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

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.

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

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.

Late Night Thoughts

So, yesterday was a very odd day. I'd finally made some real and significant decisions and decided to set aside the traditional publishing route for a while so, naturally, I'd no sooner discussed it with my husband and mentioned it on Twitter... then I got an email that blew that crap. (It was within minutes... irony has peaked in my life.) It was a good email, don't get me wrong. It was good news... somewhat... and a good email. It was just ironic that I'd finally decided something and I'd need to reevaluate it... again. Being a writer means that you live in this state of limbo... you're always waiting for something before you can actually make a choice.

Anyway, despite that, I managed to break my insomnia cycle finally which isn't unusual. Stress only slightly factors into my insomnia. My insomnia cycles of a week on and a week off are typically induced by hormones and my OCD. Medication only alleviates symptoms... and I have to take either hardcore sleeping meds (the kind of sleeping pills they only give you in small amounts and other doctors are horrified you're taking them at all) or, strangely enough, dramamine. (I don't question weird things like this. Dramamine is my gift horse for right now. I dread the day it stops making me sleepy.)

I've complained about my insomnia before and how I wish I could just shut off my brain, but I've never really mentioned what I think about and I think an insomniac writer is a different breed of weird from most insomniacs who stay up late thinking about normal worries. So, here is my typical, atypical night of thoughts on an insomnia night.

10:00 *Lays down* I hope that this will be the night I sleep. This insomnia jag can't last that much longer. Can it? What day am I on? Oh ugh... there was that one that lasted nearly a month. I won't last that long.

10:01 Concentrate on relaxing. Concentrate! Concentrate! RELAX!!!!

10:02 That's not working. Relax feet. Relax legs. Relax.... if I did decide to sketch out the switchblade in Honor books for the cover... I could have her holding it in her hand and have her legs in the background.

10:03 If I had a real switchblade that was more of a stilleto-style... that would be... HEY! I stopped relaxing!

10:04 Relax... where was I? Oh... relax legs... relax knees... tomorrow is Tuesday. I can get a run in tomorrow. I should probably put bandaids on my toes so I don't get blisters. Crap. I'm not sure if I have bandaids I'm not allergic to. Hmm... Those Handy Manny bandaids were really the best of the paper-style bandaids but geez they looked dorky. I think even the kids hated them.

10:05 I should really make sure I go through B's papers in the morning. I bet she has that project coming up. I need to sign all those things.

10:06 Maybe I should change my signature. I've had the same signature for a while.

10:07 If I changed my signature, would that mean everything I've signed in the past would become moot or would my new signature be labelled as incorrect?

10:08 This is why I can never be famous because I'll be locked into a single signature for the rest of my life. Not that I want to be famous.

10:09 That would be total hell. People would be poking into my life and think that everything I do can be commented on. Ugh. Stephanie Meyer. Blech. I would hate to be her.

10:10 You know, there had to come a day of reckoning for Jacob when he'd have to tell Renesmee that he totally tried to hook up with her mom. I mean, that's why you never have one of your characters attracted to an ovum. That day of reckoning eventually comes.

10:11 How would that go?

10:12 "Renesmee, I know we've been together since you were born and now you're all seven and hot and grown-up... but when you were an ovum... I totally tried to get with your mom because you were all in her ovaries and I was really hot for you... when you were an ovum. I hope we can work past that and get married... now that you're seven. That's cool, right?"

10:13 I'm totally not relaxing.

10:14 Should I start over relaxing my feet? Or just start where I stopped when I started thinking about Stephanie Meyer's books?

10:15 You know the other major flaw with that whole thing was that if Bella was really able to have kids and her reproductive system was functioning... Edward should have gone nuts once a month on her. Maybe it's different when it's THAT kind of.... Eww... this is a really creepy bunch of thoughts.

10:16 Not any more creepy than a guy waiting for a baby to reach seven before he hooks up with her... but still creepy. I mean, how creepy was that?

10:17 I'm still not relaxing.

10:18 Shut off, brain. Just shut off. I really need to pay those bills tomorrow. I hate money. I hate it. Even if I had it... I would hate it... I'm pretty sure.

10:19 If I really could shut off my brain, that would be totally sci-fi.

