your story. Yes, that's right. If you're a writer and you're reading this, other writers have that same fear... the ticking clock of a great idea that you're afraid has already been brought to life. Maybe they'll do it better than you... maybe they'll do it worse... but they'll get there first, and that's terrifying. At least, it is to me. I worry that I'm too late to the game... every day.

The second fear is that people will see what you've written and think you stole your ideas or themes from someone else. I mean the reality is that there are no new ideas. There aren't. I once saw someone claim on Twitter that their idea had NEVER been done before. NEVER. EVER. Some folks laughed outright and some laughed inside our head and mentally patted this writer on the head and thought, "That's cute that you actually believe that."

Wow... I sound jaded, but I don't care.

The truth is: It's all been done before. IT ALL HAS.

I've been thinking this week that I'd go a step further and say, "YOU WILL STEAL IDEAS." We're not set in the middle of the ocean of nothingness to write our stories. Our stories are the product of so many different sources. Sometimes, it's as simple as a theme from a story you read and you think, "I could do that differently/better/with jazz hands and a hip wiggle." Sometimes, it's because you stayed up late watching Big Bang Theory, had some Chinese food which made your stomach grumble, and your dreams were out of control whacked... and, well, doable. Pop culture, a story your mom once told you, a book, a sign outside the women's restroom... we are all derivative. Your stories are not unique thoughts born of nothingness and ether and magic.

Anyway, I just had to get that off my chest.

BTW, Sentinel's Run... is based on Terminator, Harry Potter, Hunger Games, X-men, Running Man, a documentary on Kuwait, this boy I once knew, these pictures I once saw, this knife I researched for my Honor books, a fascination with farm equipment, and a sleepless night where I thought, "That could be a novel... really." But mostly Terminator. Well... about 17-18%. Of what I remember from when I watched Terminator when I was a teenager... and hated the ending so I never watched it again. It's completely derivative. We all are.

I Dream of Other Men

2011-06-16T08:51:00.001-07:00

Of course in my dreams, I'm another woman, so it's probably not cheating... and sometimes I kill them or put them in books so that's probably less worrisome.

So, naturally, since I opened up Sentinel's Run and started working on it last night, my muse tried to sabotage my efforts by throwing a different idea at me in a dream.

Here's the plot:

Seventeen year old girl (we'll call her Amy) with photographic memory is a night stocker at a retail store... one of her fellow stockers is an undercover cop, and she knows that because she broke into his car and went through his glovebox, and he has his real name on his car insurance. (Amy does stuff like this... because she just likes to know everything, and he wasn't quite making sense.) Something about him just gets into her head and she memorizes everything about him... everything. One night, she corners him and kisses him. He's into her too, but they get caught, and he gets fired because she is underage, and he's not--and the night shift manager has been looking for an excuse to fire the one male who isn't on the take for whatever scam they're running. The guy... err... we'll call him Derek... blows up the investigation but then leaves town because he feels weird because he let a seventeen year old get into his head and screw with his brain. (It's actually because he has feelings for her against his will, but that's what he tells himself.)

Five years later, Amy works at her sister's motel, and they have a guest that her sister wants to set her up with, but Amy thinks he's hiding something. (Plus, Amy knows someone is after her because she saw something she shouldn't have... but that's a minor detail in her mind. She always knew her memory would get her killed.) Her sister keeps trying to set them up, but both are proving resistant to the idea in spite of the fact that the guy admits he finds Amy attractive. Amy goes into his room and goes through his papers, and he walks in and catches her... and this is the scene I woke up with stuck in my head:

Amy held up the papers with a smile. She knew it... she knew he wasn't who he said he was.

"What are you doing?" a voice asked from behind her.

Hearing his voice without seeing him snapped everything into place and Amy winced. Was she destined to always fall for the same guy only to have him never be who he said he was. This was reaching cliche status. She only hopes he wasn't sent to kill her... because that would suck.

"What are you doing?" he asked again.

She turned and held up the documents. "Who are you really?"

Derek, who claimed not to be Derek, blinked. "I'm a pharmaceutical salesman from Detroit who is looking to relocate to the area."

Amy grinned and set the papers down. "I love how you say it like you're reading it from a paper. Of course, they all do--all the people I've known over the years who've been lying about who they are. You know why that is, don't you? It goes into a part of their brain that strips out the extras."

She could see the thought as it entered his head... she'd always been that good at reading people, especially him. It's time to distract her before she finds out too much; the thought hit his head and face at the same time. It was in the twitch of his eyelid, and the way his eyes went to her mouth. If he flushed a moment later, she'd know he was thinking of all the things she could do with her mouth--this happened about half the time she met a guy. It was the problem with having such a big mouth--guys were constantly trying to think of ways to keep it shut.

"So, you've changed your mind about me? Only you'd like to skip dinner and head straight back to my place?" he asked, approaching her. His skin hadn't flushed... he was probably too busy trying to figure out how to recover from this.

"It won't work, you know? Distracting me won't work."

He frowned as he slid his arms around her. "I could always have you arrested for breaking into my room."

So, he wasn't here to kill her. That was good. She'd wondered for a moment when he'd gotten close.

"My sister owns this place. I have the key. Besides, I might have been coming to bring you extra towels."

He looked down at the papers spread across the bed, the papers that she'd clearly been rifling through. "I could use extra towels."

"Too bad. You've already used your quota," she said, sliding her fingers through his hair and dragging his mouth down to hers.

He kissed like he did before--like he was putting it all on the line and holding nothing back. She'd never met another guy who kissed like he did. It was as if she was dancing through his thoughts and he was letting her. No one ever kissed like that... especially not with her.

A moment later, she pulled back and looked into his eyes--half in wonder--half in horror. She was doing it again... she was falling for a guy who was going to disappear and leave behind nothing more than his fake name and a whole lot of memories about how he liked black licorice or what songs he'd be too embarrassed to put on a mix tape even if he hummed them under his breath.

"A girl never forgets her first kiss," she murmured.

His eyes dilated a minuscule amount more, and he blinked again... that moment of recognition of what she was saying. Then, he opened his mouth to lie, but she headed it off. "Don't bother lying. I know it's you. By the way, your car insurance gave you away again. I mean, not that you're Derek... but that you're not who you say you are. The insurance policy is clearly for a government-owned vehicle. I've seen enough over the years to recognize one. So you work undercover for the government these days?"

Derek scowled, though she could tell he was secretly impressed. "It's been five years. I've changed my face."

He had too. He'd had some plastic surgery done at some point. In some ways, it was an improvement. In some ways, she missed his old face.

"Yes, but you kiss the same." She slid out of his arms.

(Scene/wrap/Wendy goes back to work on Sentinel's Run and leaves muse hanging)

Clark Kenting Characters

2011-06-12T14:00:00.000-07:00

Last night, I finished a revision of Mutants and came to a realization. Sometimes, I give my characters these amazing powers and then I either don't provide them the opportunities to use them or I brush over the scenes when they do.

I write Clark Kent's story rather than Superman's.

In some ways, this might appeal to my audience depending on who they are and how far I go with this. The average YA might find more to like and understand in a character with downplayed "exceptional" characteristics. I mean, that's the appeal of Smallville for the most part, in my opinion. It's first and foremost the story of Clark Kent. On the other hand, Clark Kent is such a fascinating person because he's Superman... isn't he? Or is it because he's both?

I think there is a balance there that sometimes I find and sometimes I don't.

For example, I've mentioned I'll be doing a "revision" of Secrets of Skin and Stone for the film agent at my agency. This is going to probably be something I address. My husband, when he read this book, had two primary comments.

First, he suggested that one of the flying scenes be shifted to be from Piper's POV rather than my gargoyle Gris's. Flying is nothing new to Gris... or Superman, so telling it from his POV will downplay the excitement of it. In the first Superman movie, when Superman takes Lois Lane flying the narration briefly slips into Lois's head while the song "Can You Read My Mind" plays in the background. You hear what Lois is thinking while you're seeing what she is experiencing.

It seems like a natural choice in narration to go with the most exciting voice in play in a scene.

Apparently, it wasn't, and I suspect it's because I'm a girl, I focused on Gris's emotions and his worries that Piper would think he was a freak. Piper is flying for the first time in her life! In her life! And I slipped into Gris's head instead. I chose emotion over excitement.

The second thing my husband suggested was the ending where I had the opportunity for Gris to use his powers as a "gargoyle" and I didn't; I went a different way and went for a more human approach to an endgame. I'm not sure if I want to change that, but it's a possibility in a major revision.

In the book I just finished revising, Mutants, Lucas has super-human powers. He's faster, stronger, can hear better, can see farther... but he doesn't use those powers as often you'd think he would. Why? Because his writer is telling the Clark Kent story. I've added a scene at the end to address that, but I suspect, the more I think on it, I need to punch that scene up and focus on Superman.

With both Gris and Lucas, I had the opportunity to go with Superman, and I focused on Clark Kent. As I said, I think this is honestly because I'm a girl. My first instinct as a writer is to still analyze the emotions.

Another reason I think I sometimes go with the Clark Kent persona is because I write "pantsing.' I think a plotter would know ahead of time where to place the focus in a scene. It's something I can work on in revision of course... or I might do some plotting in the future.

My writing style seems to evolve with practice, and this is just another one of those things I'm learning: the balance between telling the right story and Clark Kenting a character.

This week in writing I'll be taking revision notes from betas and doing a final revision on Curse Me A Story and sending it to Sarah. It'll be strange to have that off my "to do" list.

Those Extra Syllables

2011-06-08T09:56:00.000-07:00

So, late last night, some folks on Twitter may have seen a slight... we'll call it a writer's crisis. I couldn't figure out how to bring out the voice in Mutants, and it was killing me. I'd fixed the major plotpoints that I'd previously had issues with and which had come up with a few agents when I'd been querying. I'd added a rather beautifully violent scene that I just want to hug. But the voice was flat.

Flat.

Really flat.

Pancake flat.

I was discussing this on Twitter and toying with the idea of switching the viewpoint to third from first, but one of my Twitter friends suggested perhaps I needed to go deeper rather than push myself away through third person.

A little after midnight, I was going through the first chapter while listening to a youtube discussion on the southern accent when it hit me... syllables... I needed to steal syllables from Hallie and make a ton of her dialogue into contractions, something that is common in the South. (There is no "I would have" but it's "I would've.") Then, I needed to add syllables to Lucas's inner dialogue because he wasn't raised there, and he'd self-educated through textbooks. Not only will he say "I would have" but he'd add in adverbs like "logically" or "optimally."

So, this section of the manuscript:

I brushed by my mother. Her perfume wound around me like a snake. It wasn’t subtle. She wasn’t subtle. No boy wants to know that his mother uses her body to get what she wants, but there wasn’t room for doubt on that.

Became:

I brushed by my mother. Her perfume wound around me like a snake. It wasn’t understated. It was cloying and obvious. She smelled lethal and menacing to me. Perhaps that was why I was drawn to Hallie’s simple scent of strawberries. There were no musky sensual undertones which spoke to me of the reality: my mother lured men to their deaths with the perfume. No boy wants to know his mother uses her body to get what she wants, but there wasn’t room for doubt on that. That, of course, wasn’t the only reason I liked Hallie’s scent but, from a clinically objective viewpoint, I couldn’t refute it might be a part.

