...and then I traveled back in time

TF is a kind of time travel book, but not in any kind of sci-fi "portally" way. So, it is somewhat ironic that last night, my manuscript traveled backwards. Remember the post about seeing 30 in my rear-view mirror? Well, last night I went through and deleted a lot of unecessary words that you don't think about while you're writing--you just write them, and then you have to go back and remove them. Words such as really, very, some, a little, a lot, and big. I deleted about 275 words and now I'm under 30K again. Heh.

Oh, that we could do that with our ages.

"Hmm...I'm not crazy about that little extra piece of wiggle woggle on the back of my upper arms."

DELETE

"OH, boy...chin sag."

DELETE

"Why, last week, my waist fit into those cute shorts. Now, strangely, they seem to be about two inches too tight."

DELETE

I'm stepping onto the age scale, holding my breath.
Cool...I'm back down to 39 years, eight months.

Oh, well.

Lyric of the Year

I took my love, I took it down
Climbed a mountain and I turned around
I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills
'Till the landslide brought me down

Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love
Can the child within my heart rise above
Can I sail thru the changing ocean tides
Can I handle the seasons of my life

Well, I've been afraid of changing
'Cause I've built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I'm getting older too

Oh, take my love, take it down
Climb a mountain and turn around
If you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well the landslide will bring it down

If you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well the landslide will bring it down

Landslide, Stevie Nicks

Seeing 30 in my rear view mirror

I'm over 30 now. Thirty thousand words, that is, on TF. I passed 30 in human years a while back. My good friend (and son-in-law) Fabian did turn 30 this week, though. You can read all about it over at Brought to you by the letter i.

I added about 1,100 words to my manuscript tonight after being incredibly lazy almost all day except for playing with the template for this blog. Do you like it?

I don't seem to have a lot to say this week otherwise. It's been quiet in blog-brain land for some reason. So, I'll leave you with my lyric of the day that this post brought to mind. This one goes out to Fabian and Trading Faces. My post's so short, I'll give you the whole thing

Lyric of the Day

Say good-bye to your twenties

Tomorrow is the "Big 3-0"

For my birthday present

I've got a place where we can go

It's a lesson in motion

To ride the wildest ride

We're gonna climb to the top of the roller coaster

And look down the other side

So let me ride in the front car

And you ride right behind

And I'll click my snapshot camera

At exactly the right time

Shoot back over my shoulder

Catch the fear no one can hide

When we tip the top of the roller coaster

And look down the other side

Over the hill

So when the prints come back

We can look at that unmistakable birthday fear

Like your younger days are over now

And its all down hill from here

It was a happy birthday

You surprised us all

So take a look at this glossy picture

I framed it for your wall

It's the moment of truth

It's the top of your youth

The camera don't lie

You might be screaming

But there's a meaning

In the laughter in your eyes

It seems to be saying

"Of course there will be fear"

But this is why we stand in line

Spend that time

Make that climb

To finally feel the other side

And it's all down hill from here

We're gonna climb to the top of the roller coaster

And look down the other side

David Wilcox, Top of the Roller Coaster, from Home Again

Do things look funky?

If they do, it's because I'm playing with my blog template and header image, etc.

So, like they say at the mall, "Please pardon my mess, I'm remodeling to serve you better!"

UPDATE: Stick a fork in me, I'm done for now. If any of the voices in my head can figure out how to get rid of the extra purple under the image, I hope they'll let me know. I don't know if I'll actually like it, but that was the original plan and it's driving me nuts that it won't go away.

Back in the saddle

Well, I guess I told me. I wrote almost 1,800 words on TF tonight. That after going through my entire second section earlier today and making some edits here and there.

No lyrics or quotes tonight.

Frustration...

...when writer's block is not the problem.

I realized last night when Todd and I were talking about the stressful week I had last week what the main source of stress was for me. I had been having headaches for three days--and I never get headaches. Well, maybe three or four times a years, which is almost never, in my book. They were non-responsive to drugs of many kinds (all legal, thanks). My allergies have been super annoying, and we decided being stressed may have something to do with that as well.

We knew it had been a crazy week for work. I was working on (and am still not finished) a project that just keeps going and going. I was making fixes from lists I received from co-workers on a daily or more basis. I would have to close the emails and go away for a while to even make my brain work well enough to understand what I needed to do because I was so sick of it.

I had taken on a new volunteer project involving both known and unknown skills and the first deliverable was due on Thursday, and I wasn't given as much lead time as I had requested, so was pushing the envelope on that, too...and not too happy about it.

Todd's aunt died at age 53 in her sleep without any prior warning, and he was struggling with whether to attend her funeral across the country or not. When he decided to go, we both felt good about him going but it left me a "single mom" again for the second week in a row, and I've gotten pretty used to having that guy around. I'm just whining here--it was less than 48 hours. I survived. I even went shopping at Grapevine Mills. It took time away from work and stuff, but it was pure stress relief. And I really needed that picture for my living room. :)

So, what I explained to Todd was that a little over a year ago, I was still having daydreams about writing. I was in school, working all the time, trying to figure out what the heck I wanted to be when I grew up, and then I went to a free day-long writer's conference and everything changed. I understood finally that if I wanted to be a writer, the time was now. I started writing again that night after about a (lemme think) 20-year hiatus.

