Anna Scott Graham's Blog, page 36

Fits, starts, and restarts

Two examples from two different skeins of yarn where breaks in the colour scheme occur. Very indicative of my current mood, lol.

This is a funny novel, for all the hemming and hawing going on. Never before have I written, then purged scenes with somewhat of an abandon. I truly don't know what to make of it, chalking it up to age, grieving, the weirdly long winter (even though it's spring), or my new computer keyboard, which is small but adequate in a strangely truncated manner.

I'm enjoying the writing, but the story keeps veering off on tangents I'm not comfortable with, in that too much is being revealed too soon, bleh. Future and Past Me's are steering clear of this manuscript, perhaps because what came before it was so out of the blue, so cathartic, and this prequel is just as outta my backside as any I've ever written. But I am writing, let me restate that, despite restarting a chapter here and there. I'm not getting much else accomplished, other than some crocheting, but that too has been a little irksome, what with skeins being cut then tied within the colour charm, meh. One was quite the leap, another to the same hue. I like this Lion Brand Mandala yarn, but I wouldn't use it again due to colour schemes being rudely interrupted, sad face.

I truly wonder how much my mini-malaise is due to age. I'll be fifty-seven next month, which when written down looks quite....Not ancient certainly, but I'm not the girl I used to be. Perhaps I need to embrace this reality, that of a woman slowly creeping up on sixty. Not that numbers are the be-all-end-all of a person's worth, but let's not kid one another; I am not forty, forty-five, or even forty-nine. Getting over this cold seems to be taking AGES. I'm grateful for the lengthier daylight, but spring seems a long ways away. I appreciate the word count, even if I delete a ton of it, then start again. Life feels very one step forward two steps sideways, which is probably better than two steps backwards, but a good few feet one after the other without any deviation would be AWESOME. But this year feels like one thrown askew, out of time, on its own, far flung away. I feel far from my center, even if much seems per usual.

(And then I silently muse to myself; is this what Future Me contends with 24/7? Many I love are dead, the body really balks at the simplest chores, reminders on my phone barely keep me on task. Hmm. Not sure what I think about that.)

[And does Past Me even notice how Present Me isn't the same? Did I, long ago, take a good hard look at where I was at that moment, whatever that moment happened to be, thinking Dude, you're not getting any younger. Better step it up now before you really lose your marbles and the ability to throw them.]

Maybe I just need to allow Present Me this short stint of the blues, or whatever this is. I'm writing. I'm about over this cold. It's sunny out right now. There's sorbet in the freezer. Yum, sorbet. I think it's time for a break.

Backtracking

A colourful WIP that has grown in recent days.

Sometimes the best laid plans are scuppered by a spur-of-the-moment stream of writing that seems beneficial. Seems is the key word; sometimes when I crochet, I'll start the initial row with far too many stitches, but after completing an entire row, I end up pulling out all those stitches to make the blanket or scarf less lengthy. Just now I deleted about a chapter's worth of writing, less than I thought needed the ax, which was heartening. I don't lament the missing prose; at times the muse leads one on a wild goose chase just for the fun of it.

I could claim writing under the influence of over-the-counter pain meds and heaps of cough drops. My cold remains a force to contend with, although I napped this afternoon, which I never do. Throat is still sore, eyes are gunky, I'm a bit of a mess, like the writing. Not that the actual prose was cruddy, just traveling (or more rightly unraveling) in a direction I'd not foreseen. At the time of writing, I went with it because sometimes those tangents turn out for the best. This time, not so much. Again I'm grateful it was only a chapter's worth of the story, with a little cleaning up to do tomorrow. Better to excise it now than explore that errant tangent further, then find myself REALLY FRUSTRATED by where I had taken the characters and their story.

Meanwhile, I'm avoiding sewing, not wishing to get my probably germy mitts all over fabrics. I'm being scrupulous about washing my hands, but I don't want to fiddle around with prints until I am feeling BETTER. Instead I'm crocheting, a simpler task in many ways, which is about all I can handle right now. I don't know the last time I had such a debilitating cold, so I'm being kind to myself and not doing more than feels feasible. Thankfully the writing, even if it's dodgy, is something I can manage. Or I think I can. We'll see what happens tomorrow when I go back in time just a wee bit, then move forward a tad smarter. Or more informed. Or less ambiguous. Or something like that....