It's still rough, but it's changed quite a bit. I'm toying with it anyway, and I think I know where I'm going. It's all about the syllables. Lucas will get more and Hallie is losing hers. BAWAHAHAHA! This might end up adding to the length of the manuscript, some of which I just worked hard to delete, but I'll work that out on my next revision possibly or maybe Mutants will end up being 90K instead of 75K like I want.

Anyway, that's my Wednesday writing plan. Today, I'm going to be very busy, so I won't get as much writing time as I'd like. Le sigh. Maybe I'll manage it tonight. I'm feeling the drive to fix this, the rush of the step beyond creation. Sometimes, manipulation of something you've created is just as satisfying as the original success. This feels this way.

Teaser Tuesday

2011-06-07T13:34:00.000-07:00

So, the other weird thing about Mutants.... (see previous post) is that it's got epistolary sections in between chapters. For those not familiar with that word it's things like letters, diary entries, IM conversations instead of narrative prose. Mutant has everything from IM conversations to recipes to horoscopes to newspaper articles to excerpts from Hallie's school reports to emails in between each chapter. It's great fun that way. I think that's one of the things that Mutants currently has "going" for it in originality.

(BTW, one of my favorite books of all time that does this is Boy Next Door by Meg Cabot... and the whole book is written in that method, but other books do it and do it well. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society is another one. In YA books, I have a book called Sorcery and Cecilia in my TBR pile that is laid out in epistolary fashion, and my BFF loved that book.)

So, anyway, I figured I'd throw one of these in-between sections from Mutants here so you can see what I'm working on.

Lucas’s Notes (five months previously):

April 5

Couldn’t sleep last night, I kept waking up. I felt slightly fevery—though testing my temperature didn’t seem to bear out that hypothesis. After the third time, I got up and drew blood. It’s useful being ambidextrous. It makes it much easier to draw blood. I can’t imagine what it’s like for those that aren’t. My blood levels are normal. Everything seems to be normal. My temperature is 99.8 which is normal for us. I might try to increase my E-coli levels. Perhaps it’s something to do with puberty. The male body does go through changes of all kinds and reaches its sexual prime in one’s late teens.

Earlier today, I read an article about the copulation of Australian redback spiders. Male spiders will go without food or drink while in search of a female to mate with. Eventually, they’ll die of starvation or desiccation if they don’t find one. Of course, most females eat their partner after mating anyway, though. I’m speaking of these specific arachnids, of course. Though, sadly, the same seems to be true of my mother.

The Stories Behind the Voices

2011-06-06T17:03:00.000-07:00

This might be one of those posts that is just my internal dialogue spilling out onto the screen, but on the off-chance other people find the writing/revision process interesting...

I'm working on this other manuscript which I hadn't intended to work on at all. (Yes, I'm not working on my dystopian.) I've called it many names since I wrote it two years ago. Re: Straint and Good Girls Don't Date Mutants are the most memorable. We'll title it Mutants for right now and call it good.

So, Mutants is an odd little YA I wrote which doesn't fit in the genres I want it to. Most appropriately, it's probably a YA Science Fiction... which is yikes-worthy because Science Fiction isn't something that all agents and probably editors are begging for. This is even a Science Fiction Romance. A Contemporary Science Fiction Romance. I know, go figure... it's a mutant in itself really. It is one of the main reasons I originally queried Sarah... because her agency represents Science Fiction so I knew that I might eventually find a home for Mutants.

Anyway, so Mutants is the tale of a boy named Lucas who is one of 200 souls on the planet who has evolved to need bacteria to survive. Well, he does more than survive; he and the others of his kind are fast, stronger, can hear and see better, and are all around better. Unfortunately, he falls in love with a regular, average, every-day girl named Hallie. Some of his group, the Strain, don't agree with this and the more violent decide to kill them off. So, that's the story... a love story ... an infectious love story.

Unfortunately, Mutants has/had a little stalking problem. It glamorized stalking... which I didn't know how to get around it, but I've figured it out recently. Yay, no more stalking.

Now, Mutants has a little voice problem. It falls flat. It's set in Florida on the panhandle in a city. Setting, of course, we'll lead into voice. I set it where I used to live so that the accent wouldn't be a problem for me but then I just sort of forgot to add it in. Doh! No wonder it falls flat, huh? Well, I learned a ton about voice from revising SECRETS, and it's time to put it to work.

First, of course, there is character to take into account:

Lucas is a genius who has lived all over, so he most likely won't have a southern accent and his vocabulary will be higher. He's nineteen but he's led an anti-social life and buried himself in books so he'll stumble in conversations with Hallie. I need to work on establishing his voice quirks in my brain.

Hallie, on the other hand, is a senior in high school and she's lived in that city her whole life. She'll have an access and probably some colloquialisms. She's smart, but not as interested in science or learning as Lucas. She's more social than he is with more experience in dealing with others. She also is fearless when it comes to him and has no filter on what she'll say to him.

A few things I establish upfront with voice:

What are their word tics? What words do they say frequently that fill in gaps and create voice? (well, uhh, fine, rather, probably, yeah, cool, awesome, then, really, suddenly, hmm, just, maybe, anyway, still) I try not to overdo it so their vocabulary gets sloppy with the words, but they'll have those words.

What slang/profanity do they use? Piper always said "Frak!" but Gris more commonly said "Holy hell!" What will Lucas and Hallie and everyone else say?

How much will their upbringing and environment impact their speech? Is it mother or mama? Folks or people? Guys or boys? I just finished a revision on Curse Me A Story which is set in medieval times... and that was a whole different ball of wax, but their voices had really settled in by the end of the revision. I already know Lucas will call his mother "mother" both because he isn't originally from the South, but also because their relationship is distant. (She's a psychopath.) Hallie was raised there and has a really loving relationship with her mother. So, it's "mama" for her.

Once again, I'll be switching from feminine to masculine POV in first person in Mutant so there are also gender differences to account for. My husband's speech pattern is nothing like mine. One of my non-writing friends first drew my attention to this. She'd beta read my books and highlight words and say, "Guys don't say this, Wendy." Sometimes it was entire sentences, but sometimes it was individual words. In her opinion, guys don't use the word "so" like women do. I started listening to the differences between the speech of men and women after that. I mean, obviously, there are no finite rules with speech, but I can decide which words MY male character will not be saying, but my female character will.

There is also a distinction between what a person will say out loud and what they'll think in their heads that I try to factor in when I'm writing in first person, but that's a final draft sort of fix.

I was talking with Sarah about how what I learned from SECRETS is helping me revise MUTANTS. I'm also beginning to realize that this deep revision I'm doing on MUTANTS may help me with the revision I'll need to do on SECRETS for the film agent. Writing has always been like that for me... I learn through burying myself in manuscripts and then finding my way out. Once again, I'm glad that it's taken me as long as it has. I couldn't have improved CURSE ME or MUTANTS without the lessons I learned from SECRETS on voice.

Anyway, that's what I'm working on right now. Well, I'm still trying to work on removing the stalkery aspects and then I'll focus on voice idiosyncrasies, but that's my plans for this week. By the end of revising to focus on voice, I'll hear their voices in my head and it will be so thoroughly lovely that I might write about it again. I'm weird like that.

Have a good week, everyone!

Rare and Wonderful Unicorn Books

2011-06-02T10:58:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, Diana and I were talking and she said something that stuck with me. She'd been gushing love for the second book in the Hunger Games trilogy and she said, "You know how you're always looking for that perfect book? That book that doesn't disappoint you? That book you enjoy from beginning to end and your inner editor turns off? THIS is that book!" I honestly thought the first in the trilogy ended up being even closer, but she wasn't wrong. And it stuck with me because I realized other people are searching for THOSE books too.

When you become a writer, it sometimes spoils reading for you. It's hard to turn off the voice inside that notices little things... the voice that wishes the author had tilted just a bit and gone a different way. Then there is the shouting during the truly awful books that make you wish you could bleach your brain or poke out your eyes.

Then, there are the unicorns... the mythical creatures so rare that when you find them you want to point them out to everyone--those books... THE BOOKS. You know which ones I'm talking about. The ones that don't require you to say, "It's really good other than...." when you recommend them. The ones that you just want to run and buy more copies to stick under your pillow and hopefully osmosify into your brain. (I can make up words like that--I'm a writer.)

These rare creatures make your heart sing... they make you believe that it's not just the trends being published... they make you shiver and dream of someday writing something even half as good. They make you wish that books never ended and a new page would show up tomorrow in the story. Or maybe you feel so satisfied with the ending you reread it again and again. They are the unicorn books.

When you become a writer, these books become even more rare. You know there is a man behind the curtain, and it's sometimes hard to lose yourself in a book like you once did. It's hard to not see the hand of the writer when you're reading.

I'm almost afraid to pick up a book that someone else has recommended because I know it'll disappoint me. The books won't keep their promise clear to the end... or maybe they will... and I'll regret that too because it wasn't a promise worth keeping. I hate when low expectations are met almost more than when high expectations aren't.

Don't get me wrong, I read commercial fiction and romance books where the sole promise is that they'll entertain. They don't let me down, but they're not unicorn books for the most part. My expectation is that they'll make me happy for a few hours but I'll ultimately forget them and reread them in a year or so. Sometimes, they rise above that expectation. Mostly they don't, and that's okay because I've lost myself in an entertaining book for a few hours and I'm grateful.

The other beautiful thing about unicorn books when you find them as a writer is that you can talk about them. You can TALK about them. You don't have to watch what you say and worry that an author, their editor, their agent, or their fans are going to take issue with what you say. You can say exactly what you think.

So, what is this all leading up to?

I loved the book Coraline. (We read it for our book club read this last month.) I loved it to scary, creepy, weird little pieces. I'm sure it's not a unicorn for everyone, but it was for me. I just wanted to hug it and say, "YES! This is what writing should be about! This is a good book!" Some of the lines were so perfect. SO PERFECT!

I've read a few books recently that let me down--drastically--and I just thought, "How was this published?" It was good to read a book that lived up to its promise.

That's not the beginning or end of my unicorn list, of course, but it got me thinking about the topic of living up to the promise to your reader that you present on the first page or the expectations they have when they look at the cover.

Also, it would be cool one day to have someone think my book was a unicorn book... but anyway.

On the subject of writing, Sarah is still working on notes, so I'm off the hook for a bit. I opened up my Dystopian WIP and I'm thinking of... *gasp* plotting out the book, so I can pop in and out of it a bit more in the coming months. (I know. This sounds like crazy talk to me too.) I also figured out a way to address an issue in my book Re:Straint/the mutant thing. I hope I have anyway. So, it's revision and plotting for me this week... and hopefully I'll hear back from my betas on Curse Me A Story soon. Have a good day everyone!

