consistency is not my middle name

It has ben a little over a month since I've been brave enough to come back to this site and continue the writing process, on here and in the novel. Admittedly, I have sketched and noted down new ideas in the story in my red journal, but virtually none of it has appeared on my word processor. Or on here for that matter.

I may as well just come out and say I've been hiding from my computer and the Mapmaker. It's down to the last lap of the race and suddenly I got the urge to sit out. Maybe that just means I have to add more victory laps once I'm done. I don't know.

It seems that since I've started working, writing for ME has all but gone to lunch. How do people do anything else while they work? I'm amazed to hear my friends have social activities planned after a full day. My energy take is seriously depleted after a working day and the commute back home.

The best solution is staring right at me, and all it will take is to have the discipline to implement it (the discipline I don't have, mind you). I need to have set writing hours (and here my father would say, "and working out hours, spend time with your family hours, and then my mother would say, cleaning your room hours). If I care enough, which I believe I do, I have to make the time. Which is true for anything else in my life that takes up space. Not sure how much I care about cleaning my room. It makes my mom happy very happy anyway.

Back to work.

my curse

When I turned 18, I left home, following a rite of passage like the rest of my peers. Since then, I have moved every single year. That's seven times in seven years. Need I delve into how annoying of a process this is? The number of boxes I've used, the rolls of duck tape, the I don't know how many hands who have helped me load and carry my crap across the city of Orlando, to Tampa, and back to Orlando, and now to West Palm. Each move was necessary, some were planned, and some were surprises. Each time, it's worked better than the year before. I can't complain (though my brother does, as he is the main set of arms who have helped in my relocating), since each year has taught me something different. How long will I continue this rather nomad existence? I happen to think the curse will break when I get married, as an alternative line of thinking than you're typical fairy tale. I shouldn't take that seriously, and neither should you (that would be you reader), as I am a raving sentimentalist/romantic who needs to get a grip on my reality (my reality being that I have less than $100 in my banking account, my new jeans are still a little snug, and it looks like traveling Europe won't happen until after I've done something moderately respectful). The curse could very well break as soon as I find a Chipotle, Barnes and Noble, movie theater, Anthropologie, Hogsmeade, and Gamestop all in one strip plaza.

I just got back from the leasing office, breaking my first lease, deviating from my norm of staying put for one year in the same place. I had thought this year I might be able to break my curse, and finally settle down and have the same zip code for two consecutive years. I was pretty confident this would be the case, but then I didn't get into grad school like I'd arrogantly thought I'd be able to.

Hence, the job search. And now, I'm going to Publix for the umpteenth time in my life to ask for extra boxes.

P.S. I finally added chapters to the novel. I have eighteen of them. Hoorah.

before i start my day job...

For anyone keeping track (other then my lonely self), I got a job. Finally. Upon hearing the news, I was a little surprised I didn't receive noise complaints from anyone living up to five states away. That's how loud my relief was.

Today I had a serious reality check concerning page count. I'm at 50,759 words in the story, and 239 pages on my microsoft word program. By my best guess (and of course, this should be taken with a grain of salt because what writer ever really knows) I'm about two/thirds of the through, providing the characters go and say what I want. I've found they have minds of their own however, and I admit a third of the story is them doing what they want. So much for being in control. Anyway, I learned that a typical page in a novel (adult) has around 440 words. Young Adult books tend have around 300 (and reader, whoever you are, I took the time to count a page out of Hunger Games). Divide my lamentable, paltry sum and I've got about 169 pages. It could be worse I suppose, like the day I find out there are only about three sentence worth keeping in the whole thing. Yeah, lots worse.

I just finished reading Catching Fire, second installment in Hunger Games series. Awesome. If you haven't picked it up, please go do so.

Night.

what goes in...

As I write, I'm uncomfortably aware of how much of what I've dealt with in the past goes into the story. Moments of the more catastrophic of my mistakes, times in which I've brutally mistreated someone, and the awful few days of loneliness that invariably plague me some months come back with such clarity, I end up walking away from the computer in a state of cowardice, feeling unable to capture what I've been through. All of it comes back when I'm writing a scene in which the words I write match what I've felt in the past. I can't see a possible way around it, if indeed my goal is to capture human beings. I'm really not that brave.

I hate these moments of dealing with past emotional junk I've stored underneath my bed. If somehow I've come across like I'm in a wretched mood, I'm really not. What you're seeing is good old-fashioned fear, the likes of which prompt me to want to hide from writing.

