G.R. Lyons's Blog, page 5

Epiphany, Self-discovery, and Other Writerly Insights

The more time I spend writing, the more I realize the truth in this statement. It’s amazing how much I’ve learned about myself because of the writing process, and I keep having these little flashes of insight that jump out and surprise me. Sometimes, they even shock the hell out of me.

I recall expressing this very sentiment once, a few years back, about how I was learning about my own philosophical and emotional growth by watching how a particular character grew and developed over the course of writing her story. My sister’s response was, “Yes, but you wrote it, right?”

Right. Exactly. Which probably meant it should have been a conscious thing. Yet, the more I think about my writing, the more I realize there are things coming out that I never even really knew were in my head, and the meaning I’ve been able to derive from those things has impacted me in various ways over the years. Some, trivially. Some, of vital importance.

Somewhere in the middle range of that would be about where I’d put the insight I got tonight while thinking about the latest manuscript I’m attempting to wrestle out of my brain. After three solid months of flying over my keyboard and producing three complete 90-100k word manuscripts, I came to a screeching halt when I tried to attack the fourth. That was in November, and I’ve pretty much been dragging the brake pedal ever since. Four months of almost zero progress. Ugh.

It drove me nuts. (Alright, that’s already too many automotive-related metaphors. Clearly I’ve been working in the family business too long).

I feel a massive void when I get writer’s block, like a piece of my soul is missing. It gets to the point that I want to tear my hair out and throw a fit because I can’t understand why. And, of course, I can’t just step back and let it go, give myself a breather, and come back to it later. I keep trying to force it, which, of course, never works.

So, I start looking for excuses or explanations:

-I’m not exercising enough, so maybe I need that to clear my head. Except, well, really, I’ve gotten along with my writing just fine without exercise before.

-I’ve been under a lot of stress at work for the last year. And that’s an understatement. But now that stress is (mostly) behind me, and has cleared a TON of space in my head. So it shouldn’t be an issue, right?

-I’m suffering a bit of a personal crisis, one that is difficult to talk about in the decidedly red zone in which I live. Hell, it’s the kind of thing that’s not even often accepted in blue circles; and, since I quite decidedly subscribe to neither of those colors, it leaves me feeling a bit stuck in the middle. But, surely, since my writing has always been an escape from real life, why should this one issue hold me back when others in the past have not?

-It’s this time of year. I always get stuck this time of year. Right? Maybe? No, maybe not.

-I’m too distracted by excitement over releasing The Prisoner at the end of the month. Yes, true, quite true, but even that shouldn’t really be stopping me from staying on schedule with the rest of the series.

Well, then, WHAT THE HELL COULD IT BE?!?!

Thus, we arrive at a moment, earlier this evening, whilst in the shower (and, really, why is it that those flashes of insight or plot inspiration always happen when one is covered in soap and nowhere near a pen or a keyboard?!?! *sigh*). All along, these last several months, I’ve been laughing at myself over the fact that I can see bits of myself in many of my main characters in this upcoming series, and was inwardly joking about which one most closely resembled me.

Then it hit me: The protagonist in the current manuscript is someone with whom I absolutely cannot identify whatsoever.

*blink dumbly*

*stare at the wall*

*bang head against said wall*

Bloody hells, why did I not realize this before?

Then, in a rush of tumbled thoughts that followed that insight, it struck me immediately, over the course of all my work, which books were easiest to write and which were most difficult.

Wanna guess which were most difficult?

Yeah, the ones with protagonists I just couldn’t get into, because it was unfamiliar territory.

And if I as the writer can’t identify with a character, how in seven hells am I going to make him or her convincing enough for a reader to identify with as well?

So, not counting the first few novels I wrote a few years back and which will never see the light of day, I started really thinking about my protagonists:

In The Lethean (Lethean Trilogy, Book 1), both Victoria and Landon are bookish and independent. *insert big glaring sign over my head that reads, “That’s me.”*

In Hale and Farewell (Lethean Trilogy, Book 3), Hale is part of a team out of necessity but is naturally an independent player. She likes to work alone. Yep. Me.

In The Prisoner (forthcoming work), Benash loves his routine. Even though he really hates it, he also loves it because it’s safe and reliable. Yep. Me for sure.

In S.P.I.R.I.T. Division (forthcoming work), Asenna is a neat freak, a bit OCD, and a perfectionist. Sounds familiar.

In Return to Tanas (forthcoming work), Graeden doesn’t like restrictions and regulations, especially when the prevent him from doing the right thing, or something he wants to do that would harm no one. As a libertarian / anarchist myself, that’s remarkably familiar territory.

In The Five-Hour Wife (forthcoming work), Jani is a reclusive writer with a side job that’s her true passion, and she idolizes talented individuals from a distance. Yeah, I don’t know anyone like that. *ahem*

And so on and so forth. Then I compare these to the two books so far that have given me the most trouble.

In Uncommonly Strong (Lethean Trilogy, Book 2), I had a remarkably difficult time writing Joseph and Sati’s story. Joseph I could semi-sorta relate to, but writing Sati was like pulling teeth. With tweezers instead of pliers.

Thomas and Spencer, on the other hand…

I loved writing that couple. I loved their quirks, their relationship, everything about them. Thomas and Spencer were so ridiculously easy to write.

For a while, I thought I was simply distracted by the dynamic of Thomas and Spencer because of a few personal quirks of my own, but tonight it hit me:

Thomas was the real hero of the story. Not Joseph. Thomas. The one who was always supporting Joseph and doing everything he could for the sake of Joseph’s happiness. The rock in the family, despite his own sufferings. The one who always put aside his needs and feelings in order to make sure everyone else was alright first. Thomas was the one in the hospital urging Joseph to hold on, and there was no way Joseph was going to survive that moment without his brother’s support.

Why the hell didn’t I write that story with Thomas and Spencer in the lead roles? Looking back, that would have made much more sense, and it all probably would have fallen together a lot more easily than it did.

Then I look at this current manuscript with which I’m struggling (Broken, Book 4 in the next series), and I realize that there is absolutely nothing about Daivid that feels familiar. Nothing with which I can identify.

No wonder writing him feels like pulling teeth all over again.

Clearly, I’m going to have to go through a few dozen more “What if” scenarios to see if I can’t tease out the right detail to make Daivid’s story work.

Because, if I can’t, then the rest of the series either falls apart or remains at a grinding halt.

And I am so ridiculously eager to get to the book and series that follow this one (gods, I must be insane, juggling all these story ideas in my head), that I simply must make this one work so that everything will tie neatly together and progress the story along.