Now, I want to write all the time. I have no problem with writer's block (yet?). I try to write new ideas down before I forget them because I have other things I'm already working on, and one day hope to get back to those newer ones. I try to balance the time I do have between the various things I'm working on--two manuscripts (Trading Faces and the first manuscript I started on last year that is on hold, but I still open and play with on occasion), blogging (which may lead my friend Britt to believe I need to get a life, but whatever), book reviews I want to start posting on a new site, other short stories and pieces for competitions or maybe even money. But, there just isn't enough of it. Time, that is, not stuff to work on.

So, last week, I was about ready to scream because I had so many things floating around in my head that needed to be put down on my keyboard, but were consigned to float. I have gotten very jealous of that time and lemme tell you, it's not pretty when I have to share it.

We ended up having a really pleasant weekend, including a delicious dinner with my in-laws Friday. I was momentarily stunned when I was talking to my father-in-law about the book they gave me that I posted about a few days back. He asked me if I had read another book on writing and while he was talking about it, he literally choked up and it looked like he even blinked back a few tears. He was that passionate about that book. I had one of those "aha" moments as I recognized in another person what I often feel about this crazy writing obsession.

I would love one day to be able to just take a certain chunk of time (weeks? months? a year?) and do nothing else besides care for my family and write, just to see the result. I have the crazy notion that I could actually do that full-time and not go totally insane. But, it's probably not going to happen any time soon. In the meantime, I just try to guard the smaller chunks of time I'm given and use them wisely, working toward that day. (For instance, spending two hours on a new template for this blog tonight when I could have been writing. Heh.)

I hope this week is just a little calm.

Quote of the day (coming soon to a new blog banner in your area):

Each writer must find out for himself, I imagine, on what strange basis he lives with his own stories.

Eudora Welty, from One Writer’s Beginnings

Caught breaking my own promises

Bad me! I said I was going to include a quote or lyric on each post and have skipped the last three, although the Campho one doesn't count.

So, I'll just do that:

Lyric of the Day
"Unfashionably insensitive, and too cool to care..."

Can you name the song? It's way out of context when you hear the whole song, but it makes me think of my son. Perhaps it would be more appropriate if it said, "Unfashionably dressed-like-a-homeless-person, and too cool to care."

Anyway, I heard that song yesterday and it's been floating around in my head since. Lovely and sadly hopeful little tune.

We won't talk about the other promises I've broken in the last week. For instance, we won't talke about me not writing 1000 (or at least 500) words per day.

TF moves on slowly

I managed to finish section two of TF last week, but didn't mention it here. I'm up to about 27,000 words, which means nothing to you and everything to me, and am feeling good! I've been able to successfully distract myself from writing more on TF since about a week ago by doing writing of other kinds, such as the Magic story for Blogging For Books, and of course work, work, work, but that's given me some time for TF to gel a little in my brain again. Todd's out of town for a funeral, so I'll probably be up 'til all hours writing tonight.

I am really excited about the third section and can't wait to get on it! I am nearly ready to release what I've done so far back into the hands of my faithul critics/critters, and am especially interested to see what my daughters have to say again. They are the target audience, after all! And hopefully, not afraid to tell me I'm stoopid. :0)

Campho-Phenique...It *is* Magic

When you were growing up, what was that one thing your mother always told you would fix anything? In our house, it was Campho-Phenique. That magical tiny green glass bottle, filled with slippery fluid. I have a love/hate relationship with its noxious odor and burn.

When we were kids, whatever happened, no matter what hurt, Mom sent us to the cabinet behind the bathroom mirror for Campho-Phenique.

"Mommy, I cut my pinky toe!"
"Get me the Campho-Phenique."
"Owwww, Momma, it stings! Blow on it! Blow on it!"
"Phhh...phhhh....Sorry! Better?"
"Yes. Thank you, Mommy!"

As we grew, Campho-Phenique taught us independence.

"Momma, I fell and scraped my elbow!"
"Get the Campho-Phenique. It'll sting for a minute, but then it'll feel better. Just blow on it after you put it on."

It even taught us better hygiene.

"Mom, my...um....my...umm...you know, my (whispered) rear end itches."
"Ewww. Take a bath! Then get the Campho-Phenique."
"How'm I gonna blow on it?"
"I don't know. Don't ask me."

Seriously, she thought it would cure anything.

"Mom...Gary dumped me."
"Oh...sorry. Get the Campho-Phenique. No wait. He what?"

Well, almost anything.

And so it went. If Campho-Phenique didn't fix something, we went to the doctor. And we didn't go to the doctor often. When I grew up, got married and moved into a place of my own, I resisted at first, but eventually that little green bottle made its way into my medicine cabinet.

Then, the day came when I heard the words come out of my own mouth. My little boy came running to me with an ouchy, and I said:

"Get the Campho-Phenique."

