The Inevitability of Mondays...

It's been a very English sort of Sunday out there today. When I say English, I mean in the sense of a traditional English Spring day. It starts out grey and then rains. Then, out of nowhere the dark gloom of the clouds break and the blue sky above is revealed, the sun streaming down making the water shine on the grass, illuminated.

Then the sky closes and the rain comes again.

All day, it's been like this. Currently, the rain is coming down hard but it's oddly bright outside. It's not terribly cold but the rain brings a chill. The daffodils are ducking away from the heavy drops. It really does make me feel like I'm in England for a few seconds.

It's the time on a Sunday that I dislike. It's mid-evening. The day is done, the night not quite here. Yet it's the time in which the realization that the weekend is quickly fading away hits and you know that no matter what you do between now and tomorrow morning, there's no escaping the inevitability of Monday.

I'm not a fan of Mondays, as you probably know if you read my blog. I am, however, a fan of weekends. This one, while mostly uneventful, has been very nice in its pure laziness and escape from routine.

On Friday morning, the puppies woke me at 5:30 a.m. I ended up decided to just get up and go to work early; since we had a scheduled lunch with my boss, I knew that if I got to work by 7 a.m., I could still got to lunch and still have time to swing by home and let the puppies out.

It seemed a good idea in theory. In reality, by 4 p.m., I was ready to go home to bed.

I spent Friday evening watching reruns of Top Chef: Masters on my DVR and watching the puppies run. By 9:30 p.m., those puppies were exhausted. They promptly crawled onto my lap and passed out. It was blissfully peaceful. We all slept hard on Friday night.

Saturday was nice too. I spent the day with the puppies, only leaving to run to Jungle Jim's (thanks for still having quail eggs!) and the attached pet store. I was a little worried that the Beneful I was feeding them was not agreeing so I splurged on some more 'natural' food that cost more but was supposed to be better on their digestive system. The only bad part is that they don't seem to like it. I think they'll get used to it though.

I did manage to seek out some human company. I had a very pleasant evening playing Harry Potter Clue with my friend and her son and then going out for a spectacularly delicious dinner than included lamb patties, sauteed spinach and pumpkin cheesecake for dessert.

I'd say it was a good day.

Unfortunately, I can't boast that my Sunday was fantasically productive. Ok, so I did clean, I did do laundry and I even managed to make my first ever batch of ratatouille which was rather delicious, if I do say so myself. I just didn't get terribly far with the writing I planned on doing. I'm working on a 'challenge' with a friend of mine who is also a writer. We're going to use the same premise but since we're wildly different types of writers, see what we come up with. I did manage to get a good thousand words written, I'm just not sure if I like it or not.

Nevertheless, I tried and, to me, that's something on a rainy Sunday. On the plus side, I did get some wonderful feedback and a review from friends who read my book. That's enough to make me feel fabulous. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Having good friends who are willing to pay for your book AND give you a review/comments is a valuable thing indeed. I thank you all. You're making me feel like a real writer. I even signed my first book on Friday. It felt...weird...

...but good.

Now, the Sunday evening light is fading and the rain is coming down slowly and steadily. The puppies are in their bed, curled up for warmth after playing in the rain. As for me, I plan on spending my last hours of this weekend's freedom, watching TV and being glad for the warmth of two little dachshund puppies, curled up beside me.

Sometimes, life is good. Even when the next day is a Monday.

Happy Monday!

At Least Let us Sing Before you Boot us off the Stage!

Is it sad that I'm already ready for the weekend? I know I've only been at work for one day this week but I'm really ready for another couple of days off. I don't think that's a reflection of my job but, rather, that I actually stopped to appreciate the slowness of life this past weekend and I don't quite think I'm ready to give it up.

Still, if it were a normal week, it'd only be Tuesday rather than Wednesday so I'm going to try very hard to appreciate that fact today.

Last night, I took a look at my novels to see which one I was going to enter in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest. That's the nice thing about having a pile of them; there's several to choose from. My original intention was to enter my favourite one, Rainlight, but I've since realized that chopping out over 14,000 words will not be easy nor will I be satisfied with the finished product. I'd rather keep it as is and try to shop it around. I sent out some more queries on it. Sometimes I do wonder why the agents and publishers make us bother; I get the feeling that the query letters we send are rarely actually read and digested but, instead, are skimmed but when they see we're yet unpublished, we get the badly xeroxed letter or the standard email rejection.

