Attack Of The Killer Muse!

Only with less killing.

Last night Vlad was feeling chitty-chatty and told me something I didn't know, something that lasted about 2,000 words before I became too tired to continue. As of this moment, I can feel him over my shoulder, pacing and nervously glancing at the screen, wondering when it'll be his turn to talk.

Soon, Vlad. Soon. Just let me blog about you first.

It has been an enormous effort lately for me to write--for reasons I can't quite go into just yet. I swore that I was different than other writers, that I could write through just about everything (and hoo-boy, have I...). But the submissions process has been new territory for me. I had no idea how strange, stressful, and messed up it can be. Your brain goes to this weird place, this higher plane where all it can think about is what being published means: the self-doubt, the fear of success, the dear-goddess-people-will-come-to-expect-things-from-me-now-and-I'm-not-sure-I-can-deliver-them-what-if-this-book-was-a-fluke-and-I'm-just-a-hack feeling. It's awful. Plus, it screws with the muse.

I'd begun to think that a successful writing day from now on would mean 50 words or more, that my writing had changed forever. But, once again, pass me the friggin' tiara, because it was just another writer/drama queen moment. All is well in the land of Vlad. The Lightbulb of Inspiration has flickered on once again and all is right with the world.

Now if only I had a maid...

If Vlad Went To South Park...

...I imagine this is what he'd look like. Note the rolled eyes, the bored frown, the obligatory fangs...

This is also further evidence that I need to spend more time writing and less time looking for things to do that can't even qualify as research.

But, just in case you're looking to recreate yourself, your characters, your friends, or, better still, your enemies into South Park creations, make sure you go here and check it out.

Me? I'm back to work. As usual, my Monday is full of blood and angst.

Last Night I Did The Unthinkable

As I lay down to sleep last night, snuggling up in my warm comforter, I had another one of those river-rushing moments, where an entire chapter just rushed over me--giving me that yesyesyesyes feeling that we writers so adore. But then, instead of getting out of bed and scribbling it down before it flitted away like I normally would, I took a cue from Stephen King. If it's that good, I'll remember it in the morning.

I went to sleep.

Lucky for me, it was still with me when I awoke and I wrote down every bit of it that I could recall, plus some. So, Ninth Grade Sucks is not only moseying its way along...it's also finding its groove.

Yay me. Yay Vlad.

Vampire pride, baby.

A Word On Banned Books

Well, a few words...but you get the point.

I first heard of The Catcher and the Rye when I was fifteen. So, curiosity leading the way, I stopped into my highschool library to check a copy out. The librarian informed me that the book had been banned at our school. She said it had been banned for years, then was unbanned for a few years, until a parent complained about its content. In fact, there was a box of newly banned books sitting on the librarian's desk, which, she informed me, were on their way to the trash.

It astounded me that I lived in a society that would ban books, let alone throw them in the trash.

I confess, I stole a copy of The Catcher in the Rye out of that box. And I read the whole thing that night.

Now, I'm not advocating stealing, but I am encouraging kids to get out there and read every banned book you can find. If they (and by they I mean whoever banned the book in the first place) don't want you reading it, then find out why. Read it. Learn from it. And don't let a simple-minded thing like banning stop you. If they're banning a book, chances are, you should be reading it, passing it around to your friends, digging into those pages and mining for gold.

Banned Books Week was several months ago, but the ALA (bless their book-lovin' hearts) have excellent lists of the most commonly banned books. Read those lists. Put them to memory. And then seek out the books on them.

As for me, I'm going to sit down and reread The Catcher in the Rye tonight. It's a newer copy.

I read the last one until it fell apart.

Willing and Able

What must a writer do to promote one's book? Well, the answer is a bit complicated. You must do nothing.

Hang on! Don't get your undies in a bunch. I'm saying that, logically, you must do nothing. What it boils down to is what you are willing and able to do, in order to promote your book.

I've been thinking a lot about this lately (as happy news doth soon approach). It's a very personal question. What am I willing and able to do?

I have no physical or psychological limitations, so what I am able to do is pretty broad. I have a wonderful family who supports me and my career without a moment's hesitation. Also, I'm very willing to invest my money into my career, as I happen to think this will be one investment I'll see a return on. (Confidence or conceit? Call it what you will.) I'm able to do just about anything to get this book out there.