10:20 Would I be like a zombie and unable to turn it back on? I mean, that would make sense, right? If you slipped into some sort of altered state of consciousness without being able to form thoughts... you wouldn't be able to form the thought to start thinking again.

10:21 I wonder if hypnosis would help me get to sleep?

10:22 What if I had the same reaction to hypnosis as I would to the whole zombie thing? What if the hypnotic suggestion was so strong that I never woke up again or, even when I woke up, I still was relaxed? Could I survive a world in which my personality was relaxed?

10:23 No. That would be weird.

10:24 I just don't think I was meant to be relaxed. I've had like a kajillion thoughts just since I thought that thought... the one about being relaxed.

10:25 I'm totally not relaxed. *looks at clock* Bugger.

10:26 Still, hypnosis might be interesting to research. I wonder if you can be hypnotized by someone online. It's probably not safe to mess around with hypnosis while the husband is gone and I'm home alone.

10:27 Is hypnosis that strong?

10:28 I should know more about that. Especially before I started messing around with hypnosis online. The kids would come home from school and I'd be like this zombie, staring at my laptop.

10:29 Could you really get someone to commit a crime through hypnosis or is that just movie crap?

10:30 If I was going to get someone to commit a crime through hypnosis what would it be?

10:31 It'd be a robbery, right?

10:32 Totally... what kind of robbery? Would I go all old school? Maybe an art heist.

10:33 The problem with stolen art, though, is that the whole point of art is to display it... and you wouldn't be able to... not really.

10:34 Unless you had a reproduction of ... the Scream... and you swapped it out with the real thing... and then it would also be like your joke on the world. People would say "Oh... hey... is that the Scream?"

10:35 "Yeah... it's a reproduction." And you could just like laugh. That would be awesome.

10:36 I wonder if that's what keeps happening to the Scream. I mean, if I was to steal a painting....

10:37 I'm still not relaxing. Okay. Concentrate, Wendy! Relax. Relax. Relax.

10:38 What if I never get to sleep? What if I'm not getting any REM sleep to the point that I just eventually drop into a coma and die?

10:39 Well, this is really relaxing me.

10:40 Maybe not art, then. What else would I force my hypnotized minion to steal?

10:41 Money. No, that's stupid. I hate money.... I really need to pay those bills tomorrow. I hate money. Paying bills with stolen money would be a nightmare. What if you got caught and had to pay both places back? That'd suck. No... I wouldn't have them steal money to pay bills. There's no elegance in that. Maybe information?

10:42 Insider trading stopped being sexy when Martha Stewart did it.

10:43 Really... any crime would become less sexy if Martha Stewart did it. She could be great for crime prevention. She'd be like the next McDuff. "Hey... I did this... and now... it's a good thing." That'd take your bite out of crime.

10:44 Relax your thighs... relax your butt.

10:45 How come some women have their butt fat just look right and not chunky? That seems unfair. I mean, even when I'm in top shape and running... I bet now my butt fat would just ride on top of the muscle and still look like butt fat. In fact, it might look worse having butt fat ride on top of muscle. I should check that out.

10:46 How would I check that out? Stare at runner's butts while I'm out on errands? What kind of weirdo would that make me? Why am I thinking about butts?

10:47 Relax your stomach.

10:48 I should do more sit-ups. I should do sit-ups daily... like every day... like tomorrow. I should start tomorrow. *looks at clock* I'm still not asleep.

10:49 I hate insomnia. I hate it so much. I'm so sick of just lying awake here trying to stop thinking. If only I could stop thinking.

10:50 I could be writing. I could be revising.

10:51 When I wake up tomorrow... I should really get rid of that one thing later on in the book. I didn't really like it when I wrote it.

10:52 Why didn't I like it? Was it because it was too personal? Or because it just sucked? It might have just sucked, but I never really asked anyone. They might like it. No... it just sucks.

10:53 I wonder if published authors think stuff like that about their books. I wonder if they think "That one bit in Chapter eight reeks and makes me want to beat my head against something but everyone else likes it. If only I'd never written it. If I'd never written it, they'd never have had the chance to like it."

10:54 I wonder if Stephanie Meyer thinks that about Breaking Dawn.

10:55 *snickers to self* Renesmee.