Filed under: Inspiration, Lethean, Shifting Isles Tagged: anarchy, author, books, characters, dystopian, fantasy, fantasy world, fiction, gay fiction, goals, LGBT, LGBT fiction, libertarian, novels, philosophy, publishing, self-publishing, write, writing

Confessions of a Print Snob

In the great “Print vs. eBook” debate, I come down absolutely, positively, without a doubt, one hundred percent on the Print side.

There’s just nothing quite like the look, feel, and smell of a real, printed book in my hands. I’m constantly running out of shelf space in my house, and lugging around a book everywhere I go isn’t the most convenient thing in the world, but I would never give up my library for an eReader.

I’ve tried reading books on a Kindle, or even on my phone. I even just try reading short articles on my computer screen. All of it strains my eyes and tries my patience, so I find myself skimming and wondering, “Have I reached the end yet?”

So, whenever I come across a listing for a book — one that has great reviews and sounds really interesting — and discover it’s only available in digital format…

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE AUTHORS? WHY ARE THEY NOT RELEASING THEIR BOOKS IN PRINT? GAH!!!!”

*slow, deep breath*

Alright, I’m calm now. I promise.

So many books I’ve come across, and I’ll never read them, because they’re not available in print.

*disappointed sigh*

But then! Ah, but then…

Then I come to the point in the writing process when I have to start running through final edits and format the text to get it ready for print. As the not-so-tech-savvy person that I am, it’s a trial and a half, let me tell you. I go through the process of formatting the text so that the final printed book will look like a nice, neat, professional product, and all the while I’m grumbling and tearing my hair out and shouting at my computer when it doesn’t seem to do what I want it to do, and start to wonder why in the world I even bother to go through the effort at all!

Yeah, I know. Open mouth, insert foot.

It is at those times that I think, “Alright, so maybe these authors have good reason to not bother formatting for print.”

Maybe.

Alright, authors, I apologize. It is frustrating, tedious, and time-consuming to format for print. Setting up a file for an eReader is so much quicker and easier, I can see how it would be hard to justify the extra time to create a neat, print-worthy product.

(Doesn’t change the fact that I’d really like to read some of your works and will never get to because I just flat can’t stand reading on a screen. It’s all I can do to slog through reading my own stuff on my computer when I’m editing a manuscript. My eyes are killing me right now.)

Then, there are moments, like today, when I finally get the finished text uploaded for print review. And, I mean, come on, look at this! How amazingly cool is this?!

Isn’t this exciting?! To see something that you wrote, laid out on a screen, looking almost like a real book, showing you a preview of the glorious thing to come! Let me tell you, I am giddy as a kid in a candy store right now, knowing that in a few weeks I’ll have a real book in my hands, once again, with my name on it.

Something that I pulled from my imagination and brought into the real world. It’s the most incredible feeling.

And when I have to go through the whole tedious process again in a couple months for the next book, I’ll be groaning and yelling and tearing my hair out again…

But, gods, it’ll be worth every minute.

Filed under: News, Publishing, Shifting Isles Tagged: author, books, characters, fiction, novels, publishing, self-publishing, write, writing

Looking Ahead

I’ve just gone through and added a few updates to the site, mostly to keep myself motivated and on-track. The last few months have been…

Well, you know the saying: You make plans, and life happens. Oh boy, does it happen.

Between massive stress at work and a bit of a person crisis, I’ve been having a really hard time focusing on writing. The odd thing is that I’m actually ahead of the schedule I’d set for myself, but over the last few months, I’ve been slipping farther and farther behind and letting myself get distracted and upset by life in general. So, to keep myself going and get this next series out, I’ve already posted projected release dates for each of the next fourteen novels, as well as some preliminary information about other works that I’ll be releasing after those. Hopefully having posted deadlines will keep me moving and give me something to look forward to.

Starting late next month, I’ll be releasing the Shifting Isles series, a set of fourteen books set in a fantasy world. At my current writing pace, I should be able to put out a new volume every three months. That is certainly the goal, anyway. That puts the series wrapping up in June 2018, after which I’ll be releasing a standalone novel and another series, all set in the same world but at different time periods. I’ll be posting more information about the Shifting Isles series, the standalone novel, and the following series as more time passes and more information can be released without offering spoilers.

I know, this is like Marvel-level teasing, but I just can’t help myself.

The hard part is that all of this is teasing me as well. The new series idea (which won’t start releasing until 2019) is really grabbing my attention lately and making it difficult to focus on drafts for the upcoming SI series — another reason for the posted deadlines. Now I have to put the new ideas aside and get these SI drafts done so I can finally move on to the editing stages.

So, on that note, back to writing!

Filed under: News, Publishing, Shifting Isles, Teasers and Excerpts Tagged: author, books, characters, fantasy, fantasy world, fiction, novels, publishing, self-publishing, write, writing

BOOK GIVEAWAY!!!

Well, I’m down to my last signed copy of one of my books here at the office, so that seems like a good reason to do a last-minute holiday giveaway.

Want a new read for the new year? Enter to win a signed copy of Hale and Farewell (Lethean Trilogy, Book III). It is my favorite in the trilogy, and yes, even though the books are linked, they can be read out of order. You can enter the drawing by:

–Sharing this post from my Facebook page.

–Retweeting this post from my Twitter page.

–Rebloging this post here on WordPress.

–Repinning this post from the book’s Pinterest page.

Please make sure you do one of the above as stated (namely, if sharing on Facebook, share it directly from my Facebook page, or if sharing on Twitter, retweet it from my Twitter post). Otherwise, I won’t get notification of it and won’t have any way to know to enter your name in the drawing.

I will put all entries into a random drawing and pick the winner on 1 January 2015. Winner must have a mailing address in the contiguous 48 states.

Good luck and happy reading!

Filed under: Lethean Tagged: author, books, characters, fantasy, fiction, novels, write, writing

The Writercoaster

One thing I’ve been learning over the last few years since I started writing — and what continues to strike me each time it occurs — is that creating is a ridiculously emotional experience.

You start out with an idea, and feel on top of the world. It’s the greatest idea ever. You’re super excited and can’t wait to see it come to life.

Then you hit the snags: the plot holes that won’t fill, the characters who won’t cooperate, the target word count that remains elusive, the research that returns a fact that makes your entire story unravel, etc. Then frustration sets in. This is the worst idea ever. Why are you even doing this? You must be out of your mind.