But what I'm willing to do is another story. Oh, I'm willing to go to stores, sign stock, mail postcards and fliers, send out e-mail newsletters, participate in chats, do interviews, submit short stories to zines, participate in conferences and booksignings, and spend a chunk of change on the most fabulous launch party known to man. But I'm not willing to step more than four paces outside my comfort zone.

See, the majority of writers are most comfortable typing away at their keyboards, creating worlds for other people to explore. Some aren't willing to step away from this to do any promotion at all. (And that's cool--whatever works for them--I'd never want anyone becoming uncomfortable and unhappy simply to sell a book) Some jump away from the desk in jubilant leaps and bounds, and end up doing some pretty amazing things to self-promote.

Me? I'm going to fall somewhere in the middle. I'm going to work hard to get people talking about Vlad. But I'm not going to bleed for him. (Bleeding near a vampire? Not recommended.) I'm hoping the story will be enough to create initial buzz. Then, I'll do what I mentioned above. But the most important tool that I can use to bring back the readers is another excellent book. So that's what I'm working on.

Hopefully my efforts will be enough.

If not...I'm blaming those darn aliens.

Oh, What a Wicked Web We Weave...

Lying?? Nope. Not me, my minions. I'm about as honest as they come. But, I do happen to be happily caught in a wicked web. It's called First Draft Land and I'm wrapped up in it fairly snugly.

Late last night the muse was working overtime. He, Vlad, and I jotted down over 1,200 words--the only trouble being that they weren't part of the Ninth Grade Sucks manuscript. They were notes. Detailed notes that have shown me the way to those two words shining in the distance: The End.

I wrote more, of course, but the notes were a huge epiphany for me, as I could feel myself losing track of where Vlad and I were going. I looked at Vlad and said, "But what's the mystery? Tell me about that."

To my horror, Vlad shrugged.

Of course, once the muse grunted and fluffed his tutu, Vlad was very chitty-chatty. (Phew!) And this morning, he's biting to get started (Ow! Stop that!).

Most good books (I would dare to say all, but as I haven't read them all, I can't) contain a mystery of some sort. A question that must be answered before you reach the back cover. I'm relieved (and thrilled!) that my weird trio has figured out NGS's mystery and I'm anxious to move on to writing it. So...I'll bid you good day, my minions. And happy writing! (and to all my goth minions--morose, soul-wrenching prose)

The Best Advice

Just this morning, I was asked what the best advice is that I could give to aspiring authors. The answer is more obvious than you'd think and has been phrased in many ways.

Kill your darlings.

In short, it means to stop being afraid of that delete key and know when to press it. When in doubt, delete, delete, delete.

My word count for yesterday was 2,600 words and today I've written another 800 so far. But you can't tell by my manuscript. I've deleted quite a bit. I saw what was wrong and rather than wait for a big mess to clean up at the end, I hacked my darlings to itty bitty bits and started anew in several areas, leaving me with a total of 13,000 words for Ninth Grade Sucks. Now, don't get me wrong--I almost never revise as I write something. But if I feel the story heading toward doom, I'm apt to yank its chain a bit. Don't let the story get away from you too much or you might end up at the bottom of a pit wondering, "How on earth did I get here and how the heck am I going to get out of it?"

So sharpen your sickles, my minions. And hack away at your darlings until all that remains is a thing of beauty.

Back in the Coffin Again...

(wait...haven't I used that title before?)

After a horrendous twenty words last night (yeah...you read it right. Twenty. 20. Two-zero.), my muse cracked his knuckles, nudged me aside, fluffed his tutu, bit down on his cigar and got to work early this morning. I managed to delete 1,4oo words and replace them with 1,600 new ones. The book is much better for it and I feel like I can now move forward without pause. (Thanks, muse!)

Now, I'm not a person who believes in writer's block, but I do believe that writers do occasionally allow themselves to become distracted. And as soon as the phrase, "I can't write" left my lips yesterday, I knew that I only couldn't write because I wasn't making myself write.

Cue the muse.