The Art of Deletion

2011-05-29T13:56:00.000-07:00

So, I mentioned that I've been working on Curse Me A Story this previous week while Sarah was busy with BEA. I finished converting it to first person POV from third person POV which went well, and I like it. I like it a lot actually. It does create a quandary, though. Well, two quandaries.

The first quandary isn't necessarily a quandary so much as something I've noticed, I suppose. In a first person POV, even sex that is off the page... isn't quite so far off the page. In Curse Me A Story the characters are married and it's very, very off the page, but switching it from third to first person seems to drag it closer to the page itself. You're buried in the characters' thoughts so it makes sense that something as big as sex... wouldn't just stay in the background. Still, I hadn't realized that would happen, and I'm not sure what to think about it.

The second quandary is also due to the absence of the prologue and not just because of the conversion. (BTW I love it without a prologue. Sarah was soooooo right.) With the change to first person and a bit more inner dialogue, my first four chapters feel info-heavy even though I'm not sure that I added all that much. So, I need to work on those now and that might be a process that I come back to before Sarah and I tackle pitching Curse Me A Story (eventually.) (Sarah asked me to do this revision of Curse Me A Story back in January before she'd seen SECRETS and then she fell in love with SECRETS so we've been working on that.)

Adding elements to a story has never been a problem for me. Deleting excess... is much harder. Cutting without destroying flow? Oy. Snipping out unnecessary inner dialogue... makes my stomach cramp. I mean, when it comes down to character development... what is unnecessary? I'm trying to figure out how one does this. I'm convinced it must be an art. I've heard of writers highlighting everything they think is vital and then doing a cut and paste into a new document. I'm tempted to try that. Also, I'm terrified of that. LOL.

My goal, for today, is to cut 1K from the first four chapters. Ideally, I want it to be around 73K--which is where it started out the week. It's at 74, 693 words right now.

I did a read through on my Kindle and I've got around 200 notes to address too. Some are quirks left over from the conversion. (These quirks are hilarious to me because it sounds so disembodied when they turn up.) "I told himself not to worry." "My hand brushed her hair from my face." They're sort of creepy and funny... but I'm choosing not to share them with beta readers. I'm selfish that way.

In writing news... which isn't really news, Sarah met with the agency's film agent while at BEA, and they discussed my book and I'll have notes from that conversation as soon as Sarah recovers from the long week. I might be doing some requested work on SECRETS when I get those. So, I might be out of the cursed castle and back into Hidden Creek again fairly soon.

Being agented is different. You can't just pick up something random that you've worked on once upon a time and play around with it to your heart's content. It makes me grateful, once again, that this process took as long as it did. I have all these completed manuscripts behind me that I wouldn't have the time to just write "just because the story was there and I felt like it." Don't get me wrong, I love the SECRETS world of Hidden Creek. I love Piper's and Gris's voices. If I'm going to keep getting dragged back into a world... well, this is awesome, but it is different from how writing is before you're agented.

*Wendy looks at her dystopian and sighs*

In March, Sarah warned me to write what I wanted because it might be the last time I could work on whatever I wanted. Instead of working on the dystopian, I dove back into Hidden Creek and wrote PROMISES. I don't think Sarah regrets that because it fleshed out the world and there is the possibility I might make changes to SECRETS based on PROMISES. I don't completely regret it, but there is some part of me that keeps looking at the dystopian I want to work on and wondering if I actually need to sleep ever. I keep having crazy thoughts like, "If I work on SECRETS during the day in June, I can work on Sentinel's Run at night instead of sleeping."

Writers are crazy.

I'm the king of crazy... err... queen... or whatever.

Okay, well, that 1K isn't going to delete itself. Unless there is a massive harddrive failure... in which case... *knocks on wood*

I hope you guys are having a good weekend.

Speak... and don't ever hold your peace

2011-05-23T09:59:00.000-07:00

So, Sarah is at BEA (BookExpo America) this week which is a huge publishing conference for those non-writers out there. I asked her what I was supposed to be working on this week while she was gone. (Yes, I did get her the summary for Book 3, all you doubters out there. I'll have to write a post about that at some point. It was an interesting and worthwhile exercise--not just because I proved that I CAN do it.) She told me I could take a break. *Wendy laughs* A break! That's funny. I like that. A break. Yeah, but really... what am I supposed to be working on?

So, I'm working on the revision of Curse Me A Story this week. Sarah wanted me to drop the prologue and polish it. Well, after my recent focus on the Hidden Creek series, I just think this story needs its voice oomphed.

I know, I talk about voice a lot.

Honestly, voice is what makes or breaks a story for me. If I can't "hear" the voice of the characters in my head while I'm reading a story, I typically feel "meh" about it.

With Secrets of Skin and Stone, the turning point for me was when I realized I needed to add a southern voice to the book. That changed everything for me. Then, I really could hear their voices. In fact, I've had a hard time getting them out of my head.

Curse Me A Story is a fairytale retelling in a medieval setting so that's not the way I'll go this time of course. This story began as a first person POV story, and I switched it to third person. I'm wondering if that was a mistake. That's such a tough call with some stories. With others, it's never even a decision... it's obvious. Secrets of Skin and Stone was that way. Of course it was meant to be in first person. OF COURSE! With Curse Me A Story, I'm less sure.

Anyway, so this week's project is to breathe voice into Curse Me A Story and rework the beginning so it stands without a prologue. Wish me luck!

It's the end of the world as we know it... or not...

2011-05-21T09:48:00.000-07:00

...but either way, I still feel fine, and I made CBS News for my tweets: Woo! Woo! I'm the big time now, baby!

One of my followers on Twitter said, "I'm sure you've already seen this, but...." and I looked at the screenshot of that page and responded: "Is this like a joke?" NO! Well... yes, sort of... but really, I did make a news page.

Surreal, isn't it?

I told Sarah (the Wonder Agent) that she has bragging rights next week at BEA (a big publishing convention.) Anyone can publish a book... but getting your tweets on CBS News? *fist bumps all around*

My BFF put it all in perspective last night when she responded to my manic screaming excitement with: It's a sad, sad day when CBS starts putting weirdos' tweets out for everyone to see.

And my brother told me I'd misspelled "judgment." (For the record, both spellings of judgement are correct... so there.)

It goes to show you, you can be a big hot shot on Twitter and get your fifteen minutes of fame, but among family and friends, you're still you.

Well, today I need to finish revisions on that short story which keep getting interrupted. LOL. I open up the document and suddenly fifty people converge on me, wanting my attention. *cautiously opens document* *looks around empty house*

I don't have my BFF's son this weekend (like all last weekend) and the husband--the rockingest husband in the world--has taken the kids off on a field trip to Seattle to study up origami for B's big school project.

I also have that plot summary for Sarah to do *eyes doubters* WHICH I've started and made progress on! So there!

*cracks knuckles* Even big shots have to do a little work sometimes. Have a good Saturday, everyone... if you're not Raptured... if you are, I assume you'll have a good day too.

What's in a name... besides EVERYTHING!

2011-05-19T21:04:00.000-07:00

Okay, so *deep breath* Sarah the Wonder Agent wants me to write up a summary for the third book in the Secrets of Skin and Stone series of books. The film agent with the agency feels like the plot for the first book might not be big enough for a film, so she is currently reading over the second book, Promises of Light and Dark, along with Sarah. Since producers sometimes combine a series of books into a single film... they'll need to know the plot of the third book.

The third book.

The one I haven't written... other than about 500 words which wouldn't let me sleep.

So, I'd be writing... wait for it... a plot summary.

*Wendy runs screaming across the internet clutching her pantsy nature to her chest*

Everyone I told this too has reacted with mad laughter and even some snort laughing. I've gained a bit of a reputation as a straight pantser among my betas... especially since everyone finds it unreal that I don't know how a book ends until I get there and I'm breathing down its neck. My husband suggested I'd have more luck just writing the entire third book before the Sunday deadline.

He might be right.

I'm determined to try, though. To that end, I need to settle on a name. (Not that it won't ever be changed... but I like to have a name in place so that I can make sure I tie it in nicely throughout the book. I hate when a book doesn't fit its title.)

Okay, so it's the third in the series and I like the structure I've got going with the other two:

1) Secrets of Skin and Stone

2) Promises of Light and Dark

So, for the third, I've picked two different names but I'm open to suggestion if you all think these are stinky.

Whispers of Sin and Salvation

Whispers of Good and Evil

Do you like either of those? Or do you have suggestions?

Thanks, everyone. *blows kisses to all of you*

ETA Amalia suggested something with "Fate" and I'm liking:

Fate of Flesh and Spirit

What do you think?

ETA AGAIN: HOLD THE PHONE... actually my good friend on Twitter and beta reader @TechSurgeons came up with the right title (of course, he's cheated and read the two previous books so he had a head start on most of you.) This works on a few levels that only beta readers might get, so it's perfect for my working title.

It'll be titled:

3.) Betrayals of Blood and Spirit

Thanks, everyone who played along for the short burst of time I was working on this. *hugs all around*

Ten Years Ago....

2011-05-09T22:05:00.000-07:00

So, today B is ten. Ten. My daughter is ten years old. It feels impossible. She's not just a child. Definitely no longer a baby. She's a girl. She's a preteen. She's into the double digits where she'll most likely spend the rest of her life.

My daughter is growing up.

Ten years ago, I'd been in labor for eighteen hours by the time B was born at just before 2 a.m. I was sooooo ready to be a mom. I'd wanted to be a mom my whole life. I'd been through miscarriage after miscarriage. It had taken years for us to get pregnant. Then, B was born... and she never cried. I was exhausted but something felt wrong... but I was so tired. When I woke up after an exhausted couple hours sleep they were already preparing to transport her by ambulance. She'd never cried because she was born with an air pocket in her lung that collapsed it. I didn't even see her again before they'd taken her to a different hospital to a NICU.

The only way for me to see her again was for me to check out... I was out of the hospital by 7 a.m. that same morning and on my way to see my baby.

(By the way, checking out that soon after a long labor and delivery is a bad idea... just so you know. The NICU was on the seventh floor in this other hospital. I remember the elevator going up and I nearly smacked the floor as I just about passed out from vertigo. We're talking... I was sure I'd stayed on the first floor and fallen through the floor levels of vertigo. Maybe in third world countries and classic books they're out there in the fields right after having given birth, but, dudes, it ain't pretty.)

There is a weird sense of reality when your dreams tip on their sides and spill out across your life. It happened that day when my daughter was immediately taken to a different hospital after what had seemed like a regular first delivery. It happened again when the doctor told us she wasn't hearing-impaired but that he suspected she had regressive Autism. It happened over and over as I've grown as a mother and my dreams have changed as my daughter has changed them.

I didn't think I could be as strong and brave as I am, but my daughter has made me that way. I would have guessed some of my realities today might have crushed me if you'd told me about them ten years ago.

It started that first time I opened my eyes as a mother, and they said my daughter was in an ambulance and on her way to a different hospital... and I could either stay and recover or get up and leave the hospital WAY too soon. (Dudes, it was way too soon... I had vertigo for nearly a year and not just in EVERY elevator... it was all the time.) (BTW, B was given pure oxygen and her lung's pocket resolved itself and her stay in NICU was only a few days.)