Returning to my realm

Amid the irises, a hyacinth planted last year is blooming! Even better, I'd forgotten I had put it in the ground, hehehe.

The grandsons, and their folks, left this morning. A wonderful and wild week was enjoyed amid torrential rain, copious sunshine, warm-ish cloudy days and me installing a new keyboard on my computer. I managed a little writing that one morning was rudely interrupted by lowercase rrrrrrrrrr's springing up in the prose. Fortunately I had a spare keyboard and that corrected the errrrrrroneous letter, lol. Scattered among marvelous memories of my eight and four-year-old grandkids, I am grappling with a small cold, but truly wanted to update this site, in that novelistic ideas have been piling up, although very little sewing occurred; I patched a pair of trousers for each grandkid, plopping a 1.5" hexie onto knees, during which my eldest grandboy noted that my stitching made him carsick, ahem. I promised on his next visit we'd try the machine, and I'll accept that not all my descendants are meant to follow in my crafty footsteps.

But as to the writing.... Perhaps it was the case of what isn't permitted becomes so tantalizing that one can't stop trying to squeeze in a few paragraphs. I thought about writing today after lunch, but a nap beckoned instead, yet I am not my beloved, who sleeps at the drop of the proverbial hat. I did lay down, but plot notions stirred my intellect, then the heater came on and it's really LOUD in our room, sheesh! I finally gave up on the sleep factor after about forty minutes, then did some dishes. The house is SO DIFFERENT when it's merely myself and the hubby, especially when he's sawing logs, ha ha! I have some laundry to check in a bit, but after the last bowl was in the drainer, I hightailed it to the office, where I am now, waxing a little lyrically about eagerness to novel and how grateful I am to have spent the last week catching up with the boys.

It's a wholly altered life when family visits; pretty much all my waking moments are spent with them. Some of that is the basics; meals and bath times and bedtime routines, especially for the little chap. But there were plenty of treks about the place, into the forest, off to the beach, jumping on the trampoline. My eldest plays a mean game of Go Fish and I taught him the basics of Gin; how cool to have a fellow playing card enthusiast in the clan! Lots of Lego building, Hot Wheels tracks, Slinky fun, and of course a few episodes of Bluey most afternoons. The sunny days were AMAZING; despite the ground so soggy we bopped about outdoors, they with their rain boots and me with my rugged trainers. Boots were also handy at the beach, where they explored the shore as the tide receded, collecting shells, climbing driftwood, having sword fights. We try to be gender-neutral with the grandkids, but these guys really like whapping at stuff with sticks, LOL! They also enjoy wrestling with each other, but fortunately the only sand we brought home was what landed in the four-year-old's boots.

We'll see them again this summer, maybe for a longer visit. In the interim, I have writing to savor, some quilts to sew, and I really need a haircut. Our weather is slightly warmer than before Daylight Savings Time began, so perhaps it's time for this grandma to whack off the length accumulated since late last summer. Spring is nearly here, so much rain that our irises *should* do very well, and the gladiola plants are already poking from the ground. Not sure how the gardening will progress, but there are weeds to pull, some flower seeds to start, the greenhouse to organize. My youngest grandson enjoyed poking around the pots and dirt, reminding me to put start seeds on my list. We admired the strawberry plants, finding perhaps one baby berry in the making! A new season awaits, full of promise, prose, prints, and bright pleasures. And some rain, ha ha, before it's all said and done.

In a little groove

Crocuses in bloom; spring is truly on its way!

I'm not going to claim it's a big groove or a deep groove or a lasting groove. But today I started the prequel to the book I just finished, not that it will be called a prequel, merely Book 1. Yet right now that's how it feels, perhaps if I continue in this wee groove, I'll think of it as the start to a series. Yikes! Not another series....