10:56 I'm still not relaxed. Relax... bugger that... where was I? Was I relaxing my stomach or... well, it's not like I can really relax my boobs. Relax, boobs. *snickers again* Okay, now I'm not asleep and hopefully my husband can't hear me laughing to myself.

10:57 Who am I kidding? He's been asleep for almost an hour now. He's been asleep since he first thought of going to sleep. Even before he was asleep... he was asleep.

10:58 I'm not even making any sense I'm so tired. I'm not going to think of anything for an entire minute... and maybe I'll just drop off to sleep like that. Not thinking. Not thinking. Not thinking. I'm not thinking of anything. La-la-la-la-la I'm not thinking.

10:59 What if I never, ever, ever sleep again? Ever?

11:00 Crap. I'm still not relaxed.

11:00-11:30 *basically more of the same but this time instead of Stephanie Meyer and Martha Stewart... it's Nicholas Sparks and Gandhi. Instead of hypnotism and butts... it's buying more pita chips and how I feel about cleft chins*

11:31 Maybe I should just get up and write or read for a few hours until I'm actually sleepy.

*gets up*

1:00 a.m. Relax. Concentrate on relaxing. Relax. Relax. Relax. Concentrate!!!

1:01 What was she thinking when she used the name Renesmee and why did no one stop her? I wonder if anyone brought it up? If I'd been her agent or her editor... I would have said something.

So, that's basically how it goes... endless hours of thinking about things that are mostly pointless. I think most people with insomnia worry about rational things, though. I'll leave that to them.

My Way Monday

This keeps coming up on Twitter, so I thought I'd explain the way I write and how it is that I write so much.

First of all, I don't intend for everything I write to get published... or even be considered for publishing. Due to my OCD, I have stories and ideas in my head constantly. They compete with the paranoia and worries and stress, but since I've started writing, it's the ideas and stories that keep me awake at night. OCD insomnia is pernicious. I can lie awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, despite being exhausted. In my mind, a dialogue or a quirky situation plays like a movie. I can't stop thinking about it. It won't leave my head. I write manically during the first 20K and last 20K of a manuscript. I don't sleep for fear that I'll forget... which is a sincere worry. I worry that if I forget, the story will never get out of my head but stay there in awful limbo consuming me little by little. Typically, the moment I finally feel finished with a manuscript... another manuscript is already there taking its place.

I've had writers envy me for how prolific I am. Truly, don't do that. My mind feels like a special level of hell because of this. I can't even tell you how tempting it is to increase my OCD meds to try and get the obsessive writing to stop. It doesn't appear in 500 word chunks... no... nor is it vague. I lie awake knowing that I'll have to get up and write 3000 words if I want any chance of sleeping that night. I get up knowing that it's hopeless.

On the other hand, I have this awful worry that if the OCD meds just blow my mind's outlet... what if the stories are still there... clawing at my brain and I can't write them? Typically, twice a month... as dictated by weird hormone surges, I can't write. My brain feels foggy like I've taken cold medicine and everything is mostly lost in a static in my mind. It's terrifying if I've got WIPs unfinished because despite the occurrence of these days--48 times now--every time I worry... what if I can't finish those stories? What if the stories never come back into my mind again and they're never finished? What if this static of noise without direction is the rest of my life? I try to sleep through those days just to get through them as fast as I can. Sure enough, just like clockwork, the time passes and I can write again.

So, I write... to get things out of my brain. Some of the stories I'll just send to my sisters to read with no real plans on what to do with them. Some of these manuscripts were just really good practice for me. Mostly, it doesn't bother me that the bulk of the manuscripts I've written will never see the light of day, it's not about that for me... it never was.

Secondly, I write fast and clean. While not everything I write will get published, I work really hard to get the story across. That's what is important to me. It's paramount to everything else. The story has to get out of my mind and onto paper just as I see it. This sometimes makes for "telling" rather than "showing" that'll get worked out of later revisions. Sometimes, it creates hilarious typos with words that "sound like" the word I was thinking of. Time/them, place/plus, there/tear, hears/hers, eat/each, beat/beach... and so on. I do rereads frequently and other than missing words or these substitutions, I write really clean. My rough drafts, according to betas, are the least 'rough' drafts they've ever seen.