From that day on, I've done crazy things to be the mother my daughter needed. I've failed in so many way... but in the important ways, I haven't.

Today, B is a beautiful girl on her way to being a beautiful woman. Today, she is ten.

In ten years, I've become a fighter... a crazy, ambitious, loving, frazzled, and less-than-perfect fighter. My daughter has taught me that. Sometimes, you have to do the crazy thing to be the right person for the best person to ever whisper into your life on a May morning in 2001.

Happy birthday, B. Thanks to you the ladybugs found their voice and learned to roar a long time ago. Love, Mom.

On this my thirty-fifth birthday....

2011-05-05T08:35:00.000-07:00

I expected to be depressed today. Not because I'm growing older. Growing older feels like a right and a privilege. I've lived long enough to live... so why not earn some wrinkles? It's that number. Thirty-five. Ever since I was a girl, I'd planned on two things: to be a mother to five kids and to be done with that by thirty-five.... because thirty-five is the age when you get extra tests when you're pregnant. Most of you know that our risk of Autism in a third child is so high that my husband doesn't feel right about having more kids. (I waffle between agreeing with him.) The fact that I've had and continue to have miscarriages (despite taking precautions) just really twists the knife on this.

So, as this day approached, I expected this feeling of dread to continue to build and to be depressed today. I expected to just want to crawl into a corner and wait for this day to go by.

As I was driving up the hill into our neighborhood after dropping off the kids... our SUV was chugging a bit and I thought, "Today... I'm so thankful for this car. Thank you, God, for this car and that it's running." I thought of the two booster seats behind me. "Thank you, God, for the two kids that I have... and that T didn't fight me on going to school or wearing different shoes because his had mud all over them. Thank you for B who made her brother breakfast this morning. Thank you, God, for my husband... who has gone to work all these years without complaint to support us... and for the fact that he has supported everything I've ever chosen to do... from painting to writing to staying home."

On this my thirty-fifth birthday, I have a lot to be grateful for. I have a lot that I'm grateful I've lived to see. I expected to wake up and feel the loss of what I can't have today... and, instead, I feel so incredibly grateful for what I do.

Life is too short to wrap yourself in grief and let it rush by you. It's too amazing to wish it away. It's a breath. A heartbeat. A dream. And then the moments are gone and you wish you'd done something more than let them pass while you were busy regretting them.

On this my thirty-fifth birthday, I'm grateful to be thirty-five.

I really am.

Anyway, I'm going to work on Promises of Light and Dark today because that sounds like a nice way to spend the morning while my kids are at school. I finished my read-through of Secrets which helped me nail down the voice quirks and I started revision on Promises Tuesday night. Every so often when I'm writing a book I have this refrain in the back of my head: "I hope this works... I hope this works... I hope this works..." as I'm writing. It's not until the revision and I'm reading and the story rises out of the words that I can tell that it's actually working.

I was in a pretty good mood for a lot of yesterday because of that. There's a bit of a "hot damn, it's working" feeling... which... I swear, Mom, the profanity is justified here. Writing is sometimes like magic that you're afraid if you squeeze it too hard, it'll die. It feels like a tightrope between just enough words doing hard work at description and filling in the spots that need them and not too many words conveying emotions. So, when it works... and you can see and feel what's going on in a story... it's very "hot damn." I got that feeling about two pages into Promises and it was a relief and a bit exhilarating. I didn't want to slow down on reading to do revision. Nobody but me has read it yet, so we'll see if that feeling continues. Still... it works! *shakes you* It works! I'm not a hack! Not today!

So that's how I'm spending my Thursday and some of my birthday. Happy Cinco De Mayo!

Days You Wish Your Characters Were Mutes

2011-05-03T08:54:00.000-07:00

I'm mostly kidding.

I'm working on revising Promises of Light and Dark this week (I finished it on Saturday) which means I'm running through Secrets of Skin and Stone to get the voices in my brain for a read-aloud revision this week.

Normally, I can keep little character idiosyncrasies in my head, but having Piper be born and raised in Hidden Creek, Alabama where Gris was raised in Atlanta and has traveled around a lot to large cities... their speech patterns are different. As I mentioned, this book is in first person POV with alternating POV between the two. I have to make sure that Gris's chapters don't sound like Piper's chapters... and they both are consistent through the books. So, I've been going through Secrets of Skin and Stone and creating lists of the commonly used words and words they don't use for each of the characters that have chunks of dialogue. I also have an "all" list which includes all the southern speech quirks that apply to everyone. (Y'all, Ma'am... and so on.) Piper's and Gris's lists are very extensive.

Here is where I am for those two at half-way through the book (I think I've caught most of the major ones, though.):

Gris: Leastways, sweetheart, reckon, course, darn near, right (as in right near, right obvious, right awful, right sorry) fine, likely (instead of probably), alright, ought, clear out, NO fixin’ to, sorta, Great night in the morning, hell-fire, downright, holy hell, heck, anyways, overly much, real vs. really, yeah/sure vs. yes, bike vs. motorcycle, Mmm hmm, smidge, I had a mind, plenty, say so, partly, ‘member vs. remember, figure vs. think, scraping of, huh, skirt the edges of, as all get out, pissy, heap, bent, ornery, wholly vs. completely, just see if I wouldn’t, DOESN’T say though, by any stretch vs. by any means, fierce vs. brave, for darn sure, on account of, get a handle vs. get control, yonder, sides vs. besides, sweet, were something else, best (best stop, best not), holy crap, gotta, such as it is, and then some,

Piper: ‘Cause, though, real vs. really, downright, course, shoot, fixin’ to, flat-out, sorta, Holy frak, messing with, hide nor hair, all sorts of, alright, much of a, ought, sucked eggs, yeah/sure vs. yes, fine then, nah, fault vs. blame (you can’t fault), gotten, every now and again, all that, most often, paid no mind, anyways, nothing short of, fairly, C’mon, if it came right down to it, darn, weird, freak, amazing vs. awesome, Good night!, aggravating vs. annoying, smidge, leastways, particularly, neither vs. either, Heaven knew, heaps vs. loads, sensible, ‘neath, sticks yourself into commands (hush yourself, stop yourself), wrangled vs. wrestled, great green earth, lick of sense, by your leave, Umm, “his fool head off”, “some kind of”, look a treat, “Oh almighty no”, chucked vs. threw, shut my mouth!, tuck away food vs. eat, sorry (sorry tail, sorry fool), seeing as how, get purchase, tore off of, ain’t,

Some of these quirks I'll have remembered or might have worked their way in when I did the read aloud. (Piper's voice is very distinctive and persistent in my brain.) Still, I think it's a useful list and there is no way I'd be able to remember ALL that. I'd forgotten that none of them say "awesome" and you've probably noticed from how I write that I typically use that word a lot.

I've also been doing a cheat sheet of eye colors and random little facts that I know come up in the second book.

I'd planned to shelve Promises of Light and Dark for six months after I'd run it by some betas and my sisters, but Sarah asked to receive a copy to maybe slide by the film agent at the agency. (Having your agent follow your Twitter feed is useful... but also means you can't sneak projects by... which is also probably useful. LOL. I'm learning a lot about the film rights aspect to this business which is fascinating and strange, btw.)

So, I'll be busy for the next two weeks probably with this revision. You can openly mock me for my blog posts which will probably be a cross between my regular speech and Piper's. *head slap*

BTW... creating this list really made me wonder what my own personal speech idiosyncrasies list would look like. I know I say the word "awesome" overly much... and my kids use the word "actually" like it is actually going out of style and I know they got it from me. "Holy crap" would also make my list. My internal dialogue and written thoughts would look much different... that's another thing that's significant when you're writing characters in first person with distinctive dialogue voices... they're not quite the same inside their heads. You drop speech hesitation (umm... hmmm) and decrease their polite speech quirks. Piper is much less polite in her head. I am too, btw. I swear a bit in my head. *hangs head in shame*

So... that's what I'm up to. Revision. Revision. Revision. Voice. Voice. Voice.

I'm still really hoping that my brain doesn't latch onto book three, though. *fingers crossed* As much as I like Hidden Creek... I really want to work on my dystopian before I have to change my dates in the manuscript to make them actually take place IN the future. (Mostly kidding... I think my characters aren't even born for a few years yet, but still... I really want to finish this book!)

Have a good Tuesday, everyone!

Once upon a time... I had a really good Monday.

2011-05-02T15:05:00.000-07:00

I placed 2nd in a contest and several of my Twitter friends made it into the anthology with me. It's a YA short story anthology published by Buddhapuss Ink. Here is the winners/placement announcement: http://buddhapussink.blogspot.com/2011/05/and-winners-are.html

It's the first YA short story that I'd written AND it was a mystery so I was really, really nervous about it.

So, for a Monday... that ain't bad.

What I Love About Hidden Creek

2011-04-30T09:08:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I know I complain about the fact that I'm working on the sequel to Secrets of Skin and Stone when I'd planned to be working on my Dystopian. I know I whine about being stuck in Piper and Gris's heads because the southern accent is sometimes so hard... and Piper's OCD thoughts sometimes feel too heavy to work with... but I was lying in bed just now and thinking about how much I love the way these books work.

For those that don't know, both these books are in first person POV which alternates between Piper and Gris. One chapter inside Piper's head... and then one inside Gris's. What I love about this is that I can explain why Gris is about to do something in his POV... and then have him doing it while in Piper's POV and have her completely misinterpret his motives. This also happens vice versa of course. Also, I can have them both trying to figure out other characters and have Piper's thoughts sooooo obviously female and Gris's just the opposite. It feels like, as the Writer/Reader, we are the only ones who know all the secrets. It's very secrety. I love knowing secrets like this.

(Knowing all the secrets is actually one of my favorite parts of being a writer. Seriously. You know them ALL. Well, that and you can make up words and own them. Like "secrety." You all bought that because I'm a writer, huh? *fist bumps readers* )

Looking back, I'm glad I've done the books this way also because when you get a healthy dose of Piper's worries that her OCD makes her a freak... it's balanced with Gris's thoughts about how much he loves her just how she is. I like that. I know other people thought I was okay and loved me when I was a teenager but I was too wrapped up in my own OCD to see that. So, in this way, writing these books continues to be a bit of a catharsis for me. It's okay that I was the way I was. Seeing it through Gris's eyes has really helped me realize the truth of that. Piper's quirky behavior isn't as abhorrent or freaky as she thinks. She's not as obviously dark and broken as she thinks she appears... in fact, she's neither. When you ARE Piper... you can't see that. I wish everyone got a chance to see their character through the eyes of somebody who loves them.

So, there are things that I really love about writing these books and the way they are. I do love Gris's POV more than Piper's... and Piper's POV still sometimes makes me cry, but that's okay too.