Suddenly, you find a solution. Aha! The pieces fall into place: changing a setting sparks the right scenario to fill in a plot hole, adding a bad habit to a character makes him more believable and throws in a subplot, adding or subtracting a minor character radically changes the mystery of the backstory, etc. You’re a genius! You’re excited again! This is going to be a masterpiece and you can’t wait to share it!

Then life gets in the way — work, money, families, relationships, etc. — and you either don’t have time to write, or you’re so plagued by stress that you just can’t focus. That source of happy escapism just isn’t quite enough to pull you away from reality, and when you try to sit down at the computer and type a few pages, nothing comes to you. You try to force it and it makes it worse. You finally just give up and walk away, wondering if you’ll ever see yourself write, “THE END.”

The next day, you wake up, an idea in your head before you even manage to get your stumbling, half-awake self out of bed to shut off the alarm. You head straight to the computer and start typing, and keep typing all day, charging ahead with the end in sight.

And then, it happens. You finish writing the climax, wrap up the little end bits, bring your hero to success, and type those last few words.

THE END.

Elation! Wondrous, marvelous joy! You’ve done it! Look at what you’ve accomplished! A whole book! Still a rough draft, yes, but a whole book! You’re amazing! You’re ecstatic! You can’t stop smiling, and maybe even laugh out loud at the computer screen.

Two seconds later, you find yourself sitting back with a joyful sigh of relief, and then it hits you:

Now what?

*stare at the screen, blink dumbly, scratch your chin*

 

On Monday night, I finished the first draft for the third book in my next series. I wanted to have at least the first three or four books written before I started editing the first book and preparing it for sale. Since it’s an extended fantasy series and I’m doing world building as I go, I wanted to make sure I could plant little pieces in each book that would hint back / forward to other books in the series.

Alright, so this was also an excuse to put off editing. I hate editing. That’s when the writing process really starts to feel like work, rather than fun.

I’ve got three complete rough drafts now, and once I finished the third, I was sorely tempted to right on to writing the fourth, rather than taking a break to go back and edit the first.

So, as I sat there on Monday night, thinking, “Now what?”, I couldn’t decide which way to go: on to the fourth, or back to the first?

I finally shut off the computer, post-book depression already settling in.

I went to bed, and couldn’t fall asleep because ideas for Book 4 kept bouncing around in my head, but then I started noticing so many elements missing that I knew I couldn’t dive right into it quite yet. I had some more outlining to do.

The next day, post-book depression hit even harder, and since then I’ve just been staring at my computer and my notebooks, and not adding a single thing to them.

This will probably last a few days, as it normally does, and then I’ll be back in the saddle, writing or editing, and back on the upswing of the coaster, excited about what’s coming up next.

To be followed, of course, by the inevitable frustrations.

“Gods, why am I doing this? What was I thinking? Write a whole book? A whole bloody book? I must be mad! I can’t do this! It’ll be awful. I’ll sound stupid. No one will like it!”

Which — also of course — will be followed by, “Gods, this is amazing! I love it! I have to share it! It’s brilliant! It’s wonderful! Look at what I’ve done!”

Up and down, up and down, every single time. I wonder if this is the kind of thing to which one ever gets used.

Filed under: Inspiration Tagged: author, books, characters, fantasy, fantasy world, fiction, novels, publishing, self-publishing, write, writing

And then people happened…

Working in customer service has its ups and downs. Well, alright, maybe a few ups and a whole lot of downs, especially for an introvert like myself. On the positive side, it provides a lot of material with which to work when it comes to creating characters. On the downside, though…

Well, even after fifteen years of working as a service consultant in the independent automotive repair industry, there are some things about people that I still don’t understand:

1) People and their spending priorities

I see people spend thousands of dollars modifying their cars — paint jobs, rims, lighting, exhaust systems, stereos, spoilers, body kits, etc. — but they won’t spend $1000 in maintenance to keep their engines from blowing up. I just don’t get it.

2) And more spending contradictions

It’s amazing to me how often we’ll get a vehicle in, perform a general inspection, tell the customer the car needs $1000 worth of maintenance and it’ll be as good as new, and the customer replies, “Nope, I can’t afford $1000. I’ll just go trade it in and buy a new car instead.”

Alright … hold on … let me process that …

So you can’t afford $1000 one time, but you can afford $500 a month for the next six years, plus higher taxes, plus higher insurance, plus higher registration fees?

Did I miss something here?

3) People who self-diagnose wrong, and are shocked when we’re right

This happens all the time, but my favorite example comes from several years back. A man called and made an appointment to bring in his truck for an engine noise. When he arrived a few hours later, I could tell he was coming because I could hear his “engine knock” from over a block away. He pulled into the parking lot, lifted the hood, scratched his chin, and finally came inside to check in the vehicle for service, though he claimed he already knew the problem.

His diagnosis? A faulty air polluter valve.

All I could do was look at him and blink.

“I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing called an air polluter valve,” I said.

“Oh yeah,” he said with great confidence. “It’s an air polluter valve. Back of the engine. Looks just like a spark plug.”

At this point, I kept my mouth shut and just nodded along agreeably, but all the while, I thought, “Well, if it looks like a spark plug, don’t you think it just might actually be a spark plug?”

So, customer leaves, we diagnose the problem. Are you sitting down? It was a spark plug! Shocking! The vehicle had something over 100k miles and had never had a tune up, so we recommended a complete tune up and some other related repairs to get the vehicle caught up on its maintenance. The customer said he didn’t believe we were right but authorized the repair anyway.

When he comes to pick up his truck, before even coming into the office, he goes out to the parking lot, lifts the hood, starts up the truck, and is absolutely shocked that it’s running so smoothly. He came in and told me he couldn’t believe it. He was shocked. Speechless. It made no sense.

I just smiled and told him to have a nice day.

Stuff like this happens. All. The. Time.

4) People who’ve forgotten how to communicate properly

This one … oh, this one just gets me all riled up, because it happens almost daily.

Customer, delivery driver, salesman, or person passing through asking for directions — all of them come up to the door, and start asking me a question…

Before they even have the door all the way open.

Before they’ve even stopped to make sure I’m not busy with a customer or on the phone.

Before they’ve even bothered to see if they have my attention.

So they stand there, letting out the A/C or the heat, while I tear my mind away from whatever it was I was working on, and ask them to repeat the question, since I didn’t hear it.

Then they get mad at having to repeat themselves.

Really?

I mean, did I miss something in Life Etiquette 101, or Basic Common Sense? Why do people do this? The mind boggles.