He may not be the most attractive being, but he knows when to step in, bless him. I'm glad he did.

Today I'll be working a bit more on Chapter Three, as, due to the muse shuffling things around and deleting, that's where I'm left. No biggie. I'm writing this thing in random order anyway. It's like a jigsaw puzzle.

A jigsaw puzzle with fangs and a hunger for blood.

Minion To-Do List

1. Bow down in loving worship of me.
2. Register for the upcoming Backspace writers conference, so that you may bow down to me in person this July.
3. Mark your calendars for the release of Hell's Belles by Jackie Kessler--the delicious tale of a succubus on the loose from Hell. (Kensington, January 2007)

Those aren't so hard to remember, are they?

Also, be sure to read this blog entry over at Anatomy of Melancholy. I'm glad I'm not the only one let down by The Historian.

Oooh...Shiny!

It's been a weird week. I've been easily distracted, my minions...easily distracted. *stares off in the distance at a random shiny object*

Last night (after miraculously writing 500 words for Ninth Grade Sucks), I was having a conversation with my husband and I sort of drifted in and out of it, until he laughed and said, "You're not even listening." It's true--I wasn't. Because my head is in another place.

I miss my head.

Anyhoo, I've found that it's been a challenge all week to become involved in anything remotely resembling deep conversation, or to even immerse myself so far into a book that I forget about the world outside. Even sleep is only on the surface for me this week. I'm really looking forward to the excitement of submissions ending, so I can return to my normal, drab, cobwebby, blah, hermitty life.

As for today's blog, I thought we'd discuss...ooh...what's that over there? It's so shiny...

The Web of Patience

Ick! Would you look at the last three blog entries?? On second thought, don't look. They're just a pile of random, weird thoughts--the clear result of an impatient woman being forced to wait. (I've always been this way--I distinctly remember writing to Santa when I was seven to ask him if he could just please hurry up and come. It was June.)

Thrilling things are going on behind the curtain here at Heatherland, but nothing--just yet--that I can share. As a result, my brain has packed its bags and headed for warmer climates, leaving me with nothing but cobwebs and an unfinished manuscript. I know I'll write the moment the sale of Eighth Grade Bites is settled. It's just a matter of time.

In fact, I'm determined to sit in my chair today and do something...anything...related to Ninth Grade Sucks.

....

....

....does blogging count?

Do Not Taunt Happy Fun Ball (or me)

Today (well, tonight, really, but honestly, who's keeping track of when I post? I mean, other than those faithful stalkers I refer to as "my minions"...heh. That would be you...) I'm feeling a bit like Happy Fun Ball. Do you remember that SNL skit? It was one of my faves--back when SNL was funny. So, for fun, we're going to toss out anything even remotely writing related and exchange the phrase "Happy Fun Ball" for "Heather".

Enjoy. (or don't...this is purely a self-absorbed moment)

Warning: Pregnant women, the elderly and children under 10 should avoid prolonged exposure to Heather.

Caution: Heather may suddenly accelerate to dangerous speeds.

Heather contains a liquid core, which, if exposed due to rupture, should not be touched, inhaled, or looked at.

Do not use Heather on concrete.

Discontinue use of Heather if any of the following occurs:

Itching
Vertigo
Dizziness
Tingling in extremities
Loss of balance or coordination
Slurred speech
Temporary blindness
Profuse sweating
Heart palpitations

If Heather begins to smoke, get away immediately. Seek shelter and cover head.

Heather may stick to certain types of skin.

When not in use, Heather should be returned to her special container and kept under refrigeration...

Failure to do so relieves the makers of Heather, Wacky Products Incorporated, and its parent company Global Chemical Unlimited, of any and all liability.

Ingredients of Heather include an unknown glowing substance which fell to Earth, presumably from outer space.

Heather has been shipped to our troops in Saudi Arabia and is also being dropped by our warplanes on Iraq.

Do not taunt Heather.

Heather comes with a lifetime guarantee.

Heather...
ACCEPT NO SUBSTITUTES!

DOOMED!!!

My book is doomed. You know, Eighth Grade Bites...the book of a lifetime, great idea, lots of blood-sucking slurpiness? According to the Lulu Titlescorer, Eighth Grade Bites has only a 14.6% chance of being a bestseller. I'm completely devastated.