Anyway, I'm still hoping to get out of Hidden Creek soon... despite the fact that I'm realizing if there is a second book... there is a third book unless I rewrite how I think this one will end. (Secrets of Skin and Stone was written as a stand alone, but my brain doesn't want to get out of Hidden Creek.) I'm hoping finishing this second book won't catapult me into the third book. I really want to finish off some of these WIPs this summer.

BTW, I've got awesome non-Secrets of Skin and Stone news that I hope to be able to share soon. Sorry for the tease, but even though I like secrets... I like being able to share them even more. (Hence why I'm a writer.)

In the meantime, I need to finish Promises of Light and Dark... hopefully today. *fingers crossed* It'll need a heavy revision for voice and to make sure I've threaded enough description and hints throughout, but the rough draft will be done. Yay! Then, maybe I'll be able to move on to my Dystopian. Double yay! Well... after I do a revision of it. Subdued yay!

High stakes, apple shampoo, grave-robbing, and a glimpse into the occult...

2011-04-25T10:25:00.000-07:00

So, I'm still working on Promises of Light and Dark (55, 539 words right now) but I'm holding onto the hope that I may finish it in the next two weeks. It'll need to have a thorough revision before it's shelved for six months to "think about what it's done."

This isn't the first follow-up book in a series I've written, but it's the first book I've written when I hadn't intended initially for it to be a series when I wrote the first book. Writing in a series is different...

First of all there is the continuity issues. I totally forgot the name of one of my minor characters and had to cheat and look it up... then, I changed the scent of Piper's shampoo to strawberry. Luckily, I caught the shampoo thing and fixed it to apple. It's a little thing, but it's not... Gris has associated the scent with her for months.

I'm also trying to remember their dialogue quirks that I've established. For example: Gris never uses the word "though" and he uses the word "because" and "leastways." Piper uses the word "though" and drops the first of "because" and says "cause" and she sometimes slips in a "fixin' to." There are anybody vs. anyone quirks and folks vs. people to remember. Yikes... that's even before you get to their body language. With established characters with a regional dialect... it's a heap of yikes whenever I sit down to write. Their voices have to be consistent... and some of that is just going to have to be fixed in the rewrite.

Then, there is the stakes. In the first book, there was a murder mystery and the constant threat of violence hanging over their head. It's expected that there would be some escalation of what is at stake in a second book. I've escalated the emotional impact of everything because Piper and Gris are now an established couple and I've killed a slew of chickens; I'm about to do some grave-robbing; finally, we've messed around in the occult (thanks to some help from friends on Twitter.) Is it enough?

I just don't know.

Will I have to murder someone?

Maybe.

Last week I went to a book signing with my sister. Jayne Ann Krentz had a new book come out under her Amanda Quick pseudonym. My mom is a huge fan and so I grew up reading her books. For those who don't know much about her, she is a very prolific and established writer. (Her complete book list) She has several series of books set in established worlds with interconnected story lines. I simply can't imagine this. Several people there were HUGE fans and one of them had brought a little list of suggestions for her. Several had comments about her use of characters called "dust bunnies." It was interesting to watch her field questions about her "worlds" and know that writers who write series have that to look forward to. The thought of having to keep track of all that she does... makes my brain explode. Too many balls to juggle.

(BTW, my trip to Seattle did also provide the opportunity to try a Peanut Butter Bacon Burger. (Piper's Special) It was really good. I've conned several people on Twitter into trying one should Sarah sell my book.)

Anyway, so books in a series... are different. Really. And I really should be writing things down. (One of the few things relating to writing that I can't stand... it feels too much like work.)

So, my plans for this week are to continue working on Promises of Light and Dark and hopefully get some house-cleaning done. My kids have been very complicated lately so the house has suffered in a major way. They've made my brain melt. I swear, they have. This week has got to be better than the last two... right? RIGHT?

An Idea is Born

2011-04-16T10:16:00.000-07:00

I don't know how other writers begin a WIP. Well... clearly they begin with an idea. The plotters sit down and plot it out. The pantsers begin writing. As you know, I'm a pantser, but I think even for a pantser... I'm pantsy. No. Really. Not only do I not plan things ahead, I throw things in without even knowing what they mean.

This morning, I woke up with an idea... Last night, I was rereading a romance set in regency times... (sue me... I'm a girl... I read these things...) and they were listing off how many servants worked at this Duke's mansion and I realized that you rarely read the stories about these hundreds of other people in the story. His primary residence had a hundred servants in this story. When you couple that with the fact that I've recently realized how few dukes there really were during that time... Why do the dukes get the stories? It's not fair. What about the scullery maids? How about the grooms in the stables? Did they not have interesting stories? Crap, there were all these invisible people with lives that just didn't matter because they weren't one of the few dukes around.

An idea is born.

My ideas walk in fully-fleshed with even strange little details that I have no clue what they mean and that's how they start. I type them out of my head and, if I'm lucky, they'll leave me alone and I can go back to working on whatever I'm working on... or... not. Or the next scene drops into my head.

Since I'm probably doing a lousy job explaining it, why don't I just show you. Here is this morning's idea in rough draft form and it would be like a "prologue" to a four part anthology of novellas. (Yes, oy... exactly.) This is how my ideas are born... screaming and ready to keep me up at night. (BTW... I have no idea what the ogre or the whispering ring have to do with anything... therein lies a tale apparently. I'll know when I get there.)

I believe the title of this is "Off the Page" but I'm not sure. Anyway, here it is--and it's rough:

Of Note:

In the world of fairy tales the word “only” is thrown around cavalierly. She was an only child. The only entrance was through the tower’s window. The only way to break the spell was true love’s kiss. He was the king’s only son and heir to the kingdom. Only. Only. Only. Only.

Only… that’s not true.

There were other stories. There were stories that were, how shall we say it… off the page.

Dear reader, what would you think if I told you that Cinderella was not truly an only child even before her horrid stepsisters came to stay? People were not as cold-blooded as when they lay flat on the page for your perusal. Before Cinderella was even a thought, there was a baby boy born to her mother. The midwife said the child did not live the night. The midwife lied.

What would you think if I related the tale of the other way into the tower and told you that Rapunzel was not the only one who’d been held captive there? Why do you think the tower was originally built? Surely you didn’t imagine that the witch just happened to have a tower laying around that would work perfectly. Besides, hadn’t you reasoned out that it must have taken quite a while for Rapunzel’s hair to grow long enough to use for a rope? The window was not the only way.

Thankfully, true love’s kiss was not the only way to break the spell. Magic is far more flexible than that! If you waited around for that, you’d either be stuck with a load of dwarves or in a castle sleeping for a hundred years. What a misery! How unimaginative! Also a love that shallow wouldn’t last much beyond that kiss. No, it was not the only way. Anyone who knows a shred about either magic or love must realize that.

While I won’t deny that princes weren’t littering the ground, it should strike you as slightly perverse that there seems to be only one of them per royal family. Well… only one of them whom they talk about.

Dear reader, imagine the possibilities if you knew the stories off the page. Imagine if there were no onlys. Entire worlds would open up. You’d find out about the ogre and the whispering ring. You’d know that Cinderella’s brother sent the fairy godmother in the first place. You’d realize that you’ve been as trapped in a tower as a certain long-haired princess when, in reality, if you only knew where to look… you could rescue yourself.

There are no onlys and once you know that… you’re ready to journey off the page.

Unamused with the Muse

2011-04-09T19:38:00.000-07:00

I just got the most brilliant idea for a novel. I mean... this is truly just amazingly vividly brilliant. I just want to hug it and love it and dive into it.

*eyes WIP list*

*sighs*

Yes, I wrote it down... and I'm hoping that'll put it out of my head, but that may or may not work... who knows. This kills me. I could get into it about 15K before I even took a breath... *sighs* This Restless Brain Syndrome is an awfully cruel way of musing. I find myself un-a-muse-d with my muse.

On the bright side, I also know where I'm going with the next scene in Promises of Light and Dark. That manuscript just hit 30K this week. I should stop pretending I'm not writing it and just embrace it, but I'm still in denial.

In other news, I turned in my final, final, final revisions of Secrets of Skin and Stone to Sarah and I'm assuming she'll be pitching it within the next month or so. (I've decided denial on this point may be the best idea also.)

The family and I have been off vacationing and just got back. (T came down with a nasty fever sickness at the beginning of this week so their Spring Break fun was condensed into just a short time.) We went to a nearby place and stayed in a room with a giant indoor jacuzzi... and the motel had an indoor pool. (B spent hours snorkeling... and T got the quiet he so desperately needed.) The husband took the kids to a nearby drive-thru animal park. We checked out an old abandoned fort as a family... because we're weird and scary that way.

I took a bunch of pictures because it was really inspiring in a post-apocalyptic sort of way... as well as it was just amazing from an artist's perspective. I really want to pull out my paints, but I'm not sure if I could do it justice. The mix of rust and old paint... was just... awesome. I might print out some of the pictures at some point or post more on here.

While on vacation, I took a break from writing to catch up on some of the reading in my TBR list. I read The Body Finder among other books. I'd been looking forward to this book for quite a while. It was a really good book, but I wish she'd gone deeper for the POV at times. It was in third person and it just felt too passive a POV for some of what was happening. It's one of those times when being a writer feels like it handicaps you from just "enjoying" a book. You want to just read it and turn off your writer's brain. It was really a good book, but I wanted more. Maybe that just means I need to pick up the second book.

Unfortunately my TBR fiction list just seems to double on a daily basis because I keep on tackling my TBR non-fiction list first. (Non-fiction doesn't mess with my inner-voice so it feels less threatening to my writing muse... also I really just like reading non-fiction.) I just finished reading Outliers for my book club... wow... THAT was an amazing book.

This has been a really emotional week for me for personal reasons... even before all the stress of T's fever (it hit 104 at one point) and the kids being on break, so if I'm less... Twittery... that's why. I did make the first cut in a short story competition and was notified this week. I should know later on this month if I made the top ten and thus into the anthology.

So, that was this week... I hope you guys had a great week. *hugs everyone* I'm looking forward to the kids being in school next week. Spring Break is rough on parents sometimes.

Autism and its Impact

2011-04-01T10:25:00.000-07:00

April is Autism Awareness month. I know that there are many "months" out there... some silly and some serious, but I hope that some of you will take this to heart. Unlike other causes, this isn't just about research... this is about a misunderstood epidemic.

Yes, it's an epidemic. Autism is an epidemic.

One in one hundred and ten children will retreat into the quiet of their minds. The number is greater among boys. It's as if you've lost your child. If our children were dying in this number... you would know the symptoms and the world would be reeling. To a parent, having a child with Autism can feel that devastating.

If your child has Asperger's (which is currently on the Autism Spectrum) you may see unexpected rages in an otherwise happy child. They may come across as angry or unaware of social awkwardness. Their violent outbursts can make you feel like an awful parent.

Autism can make you feel like an awful parent. You can't imagine the guilt... you simply can't.

Autism can destroy marriages. Since B was diagnosed eight years ago, I've seen so many marriages fail among those I've met. Overall, eighty percent of marriages where a child has Special Needs... end in divorce. Until you're looking at bills for therapy that you can't pay.... Until you have to go without therapy because you just can't afford it and no one else steps up to pay for it.... Until you're thinking "what did I do wrong... was it something I took while I was pregnant... was I not there enough... did I not do enough?" every day for years... you can't imagine the stress on an individual which transfers to a marriage.