Whaaaaaaaat? No, I didn't just say that. Was my mother there hiding? No, it was me! I was turning into my mother. I checked around just to be sure. Yep, Scott toilet tissue on the roller. Tide laundry soap on top of the dryer. Goober Grape in the pantry. Her influence was all over the place, and I hadn't completely realized it until the moment I sent my son to the bathroom for the Campho-Phenique.

The magic handed down from generation to generation comes in different shapes and sizes. To some people, it looks like duct tape. To others, Pepto Bismol. My dad swore it was iodine, but Mom cured him, I think.

Yesterday, my 12-year-old came in my office and showed me her pointer finger. She asked me if I could see the angry red bump on the side near her fingernail. I said, "Yep, that's swollen because of a hangnail. Go dip it in Campho-Phenique, let it soak in for a minute, then wipe off the extra. If it stings, blow on it."

A minute later, I heard her come back through the bathroom door behind me. She was talking to herself.

"Campho-Phenique. It cures anything."

I smiled.


Note: This story was inspired by this month's Blogging for Books at Faster Than Kudzu, the blog of Joshilyn Jackson, author of gods in Alabama and soon-to-be-released Between, Georgia.

Just one of those books...

I'm reading a book that is talking out loud to me. The only other one I've read that has reached out and grabbed me as much on this level would have to be Bird by Bird (Anne Lamott). This one is The Courage to Write: How Writers Transcend Fear (Ralph Keyes, 1995).

I received it as a Christmas gift from my in-laws along with five or six others on writing, and will have to give them kudos for picking extremely well! The others are reference books or character or plot development books. This one is more like a kick in the butt. ;)

I highly recommend it to anyone who wants to write, but isn't quite sure where to start, or anyone who already writes, but doubts they have the ability or material some days...and who doesn't?

A few things in particular jump out at me. So far. I'm only half finished.

1) I can relate to much of what he reveals about the authors he references. Cool! Maybe I am a writer! For instance, he writes of E.B. White (Charlotte's Web, Stuart Little):

"A writer's courage can easily fail him," he observed while accepting the National Medal for Literature, "I feel this daily."

Shazaam.

2) The good stuff might be embarrassing. Or scary.

Writers are always hungry for compelling topics to explore. The problem is that the best ones are mortifying. A warm flush of embarrassment is like a dowsing rod pointing its quivering tip right at deep wells of rich material. When our cheeks feel hot with chagrin, we've probably hit a gusher.

And...

The closer they get to painful personal truths, the more fear mounts—not just about what they might reveal but about what they might discover should they venture too deeply inside.

No, Momma, don't make me!!!

3) Page fright. Heh.

4) Literary fog.

Readers who dare to point out that incomprehensible writing can't be comprehended risk being told that the problem is theirs.

Shhh...don't tell anyone, but I love what he says about literary and academic writing. Poor Gertrude Stein.

5) Lonely kids, lonely writers

Successful writers rarely emerge from the ranks of the popular. Those who went to the prom seldom take up the pen. Why should they? Their thirst for attention has been slaked. They don't have as many scores to settle.

Okay, who told? I've been trying to keep that whole prom thing a secret. I had a blind date with my best friend's older brother's buddy, but I chickened out. Sigh.

I better stop, but in case you didn't notice, this book is the it book. Buy it. Read it.

Wheels turning in my head

I haven't posted lately. It was a busy week for work last week, so I didn't get much actual writing done, but I did make some other types of progress on TF. I came up with some quotes from appropriate sources for the chapter headings for the different sections. Thought it would be a fun and creative teaser for each chapter to relate what happens within to another book, movie, or maybe music lyrics. I couldn't believe how appropriate quotes from Anne of Green Gables were for part two. Eerie, almost! Another one of those twilight zone moments like I had with the ballet name and the character name, as mentioned in a previous post.

In the meantime, I also defined part three--coming up with a much better scenario than I had originally intended to use. It just wasn't working for me, in spite of being fun. I think the new scenario will work much better for my 12-13 year old main character. I had another of those shower moments, too, where the scenes and dialogue were floating around in my head quite freely! I'm tempted to go ahead and start working on that part a little before I finish part 2, but that's kinda scary. I'm a pretty sequential person, as a general rule.

So, hoping to get some writing done this week. I think I could be finished with the first draft of this manuscript by the end of June if I work really hard. Probably sooner, if I worked exceptionally hard! Depends on how life treats me.

Wow, looking at my last post, I realize I didn't even comment on the fact that I created a whole new outline for TF. I'm not going to even attempt to write all of the scenes I had originally envisioned into one book. So, I've got outlines for a series of three books. I think I'll be able to do a lot better job of character and plot development while staying within the advised number of pages for this genre. Not to mention that what I'm reading on agent sites and blogs gives me the impression that they like authors with a plan, including further manuscripts already in the works as oppposed to one-hit wonders.

I also guess I have done quite a bit of writing since I last mentioned my word count. I'm up to 24,000!! I must have posted in my head only. ;)

Quote of the day
I'm not a bit changed--not really. I'm only just pruned down and branched out. The real ME--back here--is just the same.
From Anne of Green Gables, by Lucy Maud Montgomery