I'd like to believe that it is possible to get an agent to read my letter and the first ten pages I send. That's why I keep trying. I'm not bitter at the moment, just frustrated that this should be so hard when the writing is so easy. I've been told that I should go to conventions to meet agents. I would love to but given that the average entrance fee is at least $300 and I pretty much live paycheck to paycheck trying not to incur more debt, it's not as easy as just signing up for one.

That's not going to stop me though. At the very least, there's the Amazon contest. The nice thing about being a somewhat seasoned writer (even without any publishing credit) is that I have almost everything ready to go. They want a pitch this year- essentially, that boils down to the meat of a query letter. Since I'm the queen of queries, that's the easy part. I have one of the potential novel candidates already edited and ready to go. I might have the other one I'd like to try edited too. The only thing with that is I can't find my hard copy with my edits scrawled across it. I have a sneaking suspicion I loaned that to a friend before I left California but said friend isn't returning my emails or calls to confirm. I think the only thing to do is to hit the manuscript freshly and re-edit, just in case. That's not exactly torture, to spend hours with those characters.

And if I get rejected from Amazon again this year, I will try very hard not to be too depressed, too bitter or too disheartened. I will try not to be jealous of fictional characters who magically send a manuscript to an agent and voila! publishing contract.

(That just happened in that book I mentioned on Friday, The Baker's Apprentice. One of the characters happens to write a memoir/fictional novel and sends it off to an agent. The agent likes it but wants it completely rewritten. Then after the rewrite is done, the writer gets a nice-sized publishing deal.)

I'm sure that happens. However, all the writers I know, including myself, never quite get that chance to completely rewrite the manuscript to change points-of-view and structure. We just get the "thank you for submitting. Unfortunately, we do not feel we are the right agents for your work" email. For us, it's like getting to the auditions for American Idol, filling out our form and being rejected before we're even allowed to sing because we're not pretty enough for TV or we aren't wearing the right clothes.

Ok, so maybe I am a teensy bit bitter. Maybe I'd like the chance to get to 'sing for the judges' before they decide I'm not worthy. Maybe I don't want to be the girl who wears a bikini just to get Simon Cowell's attention or the person who dresses up in a Star Wars costume just to prove I'm unique.

Maybe I, like so many other fledging writers, just want the chance to "sing", to prove that while I might not have a famous name or face, I can write and my novels are worth reading. Then, if I'm rejected, I'll at least feel like I had a fair chance. That's not to much to ask, is it?

Ah well, 'tis all experience. That much I do know. One of these days, my efforts will pay off. Until then, I'll keep dreaming and writing. That's all I can do.

Happy Wednesday.

Wednesday Musings about Life, Writing and, of course, Snow

I'm late blogging today for a number of reasons but here I am, blogging as usual. I actually quite enjoy writing on a daily basis. I don't always get to write anything in a day and so this gives me a bit of a fix to tide me over. At the moment, it's pouring with snow. It's the hard, fast and furious kind that doesn't have time to drift and wait but wants to get where it's going as fast as it can.

It's also freezing outside, almost Siberian temperatures again. It's supposed to get colder. I don't mind as long as I don't have to be outside and that I don't have to drive on icy roads. You've probably noticed, I'm a big fan of snow.

I've been spending the last month or so editing my manuscript for Rainlight. My intention is to enter it into the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest. I don't really know why. Last year was such an abysmally depressing affair that I don't know why I'm willing to subject myself again. But I want to. I like that I have a deadline.

The only problem is the word limit. They want novels of no more than 150,000 words. My novel, after all my cuts and edits is still 162,000. So the question is, do I pick another novel, use that one but cut large chunks of them out with hopes that, if I'm ever published, they can go back in? Or should I be ruthless and just cut scenes out, scenes I love?

The thing is, I've tried to be ruthless already. I've cut portions out that I liked but weren't necessary. Now I have to cut a lot more and I'm not sure how I'm going to manage that. I'm hoping I'll find away. I do have a backup plan though- I have another, much shorter novel, ready to go. There's always that option.

I've mentioned in the past how hard it is to kill a character. I've now realized that no matter how many times I do it, it never gets easier. I was just editing a novel that I wrote seven years ago and I still couldn't stand the fact that I'd killed this character, John. I feel guilty. I see the course the novel takes and everything that could be done to prevent his death and yet...still he dies. He has to; without his death, the next four novels in the series couldn't happen. It's hard to reread what I wrote all those years ago because I know what happens and even though it's my creation, I'm powerless to prevent it. Rereading his death scene is almost as hard as when I wrote it. I'm angry that he didn't fight harder but I also know that there's only so much one sixteen-year-old can take and he reached his limit.