My husband and I are very lucky... both because we've made it through so much and remained married and because our kids are both high-functioning... now. This wasn't always the case.

Once upon a time in May of 2003, we sat in a room and listened to a doctor tell us that B had Autism. It was our diagnosis day. Even though we'd expected it for months... you can never prepare for such things. B was completely nonverbal at 2 years old. She never responded to her name. She never pointed. She had burn marks on her leg from where she'd burnt her leg on the baseboard heater and never made a sound. We asked questions: "Will she ever hold down a job? Will she ever leave our house? Will she ever get married?" His responses were overwhelmingly pessimistic.

In effect, we were told not to dream because we'd just be disappointed. It was like being told: You've just entered the world of Autism. Please check all your hopes and dreams at the door because you won't need them here.

The doctor also looked at T on that day and said: "No, there is no way this child has Autism. Look how social he is." Three years later, he'd be saying, "Your son has Asperger's. If you'd like a formal diagnosis, you can get it, but it won't do you any good; school districts don't recognize it as something that will benefit from therapy."

Ours isn't a sad story, though. We dove into therapy and intervention. If we could find a basis of science behind anything... we tried it. We saw specialists and did diets and vitamins after approving them through a wonderful pediatrician. We got a second mortgage on our house in order to pay for private therapy when our insurance would only provide so much... and the school district/government programs gave minimal support. I drove my kids from place to place for intervention... constantly. Our lives became a great battle. While I won't say we won... my children are both main-streamed completely and none of their peers know they have Autism.

Little by little, I've begun picking up the hopes and dreams I left by the door when I entered the world of Autism. I won't say this is happily ever after... both my kids still have Autism. T still has unexpected rages. B still doesn't understand social behavior. I'm crying while I write this and if they were here... they wouldn't recognize or understand why.

Autism is a life sentence. At this point, my kids will have it their entire lives.

There is no cure for Autism.

I've been lucky. I've been blessed. We had B diagnosed the day before she turned two years old. Most parents are not that lucky. Most parents struggle to get that all-important diagnosis. The average age for diagnosis is around three years old. It's much later for Asperger's. When you have a child with a developmental disorder... your clock is ticking. Every day you can't reach them is a valuable day lost. The early years will determine whether you can save your child... or whether they're lost to this other world.

If you raise awareness this month in no other way then in learning the symptoms yourself, you've done more than enough. As an Autistic child's parent, I want the world to understand... and I want to save more parents from the heartache of losing a child to Autism.

Hug a parent of a child with Autism. Some days... suck. I have a mental calendar of the worst days, but there are other days that I just hope will fade away and be gone without being marked.

Hug an Autistic child--if they'll let you. They might not. They might not want to be touched. This is the reality of Autism.

Change your porch light blue for the month of April (blue lights can be purchased at Home Depot.) My sister told me that they have a blue light because her husband is a policeman. I found it interesting that Autism and an emergency service are linked in that way. Autism is an emergency.

Learn the symptoms: http://www.autismspeaks.org/ Without early intervention, my children would have been lost forever to their own worlds. I can't even begin to tell you how vital early diagnosis and intervention are. By seven years old, the neural pathways are in place and therapy becomes drastically less effective. The clock is ticking. If you have a child with Autism, you can nearly hear the ticking every day. Every day. It's there in the back of your mind... tick tock tick tock Have I done enough today? tick tock tick tock.

Save the next generation of Autistic children who are being born right now. Most researchers suspect that the number one in one hundred and ten is being optimistic. Some suspect it's closer to one in seventy or even more severe. With early intervention, many of these children can be helped immeasurably. Your money, time, emotions are worth saving these children. Their lives and happiness are beyond price. They need us today. They need us right now.

It's an epidemic. Hug, love, save a child with Autism. I've done that with two... it's your turn.

Life in Moments

2011-03-23T00:41:00.000-07:00

Today (Tuesday) was a strange day.

The day started with me sending off Secrets of Skin and Stone to Sarah. I'd gone through revisions and it was ready... so I did it. I took a deep breath and did it. Sarah let me know that she'd received it and was excited to check into it... and then she told me to go have a cupcake and get back to killing chickens. (Apparently, she follows my Twitter feed.)

I got on Twitter and goofed off most of the day. Some of it was spent trying to figure out how to kill chickens quietly and violently. (For the book... always for the book... I swear.) Some was spent just talking with friends on Twitter who I've neglected to work on revisions and so on. I wrote a very little. I researched some. I mostly did nothing. It was a fun nothing, but mostly nothing.

At just after two p.m., I got ready to take Nanaimo for a run. I'm still trying to convince him the gentle leader leash is okay... but he hates it with his very being... so it took a while. Finally, I had it on him and we were off. We'd reached the end of my street and just turned onto the next street when someone out working on their lawn asked what kind of dog Nanaimo is. I told him and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a streak of black as his dog bolted from the front porch and ran across the street towards us. A moment later, he'd lunged at Nanaimo's neck with a snarl.

This isn't the first time Nanaimo's been attacked on our runs. I've brought it up on Twitter before and everyone told me that I needed to contact Animal Control because I did NOT want to be in the middle of a dog fight. None of the previous attacks were anything like this. Not at all. It was violent and loud and went on and on and on. I pulled Nanaimo, who wasn't fighting back at all, away and the other dog would just find a new way to attack. The owner was calling his dog's name and trying to get him away... but it was completely useless... his dog was determined to rip Nanaimo's throat out.

I've heard the phrase "I don't have a dog in this fight" and never appreciated it. I totally had a dog in this fight, and he was getting his tail kicked because he's so sweet. Despite all the advice not to get in the middle of a dog fight, I dove in the middle and kicked the other dog away from Nanaimo. His owner got a hold of his collar and pulled him away asking me, "Are you okay? He's never done that. Are you okay?"

I must have looked like crap from just shock. I nodded and pulled Nanaimo home despite his desire to just go for a run anyway. The other dog had ripped out tufts of his fur... but Nanaimo wanted to go for a run. My dog is goofy and insane and completely nonviolent. He would have just sat there and been ripped to shreds.

After putting Nanaimo back in the yard, I collapsed on the front porch swing and just started shaking and sobbing.

It was awful.

I've been trying to go running without my heart meds because my heart rate is at a normal level for exercising now. It wouldn't stop racing. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. I couldn't stop crying. I cried and cried and cried and hoped that no one delivered a package and found me sobbing on my front porch.

Finally, I pulled it together enough to go check Nanaimo more thoroughly for blood. He was fine. Patches of fur had been pulled out, but he has lots and lots of fur.

Then, my kids came home... and I really thought I was better. We were both fine. It was just shock. I was fine.

Fine. Fine. Fine.

B brought in this large box... of baby formula samples. I somehow managed to get on this baby/pregnancy mailing list and yesterday it was loads of coupons and a gigantic baby catalog... today it was a formula samples. (Unbeknownst to me, I've been on this list for a while, but the husband has been throwing things away because it upsets me so much.) I broke down crying again... and I just couldn't stop. T was confused and asked me why I was sad. (Typically the kids don't notice our emotions because of their social issues, but I was crying that hard.) I told him about the dog. I didn't want to go into the fact that I wanted more kids, I'm turning 35, and I continue to have miscarriages despite contraception and our decision not to have more kids due to the autism risk... it was too much. B never seemed to notice... she was mostly too excited about the strange new package in the mail... and jump-roping. (She is very into jump-roping.)

Then, I noticed how strange T was looking and he said, "I want a ding dong! You need to get me a ding dong because I'm the one with the headache." His eyes were dilated but at half-mast and he looked spacey. I got him a ding dong... to wash down the ibuprofen and antihistamine. I figured it was a sinus headache. By the time the husband was home, T had a fever of 101. He wanted me to sit in the corner of the couch so he could tuck his feet under/behind me and snuggle down in the blanket. T has grown moody lately, so having him quiet beside me especially after such a sucky day... was nice. Sure, he was sick and a little grumpy, but he was also warm and snuggly. Sue me, I liked it. Even covered in germs, he's a cute little guy.

His fever went down enough that he got to go drop off his Tron-style Pinewood Derby car. This was a huge deal for him and his dad... they've worked on it for weeks. It looks fantastic. I'll post pictures sometime soon. Next Tuesday is race day. Today was just getting it weighed in and measured.

By bedtime, T's fever was still hanging at 100 degrees despite all the ibuprofen. Unfortunately, the sugar in all the medicine syrup made him hyper. When he is hyper and miserable... he pesters everyone by poking them... especially B. *sigh* Poke. Poke. Poke. "Stop it, T!" Poke. Poke. Poke. "Stop it!"

My night might have ended on that note, but B did something for the second time... something that makes so many other moments worth it. As I stood up to go downstairs after prayers and reading, she got up and gave me a hug goodnight... for the second time... spontaneously... in her life.

In. Her. Life.

When I say hug, I actually mean affection basically. This is the second time in her life that she has spontaneously shown real affection towards me. The second time in my life that my daughter has chosen to hug me.

In. My. Life.

I think it's the jump-roping--as weird as that sounds. I think it's helping her to organize her thoughts.

Honestly, I hate the jump-roping. It's repetitive... and the constant whap-whap-whap of the rope makes me want to do harm to myself. And she's constantly asking us to count for her. "Count for me, Mom." "Count!" "Okay, again. Watch!"

I like the hugs, though. They make me feel like a real parent. Sadly, I haven't felt like that much with my kids. I've felt like a crusader, a caregiver, a teacher, and a therapist... but not as much a parent. It's hard to feel like a parent when you've done so much of the other roles.

So, that was my day: the moment when I sent off the finished manuscript, the moment when the dog lunged, the moment when I read my name on the label for the formula, the moment when T tucked his feet behind me and snuggled down, and the moment when B hugged me. Life is lived in such moments... there are things in between, but your mind and heart remember those moments.

Dirty Little Secrets and Revisions

2011-03-21T14:58:00.000-07:00

Well, I just finished revisions from Diana on Secrets of Skin and Stone. My husband is almost done with his read through, so I'm waiting to send it back to Sarah until tomorrow. It's weird to be nearly finished with revisions. I changed a bit on the end of SoSaS so there is always the chance that Sarah will ask for revisions on those revisions but, even then, I'm nearly done with this manuscript before going to submissions to editors.

It's weird. This feels more final. I mean, I do revisions on all my manuscripts fairly regularly. Whenever I'd get a request from an agent or I felt the nudge of the muse, I'd tear through a manuscript again and change things. My manuscripts get revised to pieces... and then I do it again six months later.

This is... weird. I mean, it's like a final revision before like professionals stare it down.

What if they hate it?

What if they don't?

It's surreal.