Third, I write like a script in my rough drafts. I focus on dialogue and expressions and movement. I don't stop to describe the locations or the exact way something appears... I work on that in a second or third revision. Quite honestly... I skip over descriptions when I read most of the time, so I do the same on my rough drafts. While it's clean and gets the point across, my rough drafts really read more like scripts than manuscripts.

So... how fast do I write? Manic writing eats up time like you wouldn't believe. Sometimes I tell people that I can write a complete manuscript in two weeks and they're astounded... what they don't realize is that I'm sleeping three hours a night and writing for twelve hours a day some of those days. I think it's not uncommon for a writer to write about 750-1000 words in an hour. I've raced writers on Twitter who can punch out 2K in an hour. My mind is being barraged during my manic obsessive phases... so I write and write and write without stopping. So, while two weeks sounds like nothing... it's really 100 hours of work... and I think many writers could do 75K in 100 hours.

So, what brought this up? I just finished my second WIP off last week in a very short amount of time. I've been trying to finish Versus The Bounty for a year now (it was already at 55K and it's story has been finished and eating at my thoughts since May,) but I also decided that the first person needed to be in third person. Finishing it in third person would leave some of it in first and the rest in third... which... there was no way I could do that. (I can't even let my son wander around with just one shoe on... are you crazy?) So, I started the process of conversion and, honestly, next time just rip out my fingernails one by one. This is the tedious and technical bit of being a writer that makes me want to scream. Luckily, it went fast... really fast. Then, I finished it. Reread it. Revised it. Reread it. Revised it. Sent it to my two sisters. Reread it. Revised it. I've just sent it to my husband and told him to ignore all the girly parts. After he is done, I'll revise, reread, and revise again. Then... it'll be done.

My intention is to nudge with this book but, normally, though my books go through this many revisions and rereads and a lot more betas, I typically shelve all my books for six months. I shelve it... let my mind forget it... and then reread it with fresh eyes and a blank perspective. Then, regardless of whether I intend to query it ever... I revise it. Typically, I shelve it for six more months, and then go through the process again.

So, if you're looking at the books on the side... yes, all twenty-two of those books have been through at least three betas, four revisions (or more), and yet some of them will just sit in my computer. My betas find this sort of sad... as if all stories need to find a public voice. These stories have been inside my head and haunted me to the point that I'm just really happy to be able to share them with betas and, more importantly, have them out of my head so I can sleep.

So, that's how it goes... I know I'm an oddity due to how prolific I am but, let's face it, I was going to be an oddity no matter what. The entire series of books known as The Company of Him books... will probably just always be stories that I like to reread and were really good practice for me. Those betas that have read them... it's like a cool secret world between us.

The Honor books... are less likely to go that way... partly because no one who has read the Honor books will allow that. Honor has a weird cult following... and my hardcopy beta review copies have traveled all over as my betas mailed them to family even. (It was truly bizarre.) Honor Among Thieves has been read by at least thirty people. My mother has a full set of the Honor books that keeps circulating among my extended family apparently. I think it's because Honor has a life of her own really. Her character has been there in my mind fully-formed from conception--in all her irreverent, violent, and quirky glory. It's why she has her own Twitter profile... because she is seriously creepy in her split personality aspect of me. On the other hand, Honor Among Thieves needs to have the beginning rewritten in a different way. My plan is to reread and saturate my mind with that world again and then rewrite the first 50 pages from memory. It'll drop all of the unnecessary graft that has peeked in due to rewrite after rewrite after rewrite. That's the theory.

Unfortunately, that project got pushed back burner while I finished "Versus the Bounty" and now... I've got another WIP sneaking its way back in.

In mid-October, I will have been writing for two years. I'll have been querying... seriously... for a little over a year. I've got two WIPs that are nearly half-way finished. Something intrigues me about completing 24 manuscripts in 24 months. I'm tempted. Well, really, I'll have to go on to 25 in 25 months because really I hate even numbers.

On the other hand, I've been told that sleep keeps you from going insane.

Meh.

BTW, this amount of writing means that I'm always looking for beta readers and I don't have a steady critique partner because of my manic paces. If you ever see anything I'm finished with and you'd like to volunteer to beta, please contact me at wendy at sparrow dot us .