Pressing on...

Page count: 224
Word count: 50, 113

in a serious funk...

I went away this weekend to tampa, ran the breast cancer Susan G. Komen race (more like strolled, ambled, sashayed, skipped, and walked, etc) and haven't written since Oct. 1st. I've sat down in front of my computer, looked at where I left off, decided I didn't want to be in that scene, thought about what else I could clean in my apartment, and then went back to the computer (after not cleaning anything). Went to the first scene, realizing that perhaps the beginning would be a good place to start.

It wasn't. But it may be my best chance. How did I get to be so disorganized about this? I had a game plan: finish the first draft. Keep going, get it all down, then break down the novel into sections. Rewrite sections.

I've already gone against the plan. When I go against what I've set out to do, somehow I chalk it up to a slight failure. Not a big one, but just a hiccup level one. I need to get back on track.

Sidenote: I have written tons into my journal (my real life, tangible one). New character developments, new traits, and notes on the next book have all been jotted down for later usage.

There, I'm not a total failure.

an honest look...

Though I haven't finished my first draft (almost there—just one crucial scene to go, then it's downward from there), I just went back to read the first couple of pages, and ended up taking them out and replacing it all. I feel better about what's going in, and kind of bemused about this whole revising thing.

I realize now that most of what I write in the first draft will altogether disappear. I remember reaching the 100 page mark and feeling very happy, but now...I'm betting I'll trash the first one hundred and maybe even the next 50. Normally I would imagine this would be crushing, but I'm hoping the second version will be truer to the story in my head than the first. Going with just the first five rewritten pages, I'm thinking I'm heading down a good road.

I guess you can never really know though. With that in mind I thought I'd do something of a progress report.

Total word count: 48, 396
Total pages: 216

Things I have yet to work on:

I need a fantastic book on the Spanish Inquisition. I need to flesh out my characters, and make them into recognizable people with complexities that mirror me and you. So far, every single character in Mapmaker, are two-dimensional (in my opinion).

World building: I have these vague strokes throughout that don't do much other than indicate weather, some buildings, and some creatures. I need to get down into the heart of the place (Merivale) and build it from the ground up. I just realized there are no insects mentioned at all (interesting, since out of all the variety available on planet Earth, I hate the confounded mosquito), no roads to speak of, everyone is eating the same thing (I guess I need to research what people ate in the 1500s) and though I constantly write that people wear boots, I never mention a single cow. And clothing! My word, the clothes they wear. Men wear simple shirts and trousers and women wear muslin dresses, that vary only in color. I have one friend reading this novel as I write, partly to keep me sane, and the other part to offer sincere input. She read over a scene and I mentioned someone wearing a petticoat. That person promptly tore off their petticoat to help staunch the bleeding of their friend. Of all the cliche things...ugh. I can't believe I wrote that. Getting rid of it, first thing. That's pretty horrorfic/rubbish/ridiculous/baffling writing if you ask me.

Revisions are going to be a blast.

a little reading goes a long way

I'm a frequent Amazon.com shopper. That "buy with one click" gets me in trouble every time I visit. I usually go in with one book in mind, and come out with several buys. The most recent used book I one-clicked arrived today. As I opened the Art of Creative Writing by Lajos Egri, I noticed that someone else had loved on this book. Several passages are highlighted throughout, keywords have been underlined, and the margins are cluttered with the previous owner's thoughts. Somewhere on page 67, s/he wrote down they were hungry and were craving a taco (probably a man). Such details, in an odd way, warmed my heart. Someone out there, in the big world, has gone before me and down the path of learning a new craft. 

It makes me feel that perhaps learning the craft is a little more accessible than I'd originally thought. I'm not sure if it makes a difference, but I take whatever assurances I can get, almost anything that gives me a positive attitude about settling down and writing. And maybe that makes all the difference. 

I only just started but here are a few lines that struck me as incredibly thoughtful. And yes, the lines I'm presenting, were highlighted. 

On characterization:

"What the writer wants to know is how a real human being—a real three-dimensional character—acts in life. The answer is simplicity itself: like you or me...To this very day we cannot find any living human being who can claim is angelic through and through or rotten to the core...Yes man is complex. The truth is man has the capacity to heroic, superhuman, ready to sacrifice his life for an ideal and with the same ease, cut his best friend's throat. In short: he's good and evil at the same time. It depends on the what inner or outside contradiction activates him to expose himself."