Fortunately or unfortunately, the muse has not been silent. Working on a sequel to Secrets of Skin and Stone feels like a dirty little secret, though. I've mostly learned my lesson about series writing. I really like the characters in the sixth and eighth books of my Company of Him books. Unfortunately you can't just rip a character out of its book if they're wedged into the series that deeply. Similarly, as much as I like the Honor series... they don't even kiss until the second book. There has to be a second book in that series. So, Honor is a series, like it or not, too.

Course... I say that I've learned my lesson but Sentinel's Run was going to be a series from the time the first word dropped onto the screen.

Huh.

Maybe I never learn.

Still, Secrets of Skin and Stone was NOT going to be a series... unless I was asked for it to be. It was going to be a stand alone unless someone said, "This needs to be a series. Do it, Wendy! I need more. The world needs more." Even then, I'd ask, "Are you really, really sure?" Then, they'd either offer me money or a cupcake before I'd give in.

*sighs* So, why am I 13K into the second book?

I'm supposed to be working on Sentinel's Run.

I can't sleep at night because of the bits of scenes that keep getting stuck in my head.

You know what would suck? It would suck if Sarah comes back to me and says that she doesn't like my new ending to Secrets of Skin and Stone, and she wants it to be more stand-aloney. (Yes, I just made up that word. I can do that. I'm a writer.)

*massages brain*

This is why you don't start writing a second book in a series. It's too complicated... and it feels like a dirty little secret. Well, that and having Gris and Piper invade my brain for another stretch is going to make me crazy... especially since Piper's issues are similar but not always compatible with my issues. (I can't remember why I made her like even numbers instead of odd numbers, but it's soooooooooo wrong.)

Anyway, remember, we're keeping this on the low-low, everyone. As far as you know, I'm either working on revisions or contemplating Sentinel's Run. This is our little secret. *locks lips, throws away the key* It's our dirty little secret.

WIPed by Wednesday

2011-03-16T10:50:00.000-07:00

This isn't about Sentinel's Run... which it should be. I finished my revision of Secrets of Skin and Stone last night after eating, breathing, sleeping it for two straight days. It's gone on to my wonderful beta Di to be beaten into submission... for submission. I should be done with that book. (Other than revisions, of course.) I should be.

I'm not.

This also isn't about insomnia... it could be about that also. Last night was day six of my insomnia stretch. It's insomnia so deep and hungry that I'm just exhausted thinking about how exhausted I am. It's whipping me.

It's not about that.

No, it's about Promises of Light and Dark.

Huh?

Say what?

*everyone looks at schedule and taps on Sentinel's Run* *Wendy breaks down into sobbing and rocking in a corner.*

Dudes, it was ridiculous. I'm rewriting the last scene in Secrets of Skin and Stone and it's not... right. I waited until the wonder spouse took the kids off to scouts and activities and read it aloud... and Gris got into my head... and took over and rewrote the whole scene. Okay, fine. Still, it's done... right? No, because then Gris's first scene in the next book stole into my head.

The next book?

*Wendy's head hits the wall.*

All I wanted was to work on Sentinel's Run. Instead I couldn't sleep last night because I had this scene in my head from the next book... the book that didn't even exist until about midnight last night. The book that shouldn't exist because, as far as we know, Secrets of Skin and Stone is a stand-alone book.

Now, I can't get Gris out of my head. Life is not fair. It truly isn't. Writing Secrets of Skin and Stone was hard... and then their accents get into my brain and wriggle down deep, and I sound like a freak until it wears off. I have people ask me if I've been sick... my drawl is that noticeable. "No... I'm just crazy."

Ugh. On the other hand, I know how Promises of Light and Dark begins... and I won't be able to sleep until I get it out of my head and typed down. (Please just let it end there... for right now.) If the rest of March and April is eaten up by something that didn't exist until last night at midnight... *bangs head*

This post should fall under the category of: So, you thought you wanted to be a writer....

*sighs* And the stumble begins....

Plans, Boring Plans (no zombies)

2011-03-10T11:48:00.000-08:00

So, I was thinking of making a month by month plan of writing goals... just so they can later be derailed as all my goals have been lately. LOL.

So, here we go... let's go retroactive so it looks like I've accomplished something:

Writing Plans for 2011:

January:

Finish Honor 7.

Revise Secrets of Skin and Stone.

Submit short stories.

February:

Get agent. (Wooo wahoo!)

March:

Do revisions of Secrets of Skin and Stone.

Work on short story project.

April:

Finish Sentinel's Run.

May:

Revision of Curse Me A Story for Sarah.

"Six month" scheduled revision of Versus the Bounty and The Unseen Kingdom.

June:

Finish My Other Life.

July:

Finish Chosen Changeling.

August:

Revise Honor Series.

September:

Work on short stories or Honor 8.

October:

Revise Scorched.

Revise Good Girls Don't Date Mutants.

November:

NaNoWriMo novel

December:

Revise Sentinel's Run and begin Sentinel's Run Book Two.

So, that's the plan, Stan. As I said, it'll most likely immediately be wiped out by other things coming up, but that's the plan. As you can see, unfortunately, it doesn't include any zombies. *sigh*

Zombies are out to get me... but that's cool.

2011-03-09T12:25:00.000-08:00

Last night, I had my first zombie dream in a long time. (I can't actually remember having a zombie dream before but I'm sure I must have.) I'm not sure if it was the Theraflu or my husband's still-sickish ragged breathing beside me... but it was a good solid zombie dream.

A teenage me (and three teenage guys) were trying to escape a huge group of zombies led by giant cats.

Wait... why cats, you ask? Giant cats... with organization skills? Madness, you say? How can this be, Wendy?

Yeah, I watched this video way too many times yesterday:

Wait... so where was I? The three teenage guys and I were running through a school cafeteria. (I know, cliche, but some things can't be helped, and it was a dream.) The windows were open and it was dusk. Every time a zombie would hit a patch of sunlight, they'd burst into ash... it was really cool. (My dreams have freaking fantastic special effects.)

Most of us had made it out of the cafeteria into the fading sunlight... except this one guy who was... no... I swear this is true... Daniel Radcliffe. Yes, Daniel Radcliffe. He kept trying to be noble and throw himself to the zombies so we could escape. (My daughter is reading Harry Potter three... so sue me.) At the door out of the cafeteria, I shouted to Daniel Radcliffe to get his tail out of the cafeteria so we could bar the door and hide somewhere overnight. Daniel ran to the door... and he was sort of all messy and scratched up and oozing blood, and there was this dramatic sobbing/overacting moment where he said a lot of angsty things like "Go on... this is my fault. You've got to live... etc... etc... etc...." and he kissed me hard. We're talking... full face press kiss. (Dudes, it was even creepy in the dream... and I'm not proud of this.) (Plus, he got blood and snot and grossness all over my face. *vomit vomit vomit* ) He pulled back, and I totally cold-cocked him and broke my hand in a boxer's fracture (I'm all about the medical details, people, even in dreams) before I convinced one of the other guys to help me drag him with us.

So, we're dragging Daniel Radcliffe to safety and the guy helping me is a little jealous of that weird scene at the cafeteria door and he asks, "So... do you have a thing for this guy?"

I snort laugh and say, "Dude, he totally thinks he's Harry Potter... and we can't let him die for that." I keep wiping my face on my shoulder because... eww... gross... he had snot and blood all over his face when he kissed me... he was a walking bio-hazard. (Yes, I'm OCD in my dreams.)

We get to this storage shed on campus and bar ourselves inside... and I say, "Now, we just have to lure them out into the sunlight tomorrow and watch them fry to death."

(Even in my dreams... I have a zombie plan....)

The other guy who was sort of hot for me starts helping me wrap the hand that I broke, and he asks, "Are you going to be okay?"

I scoff and say, "Dude, I've had much worse."

(I'm hard-core in my dreams... after that... I did knuckle push-ups... just because.)

Then, I woke up....

Moral of the story/dream: Never kiss Daniel Radcliffe... and especially not after an emotional over-acting scene. Always have a zombie plan. Don't watch weird cat videos while on cold medicine right before going to bed.

The stumbling story- my writing process

2011-03-07T10:50:00.000-08:00

So, my mom and I got into a discussion about how I start a story. She is working on a series of MG novels and she wanted to know how my process starts because she is feeling stuck. Honestly... I think my writing process is like stumbling. It's a weirdly accurate metaphor and I'm intimately familiar with stumbling. This is how it starts:

An idea pops into my head out of nowhere... this is the rock, dip, my own foot getting in the way that starts the stumbling. I'll use Secrets of Skin and Stone as an example. In Secrets, it was the way a person with OCD often thinks they've done something terrible even if they have no proof. In the case of Secrets of Skin and Stone, Piper thinks she has killed her dog. This was the rock that started the stumble.

Now picture a good hard stumbling fall toward a face plant.... If you're clumsy, you know the feeling of inevitability that hits you from that first moment. Still, you try to recover. You wave your arms around. You perform acrobatics. Anything! Everything! You might pull muscles trying to recover but it's all instinctual and it seems worth it at the time.

Back to the metaphor:

My story builds with momentum as more scenes drop into my head. With Secrets, I thought up Gris's character and his dialogue when he meets Piper next. I thought of how it would be cool if he was a gargoyle. Dialogue scenes and action scenes are the frantic hand waving that help draw out the stumble. I write them down fast and it flows from scene to scene as I write frantically.

The quick steps I take trying to prevent the face plant are crucial scenes that keep the story up in the air... (the cutting scenes, the mystery, the flying scenes) but... it's all leading to a glorious face plant/ bite of cement.

As the ground rushes up/ the story draws to a close... I generally quit sleeping so I can write more. Usually the last 10K of a story is written in one or two days where I barely do anything besides writing. When I hit "the end" it's quite the rush... and, yes, sometimes it's a little painful and disorienting, but I've hit it hard and with gusto.

It's a solid pantsing style from beginning to end. The few times I tried plotting... I don't face plant with a story. In fact, I usually recover and just walk off. With motivation, I can finish it... as I did with the Odyssey retelling last year, but it's really hard for me. My writing style needs that crazy momentum you get in a dangerous free-fall where I write on instinct.

Anyway, I know this is different from most... sane writers.

Right now, I've got an abnormal amount of WIPs in process because something stopped my stumbling. (I know... I've managed to make stumbling a good thing, but I need the adrenalin rush from the process to keep me going.)

I have three WIPs that I've mentioned before: The Chosen Changeling, My Other Life, and The Sentinel's Run.

The Chosen Changeling I stopped because I suddenly didn't know what came next. This hardly ever happens to me. It was... strange and worried me. Being a pantser and having your inspiration dry up... is terrifying. Luckily, this hardly ever happens... and I know I can work through it, but when writing feels like magic rather than work, it's scary when the magic stops.

My Other Life fell prey to the shiny-new short story phenomenon that I occasionally go through where I get distracted by an easy, quick rush from completing a short story. Short stories are so simple and I get the "woo! I finished!" after just 5 K instead of 50K... it's... seductive. I actually know how this one ends and I have the bare bones of the entire plot in my brain... which is extremely rare for me. I really should finish it.... The other thing is that this ms is my first foray into Literary with Magical Realism. I really didn't know how to query it considering I wasn't planning on writing in that genre again. Luckily, that's become a moot point. (Yay! I have an agent! Yay!)