This is what I'm working on right now... and I'm nearly giddy about it. I set it down for the summer so I could write a bunch of short stories out of my brain. When I went back to reread it, I think it's actually my best manuscript to date... but I haven't gotten a lot of opinions on it. So, I might be crazy. I've done tons of research for this one... (which isn't so out of the ordinary--I tend to do crazy amounts of research) and I've also got pictures to refer to. I'm really, really excited about this to the point that I might query it when it's done and drop this "no more querying ever" plan of mine. We'll see.

It's called "The Sentinel's Run" and it's a YA dystopian.

Here is a snippet:

It was only five years. Five years and a chance of one in five that I’d return alive. I poked a stick into the swirling water, catching a small whirlpool and breaking it. This would be the last free day I had… the last time I decided where to go and what to do. Decisions were a luxury item in the Dunn. Decisions like talking to the girl that fished on the shore opposite me. Her long blonde hair would flicker in the sunlight like wheat on the day before harvest, and her laugh would tumble across the water. She was beautiful and elegant and her curves were that of a woman—not a girl. She was from Tanger and while we’d never spoken, in my mind we had. Who would marry her if I never returned? Maybe no one. There were so few males. Sometimes marriage to one girl meant you were taking on the care of all her unmarried sisters.

If I survived, I’d have my choice of females. If I survived.

Before I’d left, I’d been no more than a gelding to the girls around. I was an untouchable. There was no point to looking at a male who was younger than twenty-two. No reason to sow hopes that could be killed when their letter came.

I stabbed at a rock and watched as the soil beneath it spun into the current. What would happen if my letter hadn’t come? Would people have let my time go by quietly and sent their own males off to die? Would I have let them?

Maybe it was as well my letter had come.

Goodbye river. Goodbye fertile ground. Goodbye peace and quiet and hearing the birds in the morning. There were no birds in the Dunn. There was no peace. Not now. Not ever. It was on the front line of defense between the Anbots and the Humans. As long as there were more humans born and the Anbots manufactured more weapons, there would be war. I should be grateful it didn’t spill over into Tereslay. I should be. I wasn’t.

Perhaps it was selfish of me, but I didn’t start this war. I didn’t create the machines that began to feed on us and grow stronger. I would never create a machine smarter than I was. Any fool should have known better than that. I would never insist that every machine have a brain that could be turned against us. I was simply born into this world with its hell.

Father had tried to convince me it would be a growing time for me and I’d come back a man. I knew beneath my father’s word was the word “if.” For the next five years my life would hang on the word “if.” If I survived the first year, I’d most likely survive the next four. If I survived, it might be worth it to me. Veteran sentinels made a lifelong commission and could marry whomever they wanted. If I survived, I might be accepted into town sentinel forces where the worst you’d expect was separating drunks in fights and settling domestic disputes.

If.

It was early, but the girl from Tanger was sliding down the other side of the swift river with a pole. She was sweet as honey and feminine. I waved… sentinel duty was making me bold. It was too late, but that was the way of it. She laughed and waved.

“I leave for duty today,” I yelled above the rushing of the river.

“I’m sorry,” she yelled back.

“What’s your name?” I called. Perhaps I could think about her at night while I tried to shut out the horrors that I’d only heard described. Well, if I wasn’t on night duty…. Perhaps thoughts of her would block out the darkness—the darkness around all hours of the day and night.

“Lauren Fister! What’s your name so that I can watch for you?”

Watch for my name in the casualties, she meant. It was always possible my name would be linked with an award of bravery, but it was still likely to be in the casualties even then.

“Coby Leeman!”

“Toby?”

“NO! Coby!” I yelled.

“Colby?” she yelled.

Eh. Close enough. It was unlikely she’d remember. It was unlikely I’d live.

Life... Universe... Everything...

Yesterday was not a good day in bugdom. I found out that a very close friend is having to make a profound decision regarding her eight year old Autistic child. It's so profound that I feel unworthy to comment on it because I simply cannot comprehend having to make the same decision. I cried all yesterday for her... which is why I made it half-way down my list of blogs to visit and stopped. I'll try to get to more of the blogs tomorrow. I'm hoping to have found some way to cope by then. I don't even know what to say to her... because it's just one of those things that you'll survive but hope not to. My heart goes out to her... and she's been in my prayers as well as her child and the rest of her family.