Not only that, but Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone shares the same percentage! 14.6%

It looks like JK Rowling and I are doomed to failure.

Woe is me. (er...woe are we)

Happy Friday the 13th!

Time to celebrate, minions! It's the luckiest day of the year! Here's wishing you all a wonderful, productive, inspirational day!

Stunned Into Silence? Never!

Today is such a good day that I can't even blog about it.

Seriously. I don't want to jinx anything.

What I will say is that I am one busy little Heather...if you count research that I'm not mentioning and phone calls that I'm not waiting for.

Today, minions, I'm focusing (well, trying to focus) on the rest of Chapter Four. My fabulous critique partner (who is an amazing goddess) clued me in to the problems I was having in Chapter One. So now I can move on. For those keeping track, I now have chapters 1, 2, 3, 5, 8 and part of 4 written for Ninth Grade Sucks. Don't ask me why Vlad tells it to me in strange clumps...I'm just the writer.

So go forth, my minion horde (heh...I bet you're asking yourself, "Since when are we a horde??" The answer, of course is, "Since now.")...and await some news from Auntie Heather.

Because it's coming soon. I can feel it.

Being on Submission is FUN!

*slams forehead on desk*

Yep. It's one of those days.

The Chapter That Wouldn't Die is haunting me--mostly because I did a foolish thing and reread the original version last night. I've never been so torn. So I'm going to reread both this morning and then send them off to my fabulous critique partner for her thoughts.

Dude, have I mentioned how much being on submission sucks?? I mean, I'm enjoying it--don't get me wrong. I'm completely fixated on the glimmer of hope in the distance ("Hope dangles on a string, like slow spinning redemption. Winding in and winding out. The shine of it has caught my eye."--Dashboard Confessional, Vindicated). I'm loving the attention, the promise, the infinite feeling of maybe.

But it's seriously screwing with my writing routine.

I can't focus. Normally I wake up, grab a Diet Pepsi, check email, return emails, read blogs, read Backspace forum posts, write in my blog, work on whatever scene(s) I thought about as I was falling asleep the night before. I have become, much to my amazement, a creature of habit. Like a bunny. An evil bunny with big, gnashing teeth and a tail of flames...just wandering the hillside in search of tasty flesh.

Or not.

I've been really distracted lately.

So now my routine has become: wake up, grab Diet Pepsi (some things are imbedded deep in my DNA), stare out the window, stare at cell phone, check email, return emails, wander around the internet looking up humorous and/or intriguing articles, stare at phone some more, open Ninth Grade Sucks file, read last paragraph of where I left off, minimize file, check Backspace forums, check email again, get another Diet Pepsi, close Ninth Grade Sucks window, launch Sims, play for five minutes--then close the application, daydream about Eighth Grade Bites being a real book on a shelf and everything, wonder how thick it will be, wonder if publishers will be remotely interested in my ideas for cover art, check Backspace forums again, read blogs, get yet another Diet Pepsi, force self to write.

That usually takes care of my first hour or so of the day.

And I'm out of Diet Pepsi.

*returns head to desk*

I Killed It!!!

Well...it died, at any rate. The first chapter of Ninth Grade Sucks, despite still existing as an ugly blobby thing that squeeches (it's a word now, look it up in A Guide to Speaking Heather) its way across the floor, is finished. And, strangely, it looks a lot like my first go.

I'm much happier with it now and can finally move on to where I left off--finishing up the fourth chapter. I already have the fifth and eighth chapters written. (Vlad was in the mood to share them, I was in the mood to write them) And, so far, writing Ninth Grade Sucks is just as strange as writing Eighth Grade Bites was. It's a bizarre mishmash of moments which, according to my experience with Eighth Grade Bites, will eventually smooth out into quite the tale. I just have to trust that Vlad will get me there again. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I don't tell the story, Vlad does. I merely transcribe it.

What are you transcribing lately?

The Chapter That Wouldn't DIE

How many times can a writer write the first chapter of a book? According to my experience with Ninth Grade Sucks, about five-hundred-million-bajillion times.

Or four, in layman's terms.

Well...four so far, anyway. Ask me when the book is finished.

I had a difficult night of restless sleep and bizarro dreams last night (including a nightmare where my fabulous agent sold Eighth Grade Bites for $4--he was ecstatic), but this morning has been much better. Not one Lightbulb of Inspiration (we should capitalize that from now on, don't you think, minions?) flickered on over my head, but two.

So now I'm rewriting the first chapter *grumble, spit, swear* and, once I'm done, I'm fixing something that's so big, it can't wait for revisions.

If you're looking for some stranger-than-fiction details to occupy your procrastinating eyeballs, check out the tale of Lisa Kackney on Writer Beware's blog. It's almost impossible to believe, and yet, completely true.

Me? I'm off to write that first chapter...again...

No Torches and Pitchforks, Please...

Today, my minions, we're going to discuss running.

I know what you're thinking, "Running?? Has Auntie Heather finally lost it? This is a blog about writing! And Diet Pepsi! And...vampires!" But don't run off to gather the torches and pitchforks just yet. I'm about to make an analogy that, I believe, makes a lot of sense.

A friend of mine recently told me that he's had over twelve short stories published. Now, this same friend has been working on his novel for something like six years and says that he'll "get around" to finishing it someday, which I believe he will. But for him, the short story's the thing. He loves that quick gratification. He loves that pile of writing credits. My friend is a sprinter.

I've never liked writing short stories. I have a difficult time saying what I want to say in only a few thousand words, so I stick, for the most part, with novels (though I have had a few shorts published here and there). To my credit, the first draft of the first book I ever finished writing was completed in four weeks. I foolishly assumed it was finished two months after that and queried the entire planet. It still needs work, but I'd have to say it was one of the most emotional things I've ever written (and no, this one wasn't about vampires--it was about a man dealing with addiction and searching for acceptance, a powerful piece that I now call A Whisper of Need: appropriate, as the man, Seth, hears voices--one named Need and one named Reason, the personifications of his conscience and his habit). The second book I finished writing took much longer, say ten years. The Roses of Carrion, of course, still needs a lot of work, but the concept is unique and solid...I think. (a dark fantasy about a sorceress who discovers a world between worlds, ruled by a vampyre king)

I love both books.

Then I wrote and polished Eighth Grade Bites. Vlad was with me for about four months of actual work, five if you count the break I took to clear my head. The first draft was like pulling teeth, but I shouldn't have been surprised. Vlad was taking me through some scary stuff. All of a sudden I was in junior high again...and, as if that wasn't bad enough, I was hanging out with an outcast vampire kid. But we got through it. Ninth Grade Sucks is proving fairly easy to write.

But when I look at the short stories I've written--there are only five that stand out in my mind--I don't get the tingle that I get when I think of my books. To be frank, I only started writing short stories for the publication credits. I don't enjoy them. For me, they're just a newspaper clipping to what might have been.

I'm a long distance runner.

The whole point of this, which I'm sure you're thankful I'm finally reaching (put that torch back down, we're almost there), is that it doesn't matter how you run--you can sprint several hundred times or you can go on three long runs--just that you run.

Because, in the end, it's not about distance or speed...it's about getting there.

And if you're a writer, I don't have to tell you where 'there' is. You already know. 'There' is different for all of us...but none of us can get there if we don't run.

The Wonder of Being on Submission

This may be the longest. weekend. ever.

Apart from it being cold, (winter...blah) and my desk being horrifically cluttered, the lightbulb that hovers eternally above my head flickered on last night...and doom ensued.

Now, mind you, my dear, sweet minions, that normally I welcome the warm, sudden glow of the lightbulb of inspiration. But yesterday it flickered on and spilled a pool of light over some mega changes I have to make in Ninth Grade Sucks already. *grumble, spit, swear* These changes will make the book go from good to GOOD, but the whiny spoiled child in me is kicking her feet and saying, "NONONONONONONONONONONO!"

Somebody hand me a muzzle.

So here I am, knowing what needs to be changed, but staring at my screen and wondering if, at this very moment, an editor could be reading Eighth Grade Bites. I wonder what they'll think of it. I wonder if they'll laugh when they're supposed to and feel empathy for Vlad. But mostly, I wonder if they think I'm the slightest bit talented or just a huge joke. Then I drink some Diet Pepsi, insist that I'm going to do those changes now...and then I wonder something else.

It's annoying. I'm annoying. And I still have work to do.

Nothing But Fang!

(okay, that was my fairly lame attempt at wordplay...kinda like "nothing but net", but with vampires...as you can see, it failed miserably...probably because I'm sooooo not a sports person, but possibly because I haven't had any caffeine yet this morning and, for me at least, caffeine=creativity)

Yesterday was surprisingly productive. Not as productive as I'd have liked, but 1,500 words is nothing to sneeze at. (And what does that mean, anyway? I've always heard/used it, but why exactly would sneezing at something be bad? I mean, it's gross, yes, but isn't it equally gross to say, "That's nothing to blow snot on?" Yeesh. I need to stop using that expression)

With those 1,500 words I not only finished another chapter, but also began a new one--which has me a bit giddy. I love waking up to a just-begun chapter. It leaves me hungry to write more and, particularly when you write about the undead (even though I never much cared for that description of vampires), being hungry is a good thing.

(The word for the day is "insatiable". It's brought to you by the letter V and the number 13.)

In other useless news, I think I've figured out how to make my Sims do spells. Plus, my little Sims elderberries garden is coming along nicely. Hmm? What was that? Writing? Oh...yeah...in a second, I swear...

A Fellow Writer Needs Urgent Help!

Okay, so you've all read The Bitch Posse by Martha O'Connor, right? No?? Well then, minions, first thing I want you to do is go buy it, because it's an incredible book. Honestly. I couldn't put it down. It was a two day addiction for me.

The second thing I want you to do is to help Martha out. Her family recently was flooded out of their home. The water resulted in tens of thousands of dollars worth of damage and the insurance company is being...well, they're being like insurance companies are. For want of tact, let's say they're being difficult. (You can read more on her blog)

Backspace founders, Karen Dionne and Chris Graham, have put together a Martha O'Connor Flood Relief Fundraiser. So donate even $5 or $10...or blog about this...get the word out, okay? Because a fellow writer (and an amazing person) needs our help.

The Killers say it, so it must be true...

I've been listening to The Killers a lot lately. Normally, I obsess over Mr. Brightside (I love that video...it has a creepy goth-circus feel to it), but this week it's been Everything Will Be Alright. I think it's Vlad--he's being moody again.

My fabulous agent gave me the official word yesterday that, yes, Eighth Grade Bites is now out to several wonderful publishers. It scared the crap out of me. It was scary enough when agents were reading about Vlad, but now editors? I may just lose my mind. But it'll be a good, happy crazy, not a why-does-your-jacket-button-in-the-back crazy.

Yesterday I did...well, come to think of it, I did absolutely nothing where writing is concerned.

How depressing.

But no worries, minions...Auntie Heather will be hard at work on Ninth Grade Sucks today, just as soon as she reads a few blogs...and eats some breakfast...and maybe vacuums...

Strap yourselves in!

Today is an exciting day, minions. (So if you're currently in a mood or mindset that clashes with excitement, change it...we really must learn to coordinate these things)

Not only does Eighth Grade Bites, my beloved story of Vlad (a fourteen-year-old vampire with more problems than you can imagine) go on submission today, but it's also J.R.R. Tolkien's birthday. If my math is right, the god of fantasy would be 114 today, so happy birthday, Mr. hobbit creator!

It's also an exciting day for another reason.

Yesterday I managed to get Vlad to his first day of high school and he actually opened up some and shared some pretty interesting things with me. Some of those things involved him and some odd stuff that's been going on (when isn't odd stuff going on with Vlad?)...and some of those things involved Meredith, the pink-wearing pretty girl that makes Vlad's heart throb right through his chest. It was a good writing day.

Hopefully, today will be a good writing day too.