LAWL! Now that's a funny thought because when I wrote the previous novel, I was firmly of the belief it was its own little thing. Maybe I can't write small. Maybe I can only gut out sagas and the like. Well, okay. Because I'm feeling good about.... Writing. Feeling like yeah, this's me. I am a writer in the middle of all else. And I haven't felt that way in a long damn time.

Maybe one of the reasons I'm feeling creative is I'm eschewing publication considerations. I mean, yeah, it's in the back of my head, but the last chapter of the previous novel was a total tear down the fourth wall fiasco, haha! Which meant at the time of writing: I AM NOT THINKING ABOUT RELEASING THIS IN ANY SHAPE OR FORM AS IS, ahem. It was more of: Dear God, let me tack on some kind of conclusion to this because I'm 66K into it and I really don't want it to not have an end, Amen. And so I tacked on an end, even added The end for good measure. Then I pondered it for about thirty-six hours, and then....

I had to let my imagination wander; I possessed these characters, and some crazy plot-twisty notions despite fourth wall emergency escape hatches. Then after I wrote a middling first chapter this morning, I talked-out a scene between two main characters, Tia and Bobby; she tells him something in jest, except she's also telling him a vital truth that in the book I just finished he had blabbed to Marcus. And whoop there was a whole bunch of novelistic thrill coursing through my veins!

So now I'm itching to write, which is half the writing battle, wanting to write because I've got one hell of an idea in the works. The grandsons are coming tomorrow and staying for the week; we'll see how I manage to eek out some prose in the early mornings. I will certainly write tomorrow morning, and then.... Oh my goodness, it feels SO GOOD to want to write! To have a story aching to be told. To feel excited about a creative outlet that has been my go-to pastime for sixteen years. To, to.... Wish to express myself in a wholly personal manner that could be (not saying what will happen to this) shared with others. I might release it. But first I get to write it! Ha! I'm writing again.

Liner notes

This morning's sky.

Well my novel is done. Done is a relative term, in that I reached a conclusion, although perhaps not The End. Or one possible end as to what might eventually be The End. There is a difference, although usually my novels don't conclude with so much ambiguity. Regardless of what happens to it, I can walk away with a semblance of relief that no one was left hanging for dear life, especially not myself.

But I wanted to explain a little of why I wrote this book, in case it never travels further than my computer and flash drives. At the end of my published novels, I include a short section called Liner Notes, complements of Silverchimes, a long-lost Last FM buddy who in my very early publishing days suggested such a title for what some authors call an afterwords or similar wrapping up of a story, not that it's related to the actual tale, but more to do with how the yarn went from one small skein to an entire comforter, to which a good book should truly aspire. Enjoyable books could be considered as comfort food, and my Liner Notes are like what is scribbled at the bottom of a recipe, not necessary to a dish's success, but fun to have as an aside.

Having said all that, the liner notes for this novel aren't altogether ecstatic, but life isn't always rainbows and ice cream. This year life for my family has been clouded by loss, both in our inner circle and on the periphery. It's been cold, oh my goodness, adding to the gloom. It's also been wet, a huge blessing for our dry West Coast, so my mood with the weather vacillates between gratitude for precipitation and weariness for the chill, similar to how I have felt toward this spate of writing; thankful for the word count while anguished for the uncertain sense of Where the hell is this story going? Timelines shift, characters disappear, and at the end, despite the great gift of a clever twist, a rather unpleasant spin into an abbreviated they did this and they did that and....The End! Really? REALLY? Really, ahem. Sometimes lives end and closure is limited.

If that's all I am to take from this book, okay. I didn't invest much in the plotting, I enjoyed the ability of writing without too much hemming and hawing (owning up to not much plotting). It was nice to spend the mornings tucked away in the office while the rain fell or the frost formed, or sometimes both. We had snow that accumulated (not quite two inches worth) and snow that drifted from the sky in huge flakes immediately melting upon impact. Perhaps that's the kind of novel this is, one that fell from heaven, dissolving into the daily routine, then slotted away as a memory. I wrote a book after someone I greatly loved died, a few steps taken on the ladder of grieving.