In my family, tomorrow is T's seventh birthday. He'll be having a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle slumber party this Friday.

My sister is planning on offering on a house we went to check out yesterday. If there was anyway to sell our own house and buy this one (which is 50k less than what we paid for ours), we'd steal it right out from under her. Seriously... there are so many rooms in this place and I'd be able to take in foster kids like I've always wanted... and we'd be able to have a therapy room that doesn't steal so much space from my kids. I'm incredibly jealous. Supremely jealous. Seriously. It's twice the size of our current house. Plus, it's near us but in an incredible school district that we were going to try to open enroll into for B's pre-school therapy. Unfortunately... no one open enrolls into this district and gets in. (For a little bit of time, we considered renting an apartment in the district JUST to get B in. Yeah... SN parents think of all kinds of crazy things.) So, yeah... it would get my sister out of a high crime area... she'd be twenty minutes from us... and she'd be living in an awesome house.

Speaking of SN children, I did solve a problem in regards to my kids that I've been having. My kids are both very, very literal due to their Autism, but my daughter is almost exclusively literal. No, really. So, I'm working on crossing the street safety when I drop them off in the school parking lot. I keep going over the same directions EVERY DAY. Stay together. Go to the cross-walk. Look both ways. Every day... B will look both ways and dart in front of cars. The cars are going like ten miles an hour... and always stop, but it's aggravating. Today, I realized I had to add a key phrase. "LOOK both ways AND STOP AND WAIT if cars are coming." Yeah... the things you would never imagine you'd have to say out loud, but if you have a child who is literal to the point of impairment... you HAVE to say them. It's part of the reason neither child can use the phone. They need a script of how to handle it... and it's one of those things that you need to adapt to circumstances, so they can't do it. All of our phone calls involve me in the background shouting answers to them.

Well, I have yoga this morning... and I wrenched one of my shoulders really fierce yesterday doing something. I had insomnia last night due to the horrors of the day AND being in pain. (My kids probably are glad to be away from the "bear" that I am today. Though, honestly, they usually don't even notice my moods.)

I'm having a rough day and I had a weird night last night with lots of nightmares... so I'm sorry if I'm slow to deal with things right now. I might just need a mental vacation for a bit.

Happy Wednesday to those that believe in Wednesdays.

Twitterpated

Ugh. You've probably noticed by now that I've become addicted to Twitter. I blame Diana... and so should all of you. If you're on Twitter, you can see me chatting away all day on there or in my feed. If you're not--stay away. It sucks your life out through your nose--just like they used to do to mummify people.

Anyway, so I've been lousy at blogging and visiting blogs. Sorry. Hugs and kisses all around.

I've also been working through Re:Straint, though, and switching it into the first person from third person. It's going amazingly well. Seriously. It's going slow... really slow, but I'm loving it so far.

Umm, I haven't heard anything on Scorched, but it would be weirdly early to have heard. I haven't done anything on Honor... because I've been trying to get through Re: Straint. (Can I just tell you that this is going so well? I'm really falling in love with this story.)

Anyway, that's what I'm up to. Changing a story from third to first or vice versa is a nightmare that should never be attempted with anything less than a month's time. I'm still going to try to get it done for ABNA, but if I don't... I don't. Meh. Them's the breaks.

Well, it's 2 a.m. and I'm going to bed. Night all.

Thursday and other glorious words

I don't know why, but I've always liked Thursdays the best. I'm not kissing up to Thursday just because it's Thursday, I really mean that.

The picture above is the cover pictures for my manuscript "Re: Straint" which I used for my three Lulu review copies. (It's not in me to use their lame covers, so I make my own.) Since it's not available for you folks to see... I figured it'd be fun to post my pictures here. That's meant to be E. Coli. So, hopefully, you'll go wash your eyeballs after viewing it.

So, today, I go down to the post office and mail off my entry to the Shelley contest. (Cue nail biting.)

I also cranked out a letter of recommendation yesterday for B's teacher last year. (Go me! I hate non-fiction writing at times.)

My scary story contest entry is doing really well. (Thanks to everyone who voted for me. XOXO to you.)