5) People who do the above … but repeatedly

Yes, repeatedly. As in, over and over, but they still don’t catch on.

Someone will be standing at the counter in my office, and ask me a question. I don’t know the answer, so I start down the hallway toward the shop so I can find someone with an answer.

I’m halfway down the hall when I hear the person (customer / delivery driver / passerby / salesman / etc) ask another question, but because of the acoustics of the office and the hallway, I can’t make out anything other than noise.

I walk back into the office, trying to remember their first question, and ask them to repeat what they just said.

And — surprise, surprise! — they get mad at having to repeat themselves.

But, they repeat the question, I add it to my mental list of things to find out, and tell them I’ll be right back with an answer.

Guess what? They do it again.

So I go back to the office. Again. Ask them to repeat. Again. They get mad at having to repeat. Again. But they repeat, I again say I’ll find out, and head back toward the hall.

I had this happen six times in a row once, with one person, who kept asking me questions about his vehicle (which I couldn’t answer because the diagnostic hadn’t been completed yet so I had to go pester the technician [read: waste his time] by asking him before he was ready with his diagnostic notes). Even after six times, the man didn’t catch on, and it was all I could to hold my tongue.

Face, meet palm. Head, meet desk.

6) People who make contradictory demands

This comes in a lot of forms, but the most frustrating one is when a customer seems to assume that, just because I’m female-bodied, I must automatically be gifted with the ability to do twenty-seven things at once.

Well, I’m not. I can’t multitask so save my life, unless it’s a very, very good day. And the most difficult multitasking for me involves talking about one thing while typing up another. I just can’t do it.

Yet, somehow, people expect I can.

They’ll be rambling on at the counter, asking me questions, looking miffed when I don’t immediately answer, and all the while, they punctuate their mindless conversation with, “Don’t you have my invoice finished yet?”

Well, I might if you’d shut the hell up for two seconds so I can focus!

No, I don’t say that. But I certainly think it.

Then there are the people who come in and say they’re in a hurry, need their estimates written up fast so they can get to work. So, I scramble. I can whip out a new estimate quick when I need to. But then they start throwing a wrench into things.

“How come you haven’t made any coffee yet?” they ask as they stand by the coffee machine, looking personally offended that there isn’t any brewing.

“I’ll get to it as soon as I get a moment,” I say as politely as I can.

“Oh, and can you find out how soon they’ll look at my car?” they ask as I run toward the front door to get identification information off the car. To answer their question, I’d have to go out the opposite door and cross the entire length of the shop, which isn’t exactly conducive to getting their estimates prepared in a hurry.

“Oh, and I’ll need a ride to work,” they say, as though I could simply drop everything else I’m doing, besides trying to attend to all their needs, and leave other customers hanging.

Or, even worse, in an office full of people waiting to be helped: “I planned to have my neighbor come pick me up and take me to work, but that fell through, so can you run me over real quick? We have to leave right now or I’ll be late.”

All I can do is look around my crowded office and resist the urge to bang my head against the wall.

Salesmen are even worse in that situation. They’ll walk into my office, where I’ve got five people waiting to be helped, and look completely put out that I can’t ignore those five people and the phones ringing off the hook just to listen to their sales pitch.

“I only need ten minutes of your time.”

Yeah, well, in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s not my time you’re about to waste here. It’s my customers‘ time, and that’s unpardonable. I’m not going to make them sit and wait while you try to sell me something I don’t need. Please, for the love of all that is holy, get out of my office and don’t come back.

Then there are the people who arrive before we open, sit in the parking lot, waiting for us to arrive, and before I’ve even had a chance to get the door unlocked to go inside, they start pelting me with questions.

“Can you take a smog right now? How much would a tune up cost? How soon could you get a particular part if you order it today?”

More blinking dumbly on my end.

Did you really not notice that I just got here? And haven’t even stepped inside yet? And have a locked door between me and my schedule book, between me and my parts catalogues, between me and the phone? How could I possibly answer your questions?!?!

Alright. Deep breath. Moving along.

7) People who expect magic

Scene: Small town, independent repair shop, Saturday afternoon, one hour until closing time.

Action:

Customer calls, telling me they’re on a tow truck and on the way to our facility (the only one open on Saturdays in this town, and almost in the county) with a 1995 Saab, and they need a fuel pump.

“I’m traveling through on vacation. I have to get back on the road today. You have one of those in stock, right?”

I blink dumbly, trying to get my mind to wrap around this question.

There are probably all of two Saabs in this entire county. No parts store in the area will stock parts for vehicles like that. Now, a late-model Chevy truck? Different story. Fuel pumps fail on those all the time, and everyone and his brother around here drives a Chevy truck, so every parts store stocks them. But a Saab?

And besides that, we’re not a parts store. We’re a repair shop. We work on all makes and models. We couldn’t possible even begin to stock something like that, when we don’t even have space to stock every possible oil filter for every possible vehicle. That’s what the parts stores are for.

“What do you mean you don’t have it in stock?” the customer asks in shock. “Back home in LA–”

Ah, yes. LA. Where everything is open 24/7 and Saabs are at least a tad more popular than they are here.

Should’a’ stayed in LA.

8) People who expect crystal balls and foretelling

Customers and vendors are definitely guilty of this, but the people who really take the cake are telemarketers.

I hate telemarketers. Loathe them. Despise them.

I’m going to say it again just because the very thought of them makes my blood boil.

I. HATE. TELEMARKETERS.

They call, they ask for the boss, who is always unavailable (even if he isn’t, I say he is, because, really, he doesn’t need his time wasted with sales pitches for things he doesn’t need — and yes, I’m allowed to do this, because he hates talking to them more than I do, and since I help him run the business and handle most of the finances, I almost know more than he does what products and services the business needs).

“I’m sorry, he’s busy with a customer right now,” I say as politely as I can muster. “Can I help you with something?”

“No, I need to speak to him, since he’s the owner…”

And then comes the inevitable question. I’ve yet to have a single telemarketer not follow up with:

“…Can you tell me exactly what time he’ll be available to chat? I’ll only need fifteen minutes of his time.”

Hmmm. Let’s see. Can I foresee a particular block of time when the boss won’t have customers to talk to, parts to order, technicians to supervise, estimates to calculate? Can I foresee a particular block of time when he’ll have absolutely nothing to do and be able to take your call?

I wish I could. Wouldn’t that be a neat trick? See the future. Hmmm….

Oh, sorry, I was daydreaming.