Makes writing a villain a little more interesting doesn't it? I've never thought to to add a "good" quality to my antagonist, either in his demeanor, in his dress, or in his inherent character. Now I'm compelled to, suddenly realizing how much it will add to his presence in the story, by revealing a bittersweet quirk in his nature. Something he keeps hidden, but readily available to the observant eye.

I'm off to write the climatic scene. On page 215 (the farthest I've ever gone). 

Who I'm Writing For

Today, on my way home from work, I made the mistake of telling yet another person about the book that I'm writing. My answer is almost instinctive and compulsive. "What are you up to these days?" Turns into a five-minute unsatisfactory conversation about my writing life. Inevitably, I never get the reaction I'd like, but instead, a short silence then a, "well isn't that something". I then automatically have to justify what I'm doing—because the truth is, that yes I'm unpublished, and until I make it out there somewhere, I feel silly calling myself a writer. So my conviction doesn't ring true, to myself or to the person I'm talking to. 

And now I've just added a whole other person who is waiting for me to produce something. Another person I'm writing for, along with my parents, my 12th grade English teacher, the bulk of my relatives residing in Bolivia, my closest friends, a coworker who works in a cubicle next to mine, habib from the gas station down the street, all the faculty members in a certain English department, the masses in North America, and beyond. 

As I begin to write I picture all these people I'm writing for and I choke. I can't get out a coherent, pretty sentence on paper. All because I just put all this pressure onto my shoulders from an invisible audience. Does every writer have this predicament or am I the crazy one? If I'm not crazy, how does anyone ignore the rampaging blather in one's head? 

The best thing I can do for myself is to remember why I like stories. My best friend has me tell her bed-time stories whenever she crashes at my place (my best friend is twenty-six—how endearing is this?). I've told many (her favorite is Atalanta), and my favorite part of telling them is her reaction. She "oohs", "ahhs" and gasps in all the right moments, and all I've done is recount, in my own words, a simple Greek myth. That's the power behind words right? The ability to move people, to evoke emotions, to make people feel. I love being able to do that, and if I can, I'd love to do it through my words. Through my stories. How hard can this really be?

Turns out, it's a pretty formidable task, even without all the voices in my head.

Today, I'm still working on the emotional arc of my main character. I'm writing a Young Adult fantasy book, and though I'd love to say more–I shouldn't. I'll only tell you the title of the book, mostly because I want to personalize "novel", so when I write, I'm working on The Mapmaker of Merivale, you'll know what I'm talking about. 

Thanks for reading.

the first ever

Technically that's not true. I have blogged before, but it's been years. And as I recall, a lot of it was mostly rubbish. Anyway. I decided to blog as a means to practice before I actually start writing in the novel. You know when a photographer is starting out his session, he starts clicking away—but then ends up throwing out the first five pictures? The object of his shooting hadn't warmed up yet, in fact he hasn't warmed up yet either. 

Same thing. These blogs are meant to get me warmed up. In the off chance that anyone will actually read any of this, I'll try to keep my warm up sessions interesting. I confess that mostly all of it will be centered around the novel, what I'm working on, what I should be working on, but haven't yet due to explicable reasons like laziness or fear of rejection. Blah, blah. I already feel like I'm rambling.

To the point then. I am on page 212 of the novel, having started in the last days of August. I'm almost at the climatic scene, or I would be, if it weren't for the fact that this scene hasn't turned out to be climatic. I am missing something here. And unfortunately this "missing" entity needs to show up at some point or else this scene will be positively frightful.

I'm also job hunting. Have I mentioned this yet? Yes, like every second person in this country I am looking for means to support myself. I graduated from the University of Central Florida with degrees in Creative Writing and History and am presently flummoxed as to what I'm supposed to do.

I used to live in New York when I was 21. Back when I was immature and naive, hopelessly believing there was some spot for me in the big wide world of publishing. Four years later, guess I'm still those same things, as I've somehow retained a hope that maybe there is this little vacancy, at either a literary agency or publishing house that will want my talents. Providing I have them, talent that is.

Oh yes, and I'd love to be a storyteller.

I'm wondering if there is anything else I could possibly include before I write. Amazing how I think about writing all day, but when the time comes I somehow find ways of killing that special time. Like job hunting (admittedly this is a real necessity) or playing on facebook, or even more inane, trying to figure out how'd I look as a cartoon character.

Yeah, I guess it's time. Today I'm working on my character's emotional arcs and skipping the climatic scene for now. I'm hoping the more depth I include before that scene, the truer it will read once I write it.

Anyway, can't hurt to try.