Nathan Bransford's first paragraph contest ends today and, for the record, Diana had us place guesses on the number of final entries and I guessed 2, 350. We've been promised her ermine to wear around for the day if we win. (Tomorrow she'll be forced to say, "Ermine? No, Wendy, it's Eryours." Ha ha ha I slay me.)

American Short Fiction is open for submission to their contest, $20 entry fee.

Wow Women on Writing has a flash fiction contest open right now, $10 entry fee.

Anyway, I'm thinking of submitting to magazines. I'm going to be checking into that over the next few weeks.

I also plan on finishing my Dystopian Sci-fi and submitting it to the Breakthrough Novel contest with Amazon in February.

Woo woo! Look how motivated I am. If only I was this motivated to clean my house.... I'm still exhausted from staying up slow late working on that partial... and it means I need to sweep through the remainder in hopes that she'll ask for the full manuscript. I only sent one agent a copy of Re: Straint, and it was sort of a whim as I was waiting for DAW to get back with me at that time. I was at a meeting last night where there were a bunch of people who'd read my review copies of Re: Straint and several of them said it was their favorite of my books. Then, the topic turned to my Honor series, and they all turned like a pack of wolves demanding when the sixth Honor would be done. It was a little scary. I've been focusing on other books, but apparently... that's not allowed. I need to focus on all the books at once... and hurry.

Wait! Wait! Happy Anniversary to me! Woo woo! I just realized. I started writing (for reals) a year ago today. (I think... it's approximate because my computer exploded.) So, in one year, I've completed... wait for it... seventeen manuscripts, and (with today's entry) competed in four contests.

Whistle whistle clap clap clap.

I find myself thinking: "That is a lot of insomnia." I've blogged over the years and I was an English major in college, so I've been "writing" for a long time, but I've never let it take over my life as it has the last year.

I guess that's a "for better or worse" type of thing, isn't it?

Anyway, this is a rambling post and I really do have laundry and cleaning. (YUCK! BOO! BOO! )

Wide Awake

Insomnia can be so stinking hilarious. It's just one little irony after another.

Well, I wrote the end of Honor Six... but I still have the middle to work out, so don't get excited. It's rare for me to write the end before I get there. In fact, I think I've only done this with one other book, but I could be wrong. This is more of the epilogue, though, and it's funny. Sometimes I'm in the mood for a little humor. I'd told the husband a while ago how this was going to end up and it was making me laugh just talking about it. Honor is just so freaking hilarious at times. She's violent and smarts off... what's not to love? With my OCD meds destroying my memory, it's funny every time I read it too. (How's that for a silver-lining?)

Uh oh... I think B is awake. B is a poor sleeper too due to insomnia... and OCD. She has been having a lot of night wake-ups. I remember when I had her, people told me that I wouldn't sleep through the night for the whole first year. Eight and a half years later, I've looked forward to the husband and my anniversary trips just to get a full night's sleep. (Sad, but true.) It's this beautiful moment that always happens. We look deeply into each other's eyes... sigh in ecstasy just before we both say, "I'm totally looking forward to a good night's rest."

T is a poor sleeper too, because he sleep walks. It's the freakiest thing I've ever seen. I never believed sleep-walking stories. T wanders around and is impossible to wake.

They both still have night terrors.

Cursed. We're all cursed... well.. except for the husband who can fall asleep at will... which makes me curse him. So, really... we're all cursed.

This is a post about something filthy....

Lucre. That's right. I said it. I'm not ashamed.

So, my SASE didn't come from DAW today. Their website states it could be four months or more, so this is well within what is to be expected. This is good... don't get me wrong. I don't want to get a big ugly rejection back. I might still receive something saying it's gone on to the next reader, so an envelope might not be horrific to see in the mailbox. A phone call, email, or envelope full of money would be better.

So... back to the discussion of that filthy word.