If it turns into something more, well, maybe I'll blog about it. Or maybe I'll quietly go about writing something that might continue to only be for Present Me and Future Me, but not Past Me, who is probably the most bothered by this novel. Past Me is used to books either being written with the clear intention of publication, or a troubled draft being left as-is then dragged into the books under construction folder on my computer. This whole I finished a novel by basically scrawling one last chapter then slapping The End at the end kind of pisses off Past Me, who is currently shrugging her shoulders HARD from afar, a definite scowl on her face. But Future Me smiles kindly, gently patting Present Me on the shoulder. She says, "I'm proud of you for finding the inner fortitude to put a wonky end to this story, as well as for writing it despite the heartache." My heart continues to brood, but maybe in one small manner this novel gives me a little breathing space.

Present Me is tired, heartsick, but still able to pound out a story. Where I go from here only Future Me knows. But Past Me, tread lightly on what occurs today. The wind's gusting hard, yet I'm still standing.

An incomplete first draft

Yarn for baby blankets, two of which I have already started for two different blankets, kind of like the current state of the writing.

So I have copied and pasted the first draft of the WIP into a new document, titling it the Second Draft. However, the first draft did not reach The End. Hmm. Let me explain....

[But first, I'll say I have NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE, the starting of a second draft without completing a first draft. Heads-up, so to speak, like a disclaimer.]

Anyway.... So yeah, first draft not finished, moving right into second draft. Okay, okay, OKAY.... Hmmm. Why am I so, so.... Not exactly troubled, actually not bothered at all although it might seem that way from all this blathering and all caps, etc etc etc. Goodness gracious girl get on with the friggin' post!

(Okay, but lemme just say I kinda reached an end of sorts, the end to figuring out how these characters and their plot lines were going from timeline to timeline and that part of it is REALLY COOL!)

[But once I wrote that, the ensuing chapter and a half kinda sucked. Dang!]

(But the reason they were going in and out of time *IS FABULOUS*, then after I wrote the crappy scenes, I figured out how to tie in what I was trying to get at in the crappy writing but to do so I'd have to go back to the beginning of the novel to properly lay in the appropriate backstory.)

[But that means I'm kinda in need of a rewrite, well, not a *full-blown* rewrite but certainly some/several scenes added and if I'm gonna go to all that effort....]

(I might as well start a second draft, ya'know?)

Um, maybe I wrote the post. See all the hoo haa in parentheses and brackets above, hehehe.

[Oh, one more thing. It's extremely intriguing to be *done* without actually hitting The End. It's like finishing an ice cream cone and at the very bottom of the cone there's a dollop of chocolate. Or whatever is your fave sweet.]

Making sense of altered realities

While admiring the back of this fern, whoops I found a spider!

Part of this pertains to real life. Part of it associates with my novel. I'm still writing, kind of an altered universe in itself. Also a relief right where I sit. And a wonder especially for my current well-being, compromised by an achy tooth and grateful weariness with our cold, rainy weather. I'm thankful for the precipitation but starting to feel beaten down by the chill, yet I can't begrudge whatever manner the rain falls, ahem. Gotta keep a stiff upper lip and just maintain the word count, which THANK YOU JESUS continues to accumulate.

While I'm so appreciative of the rain and the prose, I am starting to feel the effects of such gracious mysteries, lol, which is something else I need to blog about, dude!  So my novel Gracious Mysteries is FREE this week on Smashwords. Hand on heart, I totally forgot about that until I just typed out the previous sentence. I barely have the wherewithal to keep straight what's on my To Do list, thank goodness for reminders on my phone! It's March and the days are lengthening, a saving grace during our LONG SPATE of late winter, wow. We had snow yesterday, hail today, and this weather isn't fading anytime soon. Others have it far worse, folks stuck in their homes due to deep snow. Roads have been closed, people without power; some in my family will be cleaning out their fridges and freezers, such a damn drag. And others in my sphere are burying their fathers; 2023 has felt much longer than the two months and four days it has lasted. I'm aching for warm spring temperatures, and the end to my novel, the latter perhaps arriving sooner than sunny weather.

