I'm Cheating on My Novel

You read that right. I'm cheating on my novel.

I knew this had to happen eventually. I've been getting closer and closer to this day, flirting with other ideas and taking time away from Delaney and More Blessed. By now, I think this could officially be called a full blown literary affair.

The problem with MB is two threefold. A) I've plotted too much of it out in advance so now I don't feel compelled to finish and B) I'm not that excited by or interested in it anymore and C) I hate technology and that idea calls for too, too much modernity with its trains and air conditioning and DNA tests.

This is more my style, technology wise.

This other shiny new [and by new, I mean not worked on] idea took the chance to make its move. It whispered in my ear, "Look, this story happens in 1950ish! None of that pesky technology! But we still have trains! You love trains, don't you!"

Yes. Yes I do.

And with that, I was a goner. Before, it had just been snapshots of tense moments. Then I wrote the opening scene, and kept going, and kept going after that. Tentative title Cells. It's about spies. I love me a good spy caper. It's also got some treason and some conspiracies and some revolutions and some moles and some almost-Russian mobsters. All things that I DO find super exciting.

And fake passports for everyone!

[And when even that seems to modern to me, I can always take a break with my witchy Victorian-ish England-ish novel that I also started recently. No reason to stick to one genre, now is there?]

To top it all off, I'm toying with the idea of doing it in dual-POV except still third person. Just to make things more confusing for everyone :)

There's also a cute little multilingual kid. Just for the cuteness.

On a semi-related note, I've also discovered that hand-writing works better for me. Microsoft Word is not so great at keeping me on task. Even with the Internet turned off. Hence, the amount of time it takes to get a single blog post written. Also, the ridiculous number of games of Hearts...and Spider Solitaire...and Minesweeper...and Freecell...and Spades that I play. Thank goodness for all my scrap paper. So take that, computers!

[Actually, don't take that comment to heart, laptop. I really enjoy you working again.]

Excerpt Numero Deux

I'm working on some posts to talk about the lovely city of San Francisco, which I just visited, but between the drama of Olympics gymnastics and a desire for sleep, I haven't even gotten my pictures loaded onto my computer. So those are going to have to wait some more.

Instead, I'm going to post the most writing with the least amount of effort: another bit of already-written story! This is the beginning chapter.

More Blessed

Year Fifty-five, Month Nine, Day Twelve

The sparrows scatter, squawking in terror as I fly through them. I screech in amusement.

Dumb sparrows. Not afraid of a tiny ant until she becomes a potential threat.

I land on my favorite tree and shift carefully so that my talons cling to my perch until I have arms to wrap around the trunk. I survey the forest beneath me, alert for any signs of movement, signs of being seen.

I breathe in the moist air. I shift even slower this time, watching as my legs became scaly and merge together. My tail loops around the branch as my upper body changes, my arms fusing to my sides and my face losing all aspects of humanity. I snake through the treetops, noiselessly making my way towards the ground. In this unpredictable forest, I am the deadliest predator imaginable. If I wanted to, I could snatch any number of small animals from my surroundings.

A pretty disgusting snack, but I don’t think snake-me would mind.

Refocusing on my task, I uncoil myself on the dirt.

Now let’s see, which part to change first…legs to support my body or a head to grow onto?

I decide on the legs. Slowly, my bottom half stretches out again. The snake head flops awkwardly on the body of a rodent. When I finished changing into that form, I grow and grow into my favorite, the wolf. I give a howl and bound away.

I long to be free like this forever, gliding, swinging, darting through the forest. My spirit feels at home here; my body can be at peace with itself.

I notice the sun beginning to sink and reluctantly slink back towards town. Before leaving the protection of the trees, I turn back into me. My mother would have a fit if I shifted anywhere near the house, even though that’s probably more protected than the forