Monday, August 31, 2009

A time for every purpose, under heaven

Today, while standing out talking to the Schwann's delivery man, I felt a cold chill against my spine.  The sun was still hot on my face, but that little chill breeze spoke to me of fallen leaves, crisp nights, clear skies and teenage angst behind a tattered building at church.

Fall's always been a magical time for me.  As a child, the season's change meant camping in North Georgia, camouflage and walking sticks.  Carving walking sticks has always been a favorite pastime of mine.  Dogwood makes a great walking stick, with fascinating multicolored streaks if you so desire. 

In my high school years, it meant breaking out my favorite leather trench coat and being moody. I tried to be angsty, but honestly, I was too happy a kid to pull it off. I did moon over one guy, though. Oh, I had such a crush. But he had a crush on my best friend (no, he loved her. With undying devotion.) So we would sit behind a dilapidated building behind the church sanctuary, he would talk abuot her, and I would commiserate, though I never told him who I was mooning over.  Such tragedy.

He eventually married a woman with a kid.

Fall was always the time my imagination has soared the most. From the days of imagining my wolf familiar running alongside my bus, or me spreading my wings and escaping from the school playground bullies, to my much darker fantasies of torture and rape. Fall has always stroked my right-brained tendencies. 

This fall's light change, and ever-so-slight temperature shift, has done it again. I think that's why I've been finding it so easy to write.  It's just the right season.

It's my time to write.

Friday, August 28, 2009

Writing every day

I can hear your groan a mile away. This is not new advice, right?  Yeah, every writer blog you've ever seen tells you that.  It's good advice, but you've already heard it.

Well, I'm not going to tell you to.  Because you already know. What I will tell you is how this advice has started to transform my life!

Seriously, I've been suffering from insomnia for the last year or so. A lot of it is because of my lingering post partum depression (PPD, to the uninitiated.)  Some of it eating habits (Why yes, I'd love a coke at 10:00 PM!). But the primary cause is staying up too late on the computer. There was a study done recently linking computer screen time to insomnia.  My husband told me about it, and it makes sense;  the light emanating from the computer screen interrupts your natural biorhythms.  So I figured... why not. Let's cut out the electronic lap-teat and see what happens.

I don't have any good books around right now, so I pulled out my blank journal, the one I've been half-ass carrying around with me all the time with intentions of writing. 

I wrote 20 pages in two days.

That was four weeks ago. I've only missed three nights, and that was due to unavoidable medical issues.  I've gone from 24 pages to 92 (as of last night.) I'm sleeping better, my back hurts less,and I'm a lot less grumpy. More importantly, the only time I've seen 3 AM has been when the insomnia left me tossing and turning in bed AFTER I wrote.

It feels good. I've actually loved sitting in bed, with my husband, him reading a book, me listening to my MP3 player and scribbling like I did when I was a poor teenager with no computer.

Best of all? No email to distract me from my latest WIP.

Now that, my friends, is good news indeed.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Steampunk art

I met with a local steampunk artist today. She makes steampunk jewelry, and she does really pretty stuff.  I wanted to see some of her pieces in person, so I met her for lunch.  Her stuff's so nice I wanted to share with you guys. Here's her stuff: Dream Steam.  I can vouch for the quality of her work. She's VERY good. If you're looking for that perfect piece to complete a steam punk costume, or you just want something very unique for every day use... this is the place to get it!

Writing and Music

Music is one of those things that just seems to go with writing. Like peanut butter and jelly, or peaches and cream, or Fred and Ginger.  Combine music with writing, and you can transcend the ordinary, stimulate your sense, and inspire your mind.

But how that music affects your writing is as different from person to person as different foods taste to different people.  (Hmm.  I think it might be lunch time... all these food references!)

One of my greatest inspirations comes from one of the strangest places: industrial techno.  I started listening to is while writing Hacker Dragon. The gritty, visceral nature of it has proven to given me a very strong motivator for my writing; not everything, but I never write a battle scene without it! Not all industrial, either... I actually have a penchant for the German stuff. Front Line Assembly is actually one of my favorites.

On the other end of the spectrum, there's Enya. Seriously.  I love Enya. She goes back to a part of me that's been writing for decades. She can keep my brain flowing, without intruding on my words.  Gentle inspiration without overflowing. Marie Brennan (Enya's siste), too, has that effect. 

Hearts of Space
often provides me with a random assortment of unexpected gems. Sometimes, it's total crap, weird new-agey lame stuff, but occasionally there's some really spectacular stuff. I used to listen to Hearts of Space on PBS with my dad... there are dozens of recorded tapes of HoS programs around this house. Black, with tiny hand-made labels in my dad's neatly scrawled, cramped hand, and lovingly taped on the front. I love those tapes.  Even though the quality is deteriorating now, it still brings back fond memories of staying up until midnight on Sunday to listen with my dad.  Music is a tactile thing, for me.  Some people have olfactory memories. I never really have. Mine are auditory. 

Music can stir memories that translate into powerful scenes when I'm writing. 

What kind of music inspires you?


Saturday, August 22, 2009

Free (non) Fiction - Honey, I'm home!

Many thanks to Violet, whose blog inspired me to write this piece. Special mention to Danie, who has been writing faithfully in her blog and sharing fiction as well. What good is a writing blog if indeed no writing appears? If my friends can do it, so can I! I'm going to start sharing short pieces from time to time, what subjects, I don't know. Whatever takes my fancy. Maybe nonfiction, maybe something from life, but it'll be all creative prose. I haven't written poetry since I won the Young GA Author's contest for a poem I wrote in the 7th grade and my 8th grade literature teacher thought it would be fun to analyze my stuff. Ruined poetry for me completely. No, there is no symbolism in that star. It was just a star, dammit. Okay, I lied. I'll share that poem for you. I wrote it in 7th grade, and I happen to think it ain't bad.

Glimmering Beauty

Glimmering beauty,
shimmering sight.
Bathing our world
in its beautiful light.

Flickering in,
Flickering out.
Dance in the sky,
spread yourself all about.

Falling down,
for all to see.
Flickering out,
after dancing with glee.

Little one, little one,
so high, so far
Don't you know
you're a shining star?


This is the only poem I ever wrote that I liked. I never wrote another one after this. (Thanks Mrs. Held! I appreciate that! No, really! Oh, and you ruined Les Miserables for me, too. I can't even stand the sight of the posters.)

That had nothing to do with anything. Anyway. Here you go.

This is not fiction; it's a blow-by-blow retelling of about four hours ago. Harrowing experience, it was! But I survived! Let me tell you the tale...

****

Thunder rumbles outside the window. I glare at the slats of the back door, but the storm was not impressed. "Well damn. I guess I'd better get moving before the storm gets bad." My friends and I had already procrastinated enough as it was. I wave and than them, and left the bright, cool apartment for the oppressive heat and dark.

The sky above flashes, nearly blinding and deafening me as a few fat drops of rain splatter on my treasured hand-made card. I press it to my chest as I fumble in my purse for my keys. The flashes of lightning are near constant, illuminating the dark, heavy, low-lying clouds in the night sky. I jump in the car, thankful I'd made it before the bottom dropped out.

I triy to call my husband, but no answer. Must have fallen asleep. I'm not running that late. Maybe he's just catching a smoke on the back porch?

I stare up at the sky. Another blinding flash of white-hot light crawled across the black sky, reaching twisted fingers over me, a plasmic creature aching to seize my dirty car and fry me.

I jerk the wheel, nearly slamming into a curb in my inattentiveness. Eyes on the wheel, stupid.

The sky never stops moving, never stops flashing and belching its anger overhead. The fat drops of rain come faster as I take the curve of the entrance ramp a little too fast in my haste to get ahead of the storm before it overtakes me.

A huge gust of wind blasts the car, nearly knocking me into a creeping semi in the left lane.

Uh oh.

Rain inundates my poor car. The duct tape half-covering the driver's side window doesn't keep it all in. I take off my glasses and try to wipe the droplets off, succeeding in nearly rearending the guy in front of me as I stare down rather than out.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I put my glasses back on my face, and grasp the wheel firmly at ten and two. I lean up and stare out of the window, trying to see between wiper swipes and locate the reflective bumps on the center line, since the paint was covered by the deluge, reflecting too bright street lights instead of the faded stripes.

I slow to a crawl, not noticing the flashing blue lights behind me when a cop came up, because I was too low to see the rear view mirror.

I signal and shift to the left lane, letting the officer pass. I'm under the speed limit, so he can't be waiting for me. Sure enough, he slides past, and then pulls off over the hill where another set of flashing blue lights indicates either a motorist in distress, an ill-timed bust, or something else entirely.

The road is invisible. Several times the car hydroplanes, just a bit, pulling me too close to the edge of the road, the guard rail and rumble strips threatening and warning me of the danger. My night blindness is getting worse. Every little car dealership's overlit parking lot blinds me as I pass.

Nearby, a bolt of lightning strikes a telephone pole, leaving my ears ringing and my eyes blotched in negative colors. I panic and pulled into the right lane, but it clears in a few seconds. Fortunately, no one was nearby to be a victim of my momentary blindness. For future reference: Driving blind is not a good thing.

I veer around the curve of the I-75/I-16 split at a whopping forty miles an hour.

As if a curtain was pulled back, the rain clears, leaving a dark, slick road reflecting more street lights and my windshield wipers squeaking and protesting at the sudden lack of wet. I turn them down, and lean back against the damn driver's seat. Thunder is still rumbling, lightning is still flashing, but it's behind me, not above and ahead of me. I don't make it far, though, before the rain catches me again, but this time the road is prepared. No more huge puddles of rain that haven't had a chance to drain off.

It's a little easier as I pull off of the interstate onto the sharp round curve of the exit. Every car is actually going slow for once, cautious in the downpour, instead of the usual willy-nilly oblivious driving I'm used to around here. The rain fades again, foiled by my sudden change in direction, and I can actually speed up to Pio Nono's limit of 50 miles per hour.

I make it into the driveway as the fat drops of the front catch up to me. I seize my "shit" from the night's activities, clutch them to my chest, and duck through the rain across the three feet from my car to my front step.

Safe!

Wind chases me through the door, following by wet grasping droplets of rain catching the heels of my shoes. Triumphant, I slam the door a little too hard, and yell, "Honey, I'm home!"


To plan or not to plan... that is the question

Every year I have ever planned for NaNoWriMo in anything other than a vague, general sort of "this is the idea" I've failed. If I outline, plan, plot, do dossiers and stuff... I fail.

If I get a few character ideas, a few plot bunnies, the occasional odd plot point... I win. Usually in record time. (Current record is 10 days.  I do not recommend it. I had my wrist in a splint for weeks.)

I sorta want to plan, but I'm currently working on a novel that's been around forever.  I want to continue with it, I don't want to lose it. I'm in love with these characters, with this story. 

I think I may do something with last year's steampunk characters... the story fell flat.  They were good characters, but I did not have them in the right story, I'm afraid. Happens from time to time.

I think I may do something new. To keep me in this world, and not too far in the future, I may work on the sequel.  It's actually written with my MC's children (Albino twins. I KNOW, I know... they probably won't stay that way, but in all fairness, I was 17 when I came up with the idea.)

I've got a few title ideas: The current one: Spirit of the Hunt. The sequel: Scion of the Hunt or maybe Song of the Hunt.

I promise. No violent rape scenes like in 2007.

To plan or not to plan... that is the question

Every year I have ever planned for NaNoWriMo in anything other than a vague, general sort of "this is the idea" I've failed. If I outline, plan, plot, do dossiers and stuff... I fail.

If I get a few character ideas, a few <a href="http://pics.livejournal.com/pernwebgoddess/pic/0010tk9d/g120">plot bunnies</a>, the occasional odd plot point... I win. Usually in record time. (Current record is 10 days.  I do not recommend it. I had my wrist in a splint for weeks.)

I sorta want to plan, but I'm currently working on a novel that's been around forever.  I want to continue with it, I don't want to lose it. I'm in love with these characters, with this story. 

I think I may do something with <a href="http://writing-dragon.blogspot.com/2008/10/plot-bunny.html">last year's steampunk characters</a>... the story fell flat.  They were good characters, but I did not have them in the right story, I'm afraid. Happens from time to time.

I think I may do something new. To keep me in this world, and not too far in the future, I may work on the sequel.  It's actually written with my MC's children (Albino twins. I KNOW, I know... they probably won't stay that way, but in all fairness, I was 17 when I came up with the idea.)

I've got a few title ideas: The current one: Spirit of the Hunt. The sequel: Scion of the Hunt or maybe Song of the Hunt.

I promise. No violent rape scenes like in 2007.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Grammer illogic and fun sentences

Thanks to my friend Richard, I now have been reading over the joys of the English language.

Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana. (Grouch Marx)

For example: Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo. No, really, it's an actual, grammatically correct sentence.

There's also: Rose rose to put rose roes on her rows of roses. That's a fun one, but not quite as mind bending.

Now, you can really start playing with the English language when you break out garden path sentences. These fun little bits are perfectly correct, but lead the reader down the wrong path of logic, forcing them to back up and parse the correct meaning of the sentence. Syntactic ambiguity makes for some really fun

Some examples (culled from Wikipedia):

The old man the boat.

The man returned to his house was happy.

The government plans to raise taxes were defeated.

The farmer threw the cow over the fence some hay.

Comedian Mitch Hedberg was a master of this sort of ambiguity; his short, clipped style, distinctive speech pattern, and tendency to take advantage of syntactical ambiguity made for some classic jokes.

"I haven't slept for ten days, because that would be too long."

I wish I had the skill for these kinds of Enlish shenanigans, but alas, I do not. All I can do is turn a poetic phrase now and again, and share the joys of the masters who CAN with you!

Testing Scribe Fire

I'm testing Scribe Fire, a Firefox add-on that's supposed to let you update your block from within your browser. I tried Deepest Sender, but that's primarily a livejournal client,  and I need one that updates both LJ and Blogger.  So far, I like the interface on this one; it just opens a window beneath the browser site you're looking at, so you can blog about whatever you see there, if you want, or just not be interrupted while you do. 

So far, I like it.  This may help nicely when I'm working NaNo site and need to update this blog.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

The dragon awakens from her slumber

Did you miss me? I missed me. It's been almost a year now, and it's about time for NaNo season to come! We're gearing up and making big changes to the site.

In even bigger news, though, I've finally broken through my nearly one-year dry spell! I bought a nice blank journal book, and have been writing by hand. I'm up to page 72! the story is going well, and it's an old favorite.

Keep your eye here, I'm working on some amazing updates for my blog, including a new look and feel, twitter updates, and more!