I suppose that the power I have as a writer could be used for ill. I can create and kill, give life and take it. It's a scary power to have but I try not to wield it unwisely. That's why, as I've mentioned, I listen to my characters and don't tell them what to do. It's their story; I let them tell me. Sometimes it takes a while, sometimes it doesn't but, when I'm done, I always have a finished book and it never ends the way I planned.

I know this blog isn't as interesting as some of my other ones and for that, I apologize. I will try to do better tomorrow. It's snowing harder outside, a cascade of flakes that blind you. I'm happy about that. I know my mother is not. She's not a winter person. All I can say is that in a few short weeks, the snow will subside a little and you'll see the snowdrops fight their way out of the earth to bloom, even when snow still surrounds them. I, for one, have to enjoy winter because, without it, spring would have less meaning.

Happy Wednesday.

Ice Storm Watch 2008

We were supposed to have an ice-storm last night. It was one of those things that sent the weather people scurrying around like squirrels, interrupting TV, reporting on "Ice Storm Watch 2008," and having that banner flash across the TV every five minutes to tell which counties would be affected.

We never got the ice. We had nothing. It's cold. There are patches of ice where the puddles were yesterday but no ice storm. Supposedly, it may hit today but there was definitely an air of disappointment in the weather people this morning. I, for one, am not too disappointed. I did, however, discover an area of my parking lot that could be compared to an ice rink. It's where the storm drain sits below a slight incline. It also happens to be in the main traffic area. I'll have to remember to watch out for that. I'll also keep an eye out for my stray there; maybe he'd like to use those ice-skating skills for which he was so eager to hitch a ride.

It is cold though, so cold that my window on my car freezes shut and going to the drive-by mailboxes at the post office isn't so simple. I had to open my door to mail my letters since my window wouldn't budge. Now I'm in the office and people are being very...ominous. Several people have walked by my cubicle and said, "No snow....yet." They say it in this tone that implies dark and shady happenings are afoot. Personally, I'd rather like some dark and shady happenings, nothing too depressing but something to liven up my day.

Then again, maybe I have enough dark and shady happenings in my dream life to fill the quota. I've been having weird dreams. A couple of nights again, Keanu Reeves was an alien, just like he was in "The Day The Earth Stood Still." I haven't seen the film but I did see the preview. Anyway, Keanu was going to kill us all. We had to run. I ended up in a house that was filled with frozen food. Not sure why. The night after that, I dreamed Heath Ledger was talking to me. Given that he passed away, that was a shade creepy. Last night, I dreamed a high school classroom had caught on fire, killing everyone. I know why that one happened- I was editing too much. I have a scene in which that happens in Rainlight.

I did mention that I wasn't into sparkles and rainbows in my novels, right?

So maybe I don't really want dark and shady happenings. I wouldn't mind some snow though. Just a dusting would be fine. It is coming up on Christmas. I have my decorations up, my lights glowing. I even have a little electric fireplace that simulates dancing flames on logs. I love it. It's not like I can roast chestnuts on it because it's not an open fire. Besides, roasting chestnuts on an open fire is a bit dangerous anyway- those things can shoot right out like bullets if they get hot enough.

But I have my apartment set up and I'm ready for a little more snow now. I'm a traditionalist: Firmly believing that Christmases should be white. That's one of the problems I had when living in L.A. Granted, I spent the actual holiday with my family in Indiana so I often got snow but the preparations for the holiday were all done in L.A. It's not easy to be festive when it's 80 degrees and sunny. The campiness of palm trees with lights on it wears off fairly quickly. That's why I loved our annual trip to Disneyland; the might fake it but at least it snows there. It's hard to hear "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas" in L.A. Sure, you can drive to the mountains but it's not always possible.

I'm rambling. I'm a rambler. By now, you'll know that's normal. Blame it on my dark and shady dreams from last night; my brain feels a little mushy this morning. I'm surprised I can form a complete sentence. More people are trickling into the office now; the first pot of coffee has been emptied, more is made, steadily growing in vileness so that this afternoon's pot will be disgusting. I usually skip the afternoon coffee these days.

Another person just said "The storm is coming!" It makes me smile at how dramatic it is. If we have a storm, I'll let you know. In the mean time, I'll just sit back and see what happens. There's no controlling nature; if she wants to be dark, shady and stormy, she will. If not, we always had "Ice Storm Watch 2008".

Happy Tuesday.

The Joys of Literary Schizophrenia

I've discovered it's impossible to plan these blogs. I've tried. Some days I have every intention of having a rant and then I get sidetracked and I end up waffling about something completely unrelated.