I Had the Weirdest Dream

Last night I dreamt that the world had pretty much blown itself up and the few stragglers remaining (maybe two hundred in the city I was in) were trying to make a go of life post-war. I found an abandoned Barnes & Noble and decided to set up shop. Soon I became known as "Heather the bookkeeper". I dressed like a gypsy (which I've done time and time again), walked around barefoot, and read every book in my shop. For some strange reason, my store had internet access and I kept helping people who'd come in looking for information on survival skills.

Anyway, this man showed up. He called me his gypsy girl. He wore an orange shirt and smelled like cloves. We'd apparently been close for many years and I was relieved to see he survived the war. He asked how the book was coming. I told him, "Eighth Grade Bites goes on submission tomorrow."

He looked stunned, then he looked sad. He hugged me and told me that all of it was gone--the publishing houses, the agents, New York...it was all blown away in the storm (which was silly, because if anything, it was taken away by the war...wasn't it?). He told me the books I had in my store were all that were left, that there would be no new books published.

So I boarded up the windows and wouldn't let anybody inside.

How's that for an anxiety dream? Yikes. I had no idea I was nervous about going on submission. Funny how the old subconscious likes to step in and nudge us. Truth be told, I still don't feel nervous, but for some reason, that dream creeped me out. Maybe I'm filled with anxiety over not being filled with anxiety. (I'm a natural worry wart--if I'm not fretting about this or that, I'll start fretting about being calm, cool & collected)

Anyhoo, yesterday I managed another 1,000+ words on Ninth Grade Sucks. Yay! Plus, I submitted a short story of mine to Strange Horizons. Not one of my busiest days, but it'll do.

Today I'm going to write more and try hard to forget about my dream...even though I can still smell cloves.

And While We're At It...

Poppy Z. Brite (whom I affectionately refer to as the NOLA goddess--in an in-awe sort of way...I don't personally ~know~ Poppy) has a fun meme on her blog today, so for want of some procrastination, let's dive in, shall we?

Last of 2005 Meme (with thanks to Doc Brite)

Last Book Read: The Bad Beginning by Lemony Snicket

Last Live Music Show Seen: The Jolly Rogers

Last CD Purchased: Gorillaz, Demon Days

Last Thing Cooked: I baked a cheesecake--it was evil and good and wonderfully loaded with a zillion calories.

Last New Thing Eaten: Tandoori chicken...yum.

Last Thing Bought: (collectively) AA batteries, Resolve carpet cleaner, and a roll of paper towels. (I'm such a party animal)

Last Gift Received: A Pentax 35mm camera--my old camera broke during a move and I've always wanted a Pentax. It was a very good Solstice. :)

Last Piece of Clothing Bought or Received as a Gift: Black fingerless gloves with purple buckles. I have such a crush on them...and they go nicely with my wool trench coat.

Last Embarrassing Experience: Hmmm...I don't really get embarassed.

Last Totally New Experience: Watching fireworks from beneath a giant metal arch...that is, watching them explode off of a plane that was flying overhead. (St. Louis knows how to party)

Last Foreign Country Visited, if any: Canada--the stereotype is right. They really are the nicest people on the planet.

Last Big Achievement: Signing with my fabulous agent.

Okay minions, enough procrastinating!

Another Year, Another Chapter

I may not experience the most glamorous New Year's Eves, but at least mine was productive!

Last night (shortly before the clocks turned and champagne was sipped) I finished a rather lengthy chapter of Ninth Grade Sucks. When all was said and done, I'd written 2,900 words--not too shabby if I do say so myself.

Sitting in front of the computer is getting easier on my healing back, but it bites that I can still only risk maybe twenty-minute sessions. Then it's back to stretching, walking, and resting on my pillow-fluffy couch. But the pain is less by a long shot, so hey, whatever works.

Today I'm writing about Vlad's first day at Bathory High--something I've been putting off for some time. I'm not sure why, but Vlad and I are a bit reluctant to go there. Maybe because we both know it's going to be a bad day...or maybe my personal feelings about high school are keeping me from writing it. At any rate, later today I'll grab Vlad by the hand and we'll jump off of that cliff together. Usually, if it's tough to write, it turns out to be a great scene. So...we'll see.

Alright...we've avoided it long enough. Let's stretch, walk, rest...and then jump, Vlad. There's really no reason to be apprehensive. You're a creature of the night, for god's sake.