The husband and I have talked about me now that T is in first grade. Bills must be paid, and there are no kids at home. I put him off saying that I wanted to try actually earning money as a writer. So, I've got a deadline of October. If I hear nothing before October, writing gets the smaller burner and I work on getting a job. I'm thinking of going back into the optical profession (which would require some serious study, and I'd have to go in as an apprentice due to the state's requirements.) I'm also considering going into childcare or assisting at a preschool. This might help with the blow to my self-esteem that some aspects of being B & T's mother has been. (They're not affectionate, and it's not their fault. Most days... it's okay. Also, parenting a SN child is different and the husband has decided not to roll the dice with another child. Dealing with children that aren't on the spectrum might be nice. B just gagged and threw up on the floor. Sigh.)

The unfortunate side effect to not earning my share as a writer is the fact that I'd still need to write in order to sleep. I'm on the big mighty nasty beast of sleeping pills, but I can't take it for more than a few days in a row. My doctor isn't keen on me taking it at all to be honest, but it was taking Lunesta three or four hours to kick in... and even then... was it really the meds or was I just finally tired? All other sissy sleeping pills met the same effect.

So, I hoped that picking up running again would help with my insomnia. I've been on a long break from running. It hasn't helped yet, but it may take a little longer for exhaustion to kick in. I might also need to ramp up to six miles a day again before it helps. I accidentally fell asleep for around a half an hour earlier today. Napping is taboo among true insomniacs. When I only get a couple hours of sleep tonight, it'll be the wrist slap I deserve for getting horizontal. I know better.

So... this is all to say that I need to get some direction going soon if I'm to avoid the workhouse and not drive my insomnia to a higher plane. I'm planning out what to do about my current YA project. It has potential and it's the first time I've really thought that about something I've written. It seems like a much clearer audience and positive summation potential. Seriously, there is no hope for summing up the book I'm working on called, "Tables Turned." Every time I try to describe it, it sounds like gibberish. Of course, summation sometimes takes a back seat to hilarity anyway... which is why one of my books has the nickname "Cannibals are for kids."

I really ought to reapply myself to getting an agent. It just sounds so miserable. Besides, I want an agent that I can actually get along with and it seems like a lot of agents take life fairly seriously... which is something I avoid at all costs. Besides, I'm not trying to write the next great American novel. I have no aspirations to be the next Upton Sinclair or Edith Wharton... or whoever. I just like to tell stories. I like working on dialogue more than creating a masterpiece of social signifcance. Anyway, I have the feeling that tackling this agent business again might kill my soul. I never tried the Honor books, though, and that might make all the difference. It's hard to decide what should be my priority if I'm going to enforce this October deadline. If I cut out sleep entirely... than I can get it all done and possibly have a psychotic episode. I hate the details of the business. I feel as if getting an agent might require an agent. As if the dirty professional side to writing wasn't enough, I have a few other ideas beating around my brain for books but I'm forcing myself not to concentrate on them until its their turn. Okay... well... I did write down a fairly clever title for a book, but I'm really pushing it to the back of my mind.

How do writers only write a couple books a year? Don't they feel rushed and driven to find out what is going to happen to their characters? It's difficult for me to take a week off from writing and not to pull near all-nighters as I get near the end of a book. Plus, my characters insist, and I'm a puppet to their whims. Some writers must have lives... it's all I can guess, or maybe they like to get a little filthy something-something on the side (which is to say that they have money-earning professions that aren't writing.)

So, I was listening to my "The Ruins" audiobook while walking earlier, and it isn't looking good for one of the chicks. She got them into the mess they're in... unintentionally. Her intentions don't matter, though. She's toast. It's a strange sort of effect on our psyche that occurs while reading in the horror genre, isn't it? The violence needs to shock you and yet not be disatisfying. We're creepy little creatures in that a few qualifications to a character make their deaths seem a lot less upsetting. I don't know if everyone has the immediate justification take place after someone dies in fiction. First there is this gasp of "whoa... Person A is dead." It's followed by "I'm somewhat entertained and fascinated... that makes me a psychopath." Quickly, justification sets in, though, and I think, "Yeah... but this is fiction and besides Person A: got them into this, was whoring around, keeps kicking puppies, is old and lived a good life, is miserable and getting a divorce, doesn't have a full name, can't speak English, is sexist, is stupid, is impulsive...." There are a million different reasons that I can be okay with someone dying. Perhaps that's just me, though, and there will be awkward silence after this post among all my family.

Speaking of which, does anyone have that short story I wrote about the woman who kills her husband over the 2 % milk?