But, just like I don’t have a magic wand to make fuel pumps for 1995 Saabs appear out of thin air, neither can I predict the future.

It’s gotten to the point that I tell them that. “Sorry, I can’t see the future. I don’t know exactly when he’ll have no other responsibilities to address so that he’s free to take your call.”

Sometimes I’m tempted to say, “Yes, he’ll be free from precisely 1:03 to 1:07 in the afternoon on the 15th of March, twelve years from now. Why don’t you call back then, hmmm? Have a nice day.” Click.

Tempting. Someday I might just do it.

 

So, after days when all these things happen, I thank every god known to man for the ability to escape into my stories. Because, otherwise, I’d probably go insane.

Then again, there’s so much good material here.

Perhaps I ought to write a book…

Hmmm.

Maybe someday. Right now I’m elbow-deep in working on the next series. I’m so excited with where it’s going, and I just can’t seem to stop. I very nearly have complete first drafts for the first three books. One of these days I’ll have to pause writing so I can go back and start editing Book 1. That’s hard to do, though, because I’m enjoying writing them so much, and editing is such a chore. But, in the meantime…

Oh, there’s the phone ringing. Back to work, I go.

Please don’t be a telemarketer. Please don’t be a telemarketer.

Can you believe they’re calling on Saturdays now? Sheesh.

Counting down to closing time so I can go home and get some more writing done.

Did I mention I’m excited about this next series? :D

 

Filed under: Inspiration, News Tagged: author, auto repair, automotive, books, cars, characters, customer service, fantasy, fiction, novels, self-publishing, write, writing

Take pains; be perfect

I found this image on Pinterest this morning, and though it has an element of humor to it, it also really strikes home on something that really bothers me about the modern world.

Where are all the men of the mind? Where are the people who actually care about what they do, and how they do it? Where are the people who believe in doing something, and in doing it well?

It’s so frustrating, on a daily basis, having to deal with people who have no competence whatsoever. I find myself doing other people’s jobs for them more often than not because they simply aren’t capable (or, even worse, just don’t care). It is such a rare and precious thing these days to encounter someone who actually does something well, and I tend to be almost worshipful of that.

So many of us stop at “just good enough” or the bare minimum. So few go the extra mile. So many do just enough to get by. So few take pains to do something completely and well.

Should we be perfect? Of course not. We’re human. That’s impossible. But there is an enormous difference between doing just enough and doing something with competence.

I’m guilty myself when it comes to certain things. I know that. I’ll be the first to admit it. But as I look out at the world, I find it becoming so rampant and all-encompassing that it’s utterly depressing.

Perhaps that’s another reason why I disappear into my stories, and idolize certain people. There’s no true craftsmanship anymore, except in rare occasions — and when I see it, I feel almost brought back to life.

As an example: I was walking around my local neighborhood one day, a few years ago, and passed by a house with the most exquisite concrete work I’d ever seen.

I know, a rather silly example, is it not? But completely true. Concrete, as a rule, doesn’t exactly inspire, but I was so struck by how beautifully this path and stairway was constructed that I actually had to stop and stare. I’d never seen anything like it done with such care and precision.

And the same can be applied to just about anything else we encounter on a daily basis. The saying “They just don’t make things like they used to” is painfully accurate. The same could also be said, not just for things, but for services. Actions and behaviors are done with minimal effort, just as things are made with minimal care and quality. But on that rare occasion when one finds something well-made, or a service well-provided, ah! Now there is something to treasure — perhaps even to celebrate.

Yet it remains such a rare thing, and the lack so disappointing. After spending an entire day in the company of the general public, as well as those who work in related industries and can’t seem to do their jobs to save their lives, at the end of the day I simply crave escape.

Thus, my stories. True, my characters aren’t perfect (indeed, they can’t be, or there would be no stories to tell), but they allow me to take a step back from a disappointing world and delve into something a little bit better, where I can encounter a phenomenal musician, or a dedicated security officer, or a precise scientist. For a few hours, I can turn my back on the dull, the mundane, and the “just good enough”, and immerse myself in the lives of people who truly care about what they do, and in doing it well.

This isn’t even restricted to the realm of work, either. The same can be said of relationships or just about any other aspect of life. I was watching Miss Austen Regrets last night, and one line in particular stood out to me: “My darling girl, this is the real world. The only way to get a man like Mr Darcy is to make him up.”

Whether it be within families or romantic relationships, people just don’t seem to take the time and care they once did. Everything is a matter of taking people for granted, or making assumptions, or not communicating, rather than really trying to be present for the people we claim to love. Mr Darcy seems not to exist in the real world because no one strives to be him — and by this, I don’t mean just someone like the character, but the general idea behind that sentence, in terms of all people: We have all these ideas of how families and relationships ought to be, but few of us seem to take pains to be those people for others, so neither can we find those people for ourselves.

Hence, again, I find people disappointing, and disappear into the lives of my characters, or the characters of others. Fiction gives the relief of being able to live, just for a moment, in the lives and with the people we’d wish to encounter in the real world, yet find sorely lacking. We devour works on brave adventurers and romantic heroes and daring achievers because we find those grand, inspirational, competent people missing from the real world.

So, yes, funny as it is, I wouldn’t even mind finding someone in the real world who was competent at adultery. At least it would be a competence! Something done well, if one can be said to commit adultery well. I suppose it’s possible, morality aside…

Alright, we won’t go there. Perhaps we should stick to competence in zoology. Anyway, moving along…

So, please, for the love of all that is holy, whatever you do — in your work, your studies, your relationships, your hobbies — take pains, and do it well. It doesn’t have to be perfect, but at least go a step beyond.

And for those who show competence, go the extra mile, and do things well, you have my eternal thanks and adoration. I would actually love to meet you and shake your hand.

In the meantime, I suppose it’s back into my fictional world I go. I have a date with a man who is trying to escape from prison.

 

 

[Post title is from Act I, Scene 2 of William Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream]

Filed under: Hat-Tips, Links, and Shout-Outs, Inspiration Tagged: books, characters, fantasy, fantasy world, fiction, Jane Austen, philosophy, write, writing

Make It Worse

I’ve been reading a lot of books on story craft lately, each of which presents basically the same information but in different ways, such that one topic might befuddle me, whereas another will drive the same concept home.

In one of these books (and I apologize, I cannot recall at the moment precisely which), the thing that stood out most to me was the concept of adding conflict.

The author put it basically like this: You know how when you’re having a nightmare, and you’re running away, but you keep hitting obstacles, and the bad guy is always right behind you, and you can never seem to get more than a step ahead? That’s building conflict in your stories.

That really struck home for me because that right there is my every nightmare. I rarely dream, but when I do, it’s usually some god-awful terror of being chased or hunted. It’s always dark and hard to see; there’s always some dangerous figure behind me (who is either my birth mother or some faceless person, oddly enough); and I find myself running for my life.

The pavement turns to quicksand, so I can’t get my footing. The doors get stuck and won’t open until the very last moment as I’m trying to get away. The tight spaces get tighter until I can barely breathe and can hardly move. I run and I run and I run, but the dark figure is always right behind me.

Sometimes I have this nightmare of being in some sort of underground labyrinth of tunnels that are barely large enough for me to fit through, and I’m climbing up or sliding down or crawling through, desperate for an open space so I can breathe, desperate to run, and the figure is always there, chasing me.

Sometimes I’m out in the open, but it’s so dark I can barely see what’s ahead of me, and I’m running as fast as I can possibly go, but the ground is slick beneath my feet, or the laws of physics suspend, making concrete shift like sand or motion change such that my normal stride only takes me half as far.

Then I’m diving into some building with obstacles all around, and I’m trying to crawl through without making any noise, without knocking anything over, and trying to keep an eye out for the man with the gun, trying to get to the door before he does.

Running, running, running, always running, while I encounter shifting ground, closed doors, tight spaces, high fences, wild animals — one thing after another, building up the tension until I think my heart might burst and I wake up panting and shaking and practically in tears.

Building conflict. Ramping up tension. Adding stakes. All to answer the question: How can I make this scene worse for this character?

Phew! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a soothing cup of tea.

Because, of course, after the tension must come the release, but whether the release is victory or defeat — ah, that remains to be seen…

Filed under: Inspiration Tagged: books, characters, dreams, fantasy, fiction, novels, write, writing

Scenes From a Fantasy

This will probably sound unpardonably obvious and not particularly profound, but it has occurred to me lately just how much fiction is truly a remarkable thing.

Whether it be a novel, a film, or even a music album, fiction can carry us away to far-off worlds, forgotten times, or impossible lives. It can give us experiences we’ll never know in the real world, make us feel things we’ve never felt, say things we’ve never said, do things we’ve never done.

I know, I know. Obvious post is obvious. Well, I’m going to write it all out anyway. I’m an anarchist: I do what I want(*).

(*) Without harming or violating the rights of others, of course. That’s the beauty of all this: You’re welcome to click off at any time. As for me, I’m just going to keep right on going.

Let’s continue, shall we?

As a writer, delving into fiction allows for a truly incredible experience, because I can fantasize my way into 19th-century Britain (The Lethean), or a dystopian future (Hale and Farewell), or even into a completely made-up fantasy world full of magic and technology and war and adventure (as I’m developing for the next series).

I can step outside my rather plain, routine life and immerse myself in an entirely different world. I can get away from the things I do every day and imagine something different.

In fiction, I don’t have to tell customers, at least twenty times a day, that “a smog inspection on a vehicle, provided it passes the test, is $45, and that includes the certificate fee”. I’ve recited that line so many times over the last fifteen years that it just simply comes out by rote. I don’t even have to think about it. At this point, I could probably explain, in detail, everything you’d ever want to know about check engine light diagnostics, readiness monitors, drive cycles, and the ever-changing California emissions program — in my sleep.

Not very fantastic, that.

In fiction, I can do something other than my daily routine: get up at 5:30 in the morning, stumble around in the dark to reach the kitchen, make breakfast, try to peck out a few hundred words while I eat, get dressed, ride to work with Dad, sit at my desk for ten hours straight, answer the phones (“Good afternoon, Lyons Auto Repair”…how many more times must I say this today? I sound like a bloody robot), speed through the most complicated work orders written in the most convoluted handwriting imaginable (I think automotive technicians could give doctors a run for their money when it comes to technical jargon in bad handwriting), scarf down lunch and sneak bathroom breaks in the few moments when the office is quiet, carry batteries and cases of antifreeze out to the shop (rawr!), ride back home, run through a workout (today is leg day — ugh), shower, eat, read a book (on the miniscule chance you’re at all interested, you can track my ever-growing library on Goodreads; I’m currently on Jeffrey Tucker’s Liberty.me: Freedom Is a Do-It-Yourself Project), go to bed. Get up the next morning, rinse and repeat. Six days a week. Every week. Same routine. And household chores on Sunday. Oh joy.

Once again, I find myself in one of my characters, for the hero of the next book lives an extremely routine and regulated life. That is, until he makes one simple choice that changes his routine, and consequently meets a strange woman who completely shakes up his world and makes him rethink everything he’s been taught all his life. As for me, I’m not yet brave enough to make that simple choice even when it presents itself. For now, the routine job stays. C’est la vie.

In the blessed world of fiction, I can say all the things I’d never be able to say to anyone in person. For instance, as I sit here in pain, I’d love nothing more than to shout curses at every god known to man about a particular cyclical aspect of having been born female, but as such commentary would be highly inappropriate for the workplace, I must keep such things to myself. Or, I’d love to scream at several people throughout the day how blind they are to the atrocities of our tyrannical government, but again, inappropriate for the workplace. But, ah! I can put all those unspoken words into the mouths of my characters. Huzzah!

I can go places I’ll never see in the real world. I would dearly love to see London someday, but as I’m not a drinker and it would require quite a lot of alcohol to get me on a plane for such duration, I’m not yet convinced such a trip will ever actually occur.

I can do things I know for a fact I’d never be brave enough, or crazy enough, to do. I can’t see myself in a fight, but I can write about Hale crossing blades with Marcus in Hale and Farewell. I can’t imagine myself sailing around the world, but I can write about Selene’s adventures on a ship as she tries to escape her past.

Good lord, I’m getting ahead of myself. Selene’s story will come in Book 9 in the next series, and I haven’t even put out Book 1 yet. (I may be just a tad too excited about the next series. Anyway…)

The same goes for times when I’m enjoying the work of others rather than writing myself.

Sometimes you just want an escape.

It is the reason we flock to libraries and music stores and movie theaters. It’s the reason we idolize famous authors, lead singers, and movie actors. We want to experience things that will never happen to us, be part of something bigger than ourselves, or even just have our realities reaffirmed, and these are the media and the people that bring us those experiences.

And since I’ll never be an actor, I can do all this just by simply sitting at my computer and letting my imagination run wild. There, acting: another experience I’ll never have, but I can certainly write about (and will, in Book 5). The extent of my acting skills are limited to pretending to still be happy and outgoing at the end of the workday while my inner introvert is screaming, “Danger! Danger! Run away! Too much human interaction! Critical shutdown of all systems if quiet is not achieved in 3…2…1…”

Speaking of acting, I found the following particularly applicable to the topic at hand:

“The best thing about acting is being allowed to explore the truth of experiences I’ve never had and feelings that are not my own. Playing different characters in different fictions and different worlds is like travelling to foreign countries: (to borrow L. P. Hartley’s phrase from The Go-Between) “The past is a foreign country, they do things differently there”. To me, a character is like a foreign country. Characters I play may do things differently from me, may feel differently, may react differently in different situations, but they are no more or less human. Acting is the exploration of universal truths – birth, death, love, loss, joy, grief, pride, vanity, hope, compassion, family, friendship, triumph, and disaster – but wearing different faces. That, as I see it, is my job.” — Tom Hiddleston

Oh dear. Two posts in a row in which I mention Mr. Hiddleston. I may be fan-girling just a wee bit.

Anyway, where was I?

Ah, yes. Escapism.

I fully embrace the idea of fiction as an escape. Although I agree with Ayn Rand‘s sentiment that, “You can avoid reality, but you cannot avoid the consequences of avoiding reality”, sometimes it’s simply necessary to step back, shut the doors on the world, and disappear into something different, allowing yourself time to push your problems aside, clear your head, and regain the strength to attack whatever is haunting you.

I remember doing this quite desperately when I was going through the raw, painful, rollercoaster healing process after I finally admitted to myself the reality of having been raped. I found myself escaping from reality into the little fantasies of my mind, just to get me through the day. I could disappear inside a book or a movie and pretend, for a few moments, that the painful memories did not exist, and when that didn’t work, I could fantasize a different reality of my own.

Thus, the White Knight stage I went through, in which I sat down and started writing my first book. There was no intention to actually write a book at the time. It simply happened that way. My very sanity required the existence of a man who was kind, gentle, and protective in order to counter the memories of a man who was abusive, cruel, and controlling. And my imagination came through, and a book came along with it.

Now, the book was utter rubbish. Completely unrealistic. Horrid writing. But it served its purpose.

And it helped me realize that there is in fact something in life that I truly want to do. Up until that point, I had no passions. No desires. But stumbling upon writing, I found something that I absolutely love, and now I just can’t stop.

Nor do I want to. Though the writing process can be frustrating at times, and there are days when I’m convinced I’ll never get a book finished, I can’t imagine my life without my stories. I can take a bit of daydream or a fantasy and think, “You know, that would make for a great scene in a story. Let’s see what I can make of it.”

As for other writing, I occasionally attempt a fun little opinion article or two (I’m still horribly overdue for another Confessions of an Anarchist post; I think it’ll be on getting an illegal hair cut, if I ever get around to it), but I no longer have the drive to write scholarly essays like I enjoyed doing in college. I have serious doubts that I could ever pen a screenplay. I did try my hand at poetry for a time, but I seem to have lost the desire for that as well.

Granted, all of my poetry came out of the pain of my healing process, so it’s probably not such a bad thing that I’m not inspired to write poetry anymore, although I do look back fondly on this one in particular:

Oh goodness, there’s Mr. Hiddleston again. Case for fan-girling intensifies.

What? Don’t tell me you wouldn’t swoon to hear those words recited in his voice. I know it doesn’t hold a candle to Shakespeare but, gods above, I know my head would be turned.

(That’s his hand, by the way. Doesn’t he just have the loveliest hands?)

Fun fact: When I was healing, it was almost impossible for me to look someone in the eye. It was simply too intimidating to accept the fact that someone could see me, when all I wanted to do was constantly hide in shadow and not be seen at all. Very well, perhaps a not-so-fun fact. Call it a bittersweet fact. Maybe even a boring fact. Anyway, the consequence of this is that, since I still had to deal with people in my customer service job, I became very focused on people’s hands as I handed invoices and receipts across the counter. It got to the point that I developed first impressions of people based on their hands instead of their faces. My own little personal brand of physiognomy, if you will.

Now, where was I?

What’s that? You’re stuck on the word physiognomy? Shame on you. Shame all over you. Please go read the complete works of Jane Austen and Charles Dickens and then get back to me for your next list of books to read. Go on. Right now. Go. I’ll wait.

*brews a pot of Earl Grey, thumbs through a book, looks up*

Still here, are you? Oh, very well. Shall we continue?

It is even in music that we can find a fictional escape. (I sincerely hope I threw you with that one when I mentioned it early on in this post. If not, I’m ashamed that this has all been more dreadfully obvious than I first assumed. However, pressing on…)

I’m not talking about the tuneless garbage that passes for music these days. I actively avoid radio because it seems like every other song is nothing but “Yeah yeah yeah, let’s go party”. That’s not music. That’s mindlessness.

I’m talking about music that makes you feel something. Music that tells a story. Despite my undying love for Hanson (their music did contribute greatly to my survival on my darkest days, after all), I would have to say that my favorite album of all time is Dream Theater’s Metropolis Pt. 2: Scenes From a Memory.

Why? Because it tells a bloody story. It’s an entire play, in musical form. It’s absolutely, positively genius.

I listen to that album and I can picture the whole thing as a stage show: choreography, characters, costumes. The story comes to life just through the medium of sound. I can experience the love affair, the murder, the guilt, the death — all just by sitting back on my couch and pressing play.

Well, more likely by blasting it in my car and singing along as I drive through town. That’s my one bit of unreserved behavior.

Perhaps I get too excited about this album. I’m always trying to get people to listen to it because I find the concept completely fascinating. It is by far the most creative album I’ve ever encountered. It may even not be unique, since my musical experience is rather limited, but the first time someone turned me on to that album, I was utterly and completely hooked. So yes, go! Go listen to it. It’s fabulous.

(Hmmm, I may be attempting to channel Jeffrey Tucker here. The bowtie-wearing gentleman anarchist can make just about any discussion of any topic sound as exciting as being a kid in a toy store. The man is just such a bloody optimist. It’s astounding.)