While I don't know what will become of this draft, I will say I think I'm aware how it's going to end, woo hoo! And it's not the conclusion I initially envisioned, hmmm. Or maybe it will be, I should know in the next few weeks. This story is truly cathartic, as well as suddenly aligned to what those around me are experiencing, when life alters so suddenly one assumes to have fallen into a different version of one's previous existence. Not exactly a pleasant trip, although in fiction, the edges are smoother than in real life.

And with that, I'm going to embark upon another writing session. It's cold outside, better to spend my time in the fictional realm, the warm August sun where my characters are currently dwelling. I'll crank up the space heater, and imagine I'm wandering the beach with them, looking for seashells, phones, and a little peace of mind.

Going to the beach

The windsurfer and an admirer; February 2023.

Still working on the novel; the beach has become a location within the story, definitely based on my recent visits to Mauren Beach in Humboldt County. A couple of entries ago I posted a shot of my bestie at the Pacific, today's shot another from this month, when a windsurfer held our attention for over half an hour. Within my novel, the beach is acting as an agent of change. I hadn't planned it that way, and after a testy chapter on Friday, I was back in the groove today, going in another unexpected direction. I'm not going to overthink it, just keep writing.

Years ago after completing a draft, I wandered around the shore at The Hook in Capitola. Driving over Highway 17 wasn't too daunting, more important was admiring the waves, listening to the ocean's roar, taking in the immense power of the water. In those days I rarely took off a day from the story, wholly involved with the act of writing. We live closer to the ocean now, sneaking off for a little taste of those days, but current temperatures are chilly, so we mostly sit in the car, keeping warm. Perhaps when I finish this book, I'll head to the beach, again celebrating as in days of old. When I'm done with this story, some whooping it up will be necessary.

2023 has started roughly, what with our brother-in-law's passing, other losses in my circle. I'd hoped to indulge in plenteous hand-stitching but my neck is still troublesome and English paper piecing has been reduced to almost nil. Yet machine sewing is picking up pace, a list of quilts-to-make currently in my head, maybe I'll add those projects to my actual list, hehehe. Just today I considered how best to use a collection taking space in my stash. And as for that novel....

I foresee more fictional trips to the beach. And a few factual visits. As soon as our cold snap ends, I'd love to traverse the sand, low tide would be best. I might use it as research, or just stock away precious moments where all that matters is nature's irresistible beauty. I love to write and quilt, but the ocean calls to my soul, reminding me of my place in this universe; just go about my crafty business one day at a time.

Pacing myself

A coaster in progress.

The writing continues in a prosy vein; I'm getting a chapter a day under my belt, which is MARVELOUS! And yet.... Lol. How can one grouse or even second-guess an average of three thousand words each morning? It's certainly not the word count that brings me to this post. It's my own impatience to know how this novel is going to end. Present Me is chomping at the bit, aching for some hint. Future Me chortles, then breaks into furious laughter. CHILL OUT, she says, while Past Me wishes to flick Present Me upside the head. How long, she growls, have you wanted to write so unencumbered, and here you are doing so and still you're griping?

Okay, yeah. I'm a little whingy. But just a little and only because I am attached to these people and want to know WHAT HAPPENS TO THEM! I have some ideas of course, but my initial notions about this story have evaporated, which occurs sometimes during the writing. And that's fine, I don't begrudge these characters to forge their own paths. I feel privileged to tell their stories, and I'd be a whole lot more thrilled if I knew the outcomes. Such is the occasional manner of storytelling. It's literally one chapter at a time.