Sentinel's Run was the most tragic momentum halt because it was literally flying from my brain and the voice in that ms is perfect and rich... (I LOVE this ms... LOVE it) but I received requests from agents, and I was working through getting things lined up for them. *sighs* It's sad when a good thing falls prey to another good thing. I keep wanting to dive back into it and eat and breathe it for a few weeks. Sarah just gave me permission to finish it when I'm done with Secrets revisions. Woooo!

While I was explaining this method to my mom... I also brought up this idea I got for a story right before I left for Disneyland. (I actually got two ideas for stories right before.) Both ideas came in the form of a scene in my head. The one I described was for "Frosted" and it was the first scene in the book. It was almost all action... so I quickly wrote that 1K down before I closed my laptop and finished packing for Disneyland. I described it to my mom... not thinking that my niece was sitting right there. LOL. My niece said, "You've GOT to write that!" after I was done. It made me laugh. Apparently, I pitched perfectly to my nine year old niece. She also wanted candy or Candyland involved, though... so maybe the idea needs work. ; )

The second idea... I actually had already forgotten, but I'd written it down. This idea came from an emotion experienced during a later scene in the ms I'm calling "The Spider Prince." So, the short blurb I wrote on that one to help me remember it... won't make sense to anyone but me really. (If any of you remember my notes from Honor 7... it's horrifying how rambling and odd they are.) I'm less sure how to start "The Spider Prince" but I know the skeleton of the story up until this scene half-way through.

I'll probably pick one of them to write for NaNoWriMo this year. I have no idea how either of them end... which is completely normal for me. Until then, they're just documents waiting for attention... and hopefully they'll play nice and not cause insomnia.

So, that's it. That's how I write. You won't find it in any "How to" books, and I don't necessarily advocate it, but that's how it goes. It's worked for me over two dozen times now, so.... *shrugs* It's inelegant, chaotic, and insane, but whatever works....

Depression and OCD

2011-03-03T08:18:00.000-08:00

Having OCD is a lot more complex than many people give it credit for. It's not as simple as: I wash my hands twenty times because I really like being clean. It's more likely: I saw someone sneeze and my entire body feels contaminated because the whole world is crawling with germs and I'll wash my hands twenty times because that is the RIGHT number... it's always the RIGHT number and all other numbers feel wrong. (Twenty times isn't the right number for me of course... and I'm more about avoidance and frequent hand-washing than repetitive activities.)

So, it makes sense that at its base... OCD-related depression would be complex. For most people without mental illness of some form, the harbinger of depression is often obvious. A death. Money problems. Stress. Emotional conflicts. For those with OCD, it could be deeply-rooted in their OCD issues and hard to wriggle out.

It could be something as strange as sitting next to someone with a fever and not immediately getting up and washing your hands. (I did this Tuesday night... and that's when the depression seemed to start.) That feeling of contamination could bury me for a week. It could be less complex: I'm back from Disneyland and back to reality and I have a ton to do this week. I got a flat tire yesterday. My husband is really sick with a nasty, nasty, nasty cold of some kind. (Thankfully, not a fever... or throwing up... as far as I know.) It could be hormones. It could be the weather. It could be that I'm not taking the right mixture of vitamins. It could be that my 28 year old sister is pregnant with her fourth child... and while I'm happy for her... I'm still sad for me. It could be guilt for feeling that way about my sister's pregnancy.

Or it might really honestly be that I sat next to a five year old sick child for an hour on Tuesday so I could talk to her mother... and my skin has been crawling ever since then. I can't stop thinking about it and obsessing on it. I've thought about it at least twice an hour since Tuesday night. It's the demon I can't exorcise. My brain keeps digging it out to think about.

Have you ever ordered yourself not to think about a specific thing ever again?

It works great, huh?

Yeah, I do that a lot. It never works.

It's ridiculous. It is.

Being depressed without reason makes me feel weak. It makes me feel as if I'm ungrateful. It makes me feel broken. It makes me feel... depressed.

Ironic, no?

That's how OCD is most of the time. One big ball of irony wrapped in obsessions and compulsions and deep-rooted paranoia. It's fun.

That was sarcasm, by the way. There is a lot of sarcasm involved in having OCD too. At least for me.

Anyway, when I get my act together and after my parents aren't visiting, I'll maybe post some Disneyland pictures and tell you about my trip. T is set to get baptized this weekend. (Children are baptized at age 8+ in the LDS church.) The husband was a trooper while I was gone... especially considering he was sick nearly the whole time. I think he'll end up seeing a doctor today.

Today is a running day. (I run on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday and have for about five years... when I've been running.) I'm hoping the endorphins will kick this depression in the head. If not... *shrugs* I'll spend another day wondering if it was worth it to build a friendship at the cost of my sanity. Well... to build a friendship and to prove that I'm not as affected by OCD as I am... which, in another fun show of irony, I think I've proven that I am.

*sighs* I swear I could feel the heat pouring off this five year old. *head slap*

I am broken.

To Laptop or Not to Laptop--That is the Question

2011-02-24T10:02:00.000-08:00

So, this weekend is my annual girls' weekend sanity trip. We'll be hitting Disneyland among other places. My sister and my BFF Stephanie will be there with me. It's the only time I get away from the kids for more than 24 hours at a time during the entire year... and it's glorious. Stephanie started the tradition four years ago when I was killing myself to help the kids get services, and I was a wreck. I'd been with the kids for five years straight at that point... like... straight... no vacations without them ever. Every day. Day in. Day out. Yeah, I was a wreck. Anyway, so it's our annual trip, and I'm really excited. The husband watches the kids and they love it... and they even pitch fits when I come home sometimes because they love the time with Daddy so much.

BTW, this is just another reason I love my husband so much. He insists and supports I take this trip.

So, wooooooooooooo! Disneyland!!!!!!

Naturally, after my brain being free from the rolling storyboard and dialogue that normally plagues me... which is thanks to eating and breathing Secrets of Skin and Stone... I woke up this morning with two story ideas in my brain and a strong desire to finish off Sentinel's Run. I've had Sentinel's Run stuck in my brain ever since I set it down to work on other projects last year, but this time... I don't think I'll be able to put it off. So, after I tackle the revisions from Sarah on Secrets of Skin and Stone, I think I'm going to beg, borrow, or steal the time to finish Sentinel's Run.

I'm torn on whether to take my laptop with me on the trip or leave it behind. It worries me that these two ideas I woke up with are as pernicious as they are. I'll try to jot down what's in my brain and walk away from them. We'll see. There is always the possibility that I won't be able to sleep at night because they'll eat at my brain. (Zombie ideas... I think I have a zombie muse.) On the other hand, if anything happens to my laptop... I'll go stark raving insane.

Gah! We'll be switching hotels tomorrow and have a rental car and I just feel weird about leaving my laptop all day... unprotected... in a rental car in L.A. *screams* Tell me that doesn't sound scary. It's like leaving my soul on the sidewalk for someone to step on.

BTW... being agented is weird. I tried to explain to the kids that it's like "Mommy has a job now." Well, I didn't expect it to feel like another 24 hour job like motherhood is. It's weird. Now, if I go goof off on Twitter... I feel like I'm playing hooky. If I work on revising a different project... hooky again. If I'm doing anything when I could/should/normally would be writing... I feel guilty. I've been told this feeling fades, but I've raised guilt and paranoia to an art form so I'm skeptical.

Well, I should get the rest of my packing done and leave the laptop until the end so I can stare it down. Can I walk away from being a writer until Monday night? I haven't taken it the last two years... I don't think.

Gah! What's nobler in the mind? I just don't know.

Anyway, I might post pictures on Twitter and get on there a few times, but I probably won't be on the blog until next week. Have a good weekend, everyone!

Sunday Sharing-Take Two

2011-02-20T18:14:00.001-08:00

Last Sunday, I posted a painting I'd done of my son, so it seemed only fair that I post one of my daughter this week.

This is also based on a photo of my daughter. It was shortly after she was diagnosed with Autism but before we knew she'd also share my diagnosis of OCD. B has a strong interest in science and math... as well as things being a very specific way... a rather perfect way. You've never met a perfectionist until you've met B. She learned how to use white-out in Kindergarten so she could get her coloring pages just right. I love this photo of her (the one the painting is based on) because you can see so much of how she was. With B, even her weird little quirks are charming and sweet. Her stopping to stare through a magnifying glass was just so "her."

Children change everything... including how you view yourself. I'd been hiding my OCD for twenty-eight years from everyone. Sadly, this isn't so far from the norm for those with OCD. You become adept had hiding the darker side to you... and OCD is dark. It's not clean and precise as Hollywood would have you believe. When we found out that B's quirks were beyond the quirks of just Autism... and that she also had OCD, I knew it was time to stop acting like I had something we couldn't talk about. Since then, I've been brutally honest about my OCD. I never want B to have to hide things like I felt like I did. B changed everything. She made me look at myself and realize that I was hiding things within me that I loved in my daughter.

Raising a child with OCD when you have OCD yourself is a challenge. Our quirks don't always play nicely with each other. She likes repetition. I despise repetition. She has a peanut butter and honey sandwich cut into four triangles every day for lunch. I can't follow recipes because making something the same way twice makes me feel trapped. My husband sometimes has to intercede... especially when it comes to homework. B takes a very, very long time to do homework... because it has to be just right. She's gravitated toward preferring math because there IS a right answer. I hate math for the same reason.

Luckily, my husband is as free from quirks as his wife and kids are quirky. If I haven't mentioned this before... I love my husband to pieces. If not for him, I'd be a mess. He can tell when I'm going slowly mad inside from things that probably don't make sense to him. The husband isn't afraid to dive into the chaos that sometimes exists between B and me to calm both our OCDs.

This weekend was pretty chaotic. We had my sister's four kids staying with us. Apparently, my two year old nephew wakes up every two hours all night and decides to play with hotwheels. I was so sleep-deprived by the time my sister picked up her kids this morning... it was just pathetic. Six kids under age ten was a little taste of insanity. One of my nephews got a raging ear infection and my sister had to take a break from her anniversary and run him to urgent care. It was... crazy. Still, everyone survived. We ate pizza. We watched Nanny McPhee. Some of them slept. Some of them didn't. It was fun. Crazy, but fun. My brain feels so incredibly scattered. Still, while we were at church, I kept thinking how blessed we truly are. Even in my sleep-deprived state, I couldn't stop thinking about how lucky my husband and I are. Crap... I don't have to deal with a spouse with OCD so I'm doubly lucky. ; )

I love B... despite and because of her quirks. I feel the same way about T. We've had a lot of stress due to their needs... but the road we're on right now... is a really blessed path. We're very, very lucky in so many ways, and I'd be a fool not to acknowledge it.

If not for B, I'd be still hiding a large part of who I am and that would be a shame because we all deserve to be loved for who we are... and not just the picture we present to the world.

Anyway, I hope you like the painting and have a good Sunday. *waves*