It is also because of this album that I simply had to have a character named Victoria. If I may direct your attention to the lyrics of the first track, “Scene One: Regression”:

Safe in the light that surrounds me

Free of the fear and the pain

My subconscious mind

Starts spinning through time

To rejoin the past once again

Nothing seems real

I`m starting to feel

Lost in the haze of a dream

And as I draw near

The scene becomes clear

Like watching my life on a screen

Hello Victoria so glad to see you

My friend

Now, although this is from the perspective of a man looking back on a past life, it was very easy for me to see all sorts of metaphors for my own experiences in these words. Safe in the light of the fantasies that held my memories at bay, thus keeping me free of the fear and the pain while I mentally went back in time and rejoined the past as I tried to overcome my nightmares. At times it felt that nothing seems real and that I was lost in the haze, and as the memories became less frightening, it was like impassively watching my life on a screen rather than living that fear all over again. And then, I could mentally slip into my little fantasy world, pick a character, and be happy, feeling as though I was so glad to see them, my characters, my friends. Victoria was one of the first, and I’ve got dozens more where she came from.

So, there you have it. An unpardonably obvious post, yet I wrote it all out anyway. What can I say? Loki made me–

Blast it all, there I go again…

Filed under: Hat-Tips, Links, and Shout-Outs, Inspiration, Lethean, Publishing Tagged: acting, anarchy, author, books, characters, Charles Dickens, Dream Theater, dreams, dystopia, dystopian, fantasy, fantasy world, fiction, Hanson, Jane Austen, Jeffrey Tucker, libertarian, Loki, movies, music, novels, philosophy, poem, poetry, publishing, rape, self-publishing, Tom Hiddleston, write, writing

The Prisoner

It’s amazing to me, even after five years of living and breathing made-up lives, that inspiration can come from the most unexpected places or in the silliest, simplest ways.

Now that I’ve got the next series — 14 books set in a fantasy world — more or less outlined, I’m diving into writing the first book, The Prisoner. Months ago, I’d already started putting down material for it, and got about 70 pages in when I hit a painfully hard brick wall.

The story just wasn’t going where I wanted, and I started losing interest. It seemed no matter what I did, I couldn’t get it to flow properly. So, I set aside those 70 pages in a separate Fragments file and started over.

The second attempt didn’t go much better. It was an improvement, true, but still lacked the proper plot flow. So I stopped again. I was quickly digging myself the same grave in which I’d found myself while writing Uncommonly Strong, and after that disappointing experience, I certainly did not want to slog through the same frustration again. I wanted the exciting experience I’d had writing The Lethean, and especially Hale and Farewell: the kind of experience where the story just flows because you love the characters and know exactly where they’re going, even if some of the details surprise you along the way.

Once I finally got a proper outline done for The Prisoner, that helped quite a bit, but I still couldn’t make myself sit down and continue writing. My love for the characters had simply died, and I wasn’t moved to tell their story anymore (not even that of the female lead, and it was her character that triggered the original concept, though she quickly got switched from heroine to antagonist when I realized the story worked better not centered around her character arc). I tried forcing it, and that just made it all worse.

It was getting to the point that I almost wanted to give it up — except for the fact that I’ve quit everything I’ve ever tried in my life and I’ll be damned if I ever allow myself to give up writing. Thus, I finally just made myself set the whole thing aside so I could get my mind on other things, and hopefully clear my head enough to re-attack it later.

I turned from writing to reading, and as I was going through one series, I became totally engrossed in a character who was beautifully complex and conflicted. Despite the fact that the plot really didn’t pull me in, I found myself still rapidly turning the pages because I was dying to know how things would turn out for this man.

The whole time I read him, I was picturing him looking something like Tom Hiddleston à la Loki — pale, dark, fierce, and a perfect fit for this particular character’s personality (in my mind, at least).

And that’s when it hit me: This was exactly what I was looking for in my own character, but all the while I’d been trying to picture him quite differently.

The Prisoner has gone through quite a transformation from the way I had originally envisioned, but once the male lead came into play instead of the original female lead, one of the very first scenes that I put down was inspired by an insignificant detail — probably just a word or a facial expression — in a Bollywood movie starring Hrithik Roshan, one of my favorite actors. Consequently, his appearance became the foundation for the character I was trying to write.

I love imagining my stories in movie form, camera angles and all, because it helps me play out the scenes and brings it more fully to life in my mind (I’m sure I’m not alone in this habit). When I first started writing The Prisoner, I was going through it with the idea of Hrithik Roshan playing this character, because that was how I originally pictured the lead.

Beyond that one scene, though, I just couldn’t fathom him in any other part of the story. I tried to picture his face, his voice, his movement, and it just flat wasn’t working. I couldn’t see this character going through the dialogue and motions of the story while wearing Hrithik’s form, no matter how much I tried to force it just for the sake of sticking with the image I’d chosen.

Switch to something closer to Loki, though, and the whole character just instantly blossomed to life for me. That face I could see in all the expressions. That voice I could hear in all the dialogue. In one scene, when my character is told to give up his weapons, and he replies with utter calm and self-confidence, “No, I think I’ll be keeping these,” I hear that line in exactly the voice Hiddleston uses at the end of Thor 2, when Thor walks away and Loki drops his Odin disguise, and says, “No, thank you.” That low growl of a voice. That is exactly what I hear in this character’s dialogue. It’s just an absolutely perfect fit.

My love for and interest in the lead character skyrocketed, and all because of a simple change of look and demeanor.

As I went back to writing, I started filtering through the old material that I’d set aside and, to my indescribable joy, found that almost all of it was in fact usable, just with a few detail changes and with a little shuffling of the scene order. Once I had the right look and feel for the character and my interest in his complexities, goals, and moral weaknesses had returned, I realized the only thing making those scenes non-functional was my own lack of interest in the character himself, since I couldn’t fully picture those scenes in all their necessary depth. Now I can, and they work, and the story is coming together nicely.

I went through the file of my third rewrite attempt (amounting to about 26k words), and filtered in all the discarded content from my Fragments file, putting it all in places better suited to the plot, and immediately jumped to 43k words. Those rearranged sections will require some hefty editing, but the overall concepts and scene flow work so much better now than I had originally imagined. I’ve got ideas coming out of my ears, and now the only struggle is deciding which scene to write first because I want to write several at once: I’m that excited about this story. It’s all I can do to put off writing the climactic escape because a part of me wants all the rest of the story filled in first.

What a beautiful problem to have.

I guess I should have paid better attention to my own writing.

“Not all prisons are made of iron bars.”

Well, amen to that.

Filed under: Inspiration, News, Publishing, Shifting Isles Tagged: author, Bollywood, books, characters, fantasy, fantasy world, fiction, Hrithik Roshan, Loki, novels, publishing, self-publishing, Tom Hiddleston, write, writing