I have a feeling today will be one of those days. It's a Monday again. It's a rainy, windy Monday morning. It reminds me of England when the weather is like this. The sidewalks are shiny with puddles, the wind tosses the fallen leaves which stick to everything with the dampness. The wind manages to blow the rain so no matter whether you have a hood or an umbrella, there's no fighting the rain and you end up wet. As is always the case on Mondays, I didn't want to get up. I wanted to lie longer, listening to the howl of the wind outside. Yet, as is also always the case on Mondays, I knew I couldn't.

I take pleasure in the fact that this my last week of work before the holidays. That, alone, made it easier to emerge from my covers and get out of bed. This week is actually already better. I have 95% of my shopping done. I giftwrapped last night. My Christmas cards are mailed. And, writing wise, I think I'm back on track.

Now I'm pulling out of my mini-funk, writing is easier. I'm editing the first novel I ever wrote at the moment. I'm intending to try, once more, to throw my lot into the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest this year with this novel. I know a lot of writers hate to edit but I have to say, I actually enjoy it as long as I don't do it immediately after I write a novel. I tend to work on other projects for a while and then, when I'm ready, I go back to the novel and edit. I love doing that; it's a luxury to have already created that fictional world I'm reentering and just being able to look around, listen to the characters whose story I'm telling and see if it still fits. It's like getting to hang out with old friends again.

That's what's happening at the moment. I love my first novel, Rainlight. That's just an opinion, not an expression of arrogance. It's a novel about three teenage boys who all have their own issues to deal with. One of them, David, is hearing strange voices, mysterious whispers that he doesn't understand. His brother, John, is just trying to survive under the tyrannical thumb of his religiously zealous father. John's best friend Michael, has been diagnosed as bi-polar. The three of them are just trying to survive, to seem normal although normalcy keeps eluding them. It's a strange novel but it's not really mine; it belongs to David, John and Michael. They're just nice enough to let me tell their story. And I'm not nice back which is a little unfair. I'm not good at telling stories with puppys, rainbows and sparkles. Their story is funny, poignant and, at moments, heartbreaking. You'll hate me at the end if you ever read it but it's only the first novel in a series of five and in order for the larger story to be told, sacrifices had to be made.

So I'm revisiting that novel at the moment. I still love it but since I wrote it, I've written seven more and lots of short stories. My writing is better now, more fluid. I'm not trying to be Stephen King or Neil Gaiman anymore; I've figured out who I am as a writer. I've a thousand influences but, in the end, it's my writing that has to shine. Editing Rainlight after writing so much other stuff feels like a treat. I've mentioned before how I don't think I'd be a good fit in a writing program. The truth is though I think there are things I can gain from them, ultimately, the goal of a writing program is to make me into a better writer and if writing eight novels hasn't done that, no writing program will.

But writing those other novels has done that. It was hard to write Revelation, the last book in my series about John, David and Michael. It meant I had to leave those characters and move on. Yet they never really left me, they lie low, waiting until it's their turn again. In the meantime, I've 'found' other characters: Jimmy DeLeon, a modern day Joab from the Old Testament, trying to be a loyal soldier for his boss, Ethan, the modern day King David. Briar Richards, whose love for her skater boy threatens to destroy the fragile connection to life to which she clings. And then there's Ryder, Bastian, Foster and Gaz, my Sleepers. Some of them are dead, some of them are not but they all have ties to Sleep, a place where a few chosen go when they die in hopes to find meaning and redemption from their troubled lives.

I don't know which characters will find me next though I have a suspicion that Gaz, from my novel Sleep, will not be appeased. He's the type who knows how to get his own story; no matter how quiet my other voices, Gaz is willing to pipe in and let me know he's waiting.

You probably think I'm crazy. I probably am. Though a friend who is also a writer told me that she, too, hears the voices and she calls it her literary schitzophrenia. I love that term. It's so accurate and true. When I hear my voices, my heart leaps, just a little. No matter how dark life can get, those voices sometimes get me through. They let me follow them into their world for a while and they let me sketch it with words. It's a haven and I love it.

I've only edited Rainlight for one night and already I feel different. I feel like there's a piece of me missing when I'm not writing or talking to my characters. That piece of me is back and it feels right. While I'm editing, I'm still submitting, still trying to find that one agent or publisher who really does want to take a chance on a new writer. Somehow the rejections are a little less painful when I'm content with writing or editing because I remember again why I write in the first place.

I can't wait to get back to editing tonight. It makes getting through the workday easier. It makes the numbing dullness of my day job tolerable because my night job is waiting.

Happy Monday.