Kind of how I'm making mug rugs in regards to the quilting. I wanted to hand-quilt them, so I stitched a couple, then this afternoon added a binding strip and tossed one in the laundry. The results were GREAT! Maybe for my next post I'll have a photo of one finished; instead the above picture is from this evening's work, and I'm hoping there's enough of the fabric I used for the binding to wrap it around this coaster. I suppose I could move from the sofa, retrieving the completed coaster, then take a picture of it and.... But right now I'm seated by the cozy fire on a chilly evening and I don't wish to leave this warm location. We had some snow today, very rare in our neck of Humboldt County, but it was pretty and it's nearly March and soon enough winter will be a distant memory. Kind of how writing my WIP will one day be....

Ahem. I need to cool my anticipatory jets when it comes to wanting to know this novel's conclusion; I will reach it when I arrive there. Future Me will be waiting, although she will immediately turn into Present Me, but will I have learned any patience? Past Me taps her foot in incredulity, while Future Me shrugs, probably because she eyes my current restlessness with the sense of YOU WILL GET THERE AT THE APPROPRIATE TIME AND THIS GLORIOUS OPPORTUNITY WILL BE OVER! Okay, okay, I get it. I need to enjoy this moment for exactly what it is, the immense joy of writing for the sheer love of it. And I am, I really am. Or maybe I'm not, sigh. If I was, this post would be about something else entirely. But I really like these folks and I can't wait to go to sleep tonight, then tomorrow open the manuscript and tell more of this tale. And yeah, in X number of days the writing of this draft will be DONE, and I will never be in this position again of typing anew at each sitting this plot notion or that scrap of sparkling dialogue or this other intriguing twist. Just cool the jets, Future Me huffs, then slyly she smiles. It's gonna get really good now that the halfway mark is around the corner....

Navigating the gusts of change

My bestie snapping pics of the sunset.

Previously I was a socks on first then shoes kind of person. Lately I've been a one sock and one shoe on then the other sock and shoe type of gal. I don't exactly know what that means long term, but it seemed full of meaning when I was considering how to start this post.

If I had my way, I'd be in the thick of hand sewing an Alexandria quilt. Instead I'm full of machine-piecy notions. I didn't plan 2023 to meander along this road, but other things have occurred that weren't on my list of To Do's, definitely a let go and let God kind of year. And if that isn't your scene, how about the title of today's installment; navigating the gusts of change. Either way, I'm feeling blown off my preferred choice of course, but better to make hay or quilts or write books while the sun shines or the machine sews or the prose emerges than not.

My BFF spent the weekend with us, perhaps that's why I'm in this introspective mood. I've known this lovely lady for forty years, boy that's not a small chunk of time anymore, lol. We shared wonderful chats, delicious milkshakes, and a chilly but awesome beach outing where the sunset beckoned for us to remain on the sand, yet the wind pushed me toward the car, leaving her to enjoy the day's end, then she too hightailed back to the car, where my husband had already retreated. We're getting old, I considered, not willing to stand out in the wind despite nature's beauty, easily seen from inside a warm vehicle.

I wanted to spend this year hand-sewing, but a pinch nerve overruled that desire. I wanted to share our home with my husband's sister and her husband but cancer blew those plans askew. I wanted to draft a sequel to The Earthen Chronicles but instead I'm writing a story about life and death and alternate realities. No big mystery to where that theme emerged, ahem, but I am thoroughly enjoying crafting the kind of tale that truly drives my muse, love and regret heaped with a large dose of how can the heart move past the agony to heal? I don't know how this book will end, which is half the fun of writing it, and right now I need a copious amount of joy. The machine-piecing is also laced with the thrill of employing a new manner of sewing, those easy-peasy sixteen-patch quilt blocks immensely satisfying in a ba-da-bing-ba-da-boom manner. Hanging out with a bestie was a big win for my soul, which still aches for a beloved lost in the corporeal. I remain on this plane, at times wondering why.

Such is life, rife with peaks and valleys and marvelous sunsets that at times aren't to admire longer than seconds. A reason, a season, forever; this rule remains, yet not for us to choose how or why or when. Right now I'm happy putting on one sock, then a shoe. Maybe that's how it is, as one approaches the latter section of their fifties. I feel like I've stepped into a new reality, but man I'm super-grateful writing and sewing remain within this realm. And tomorrow I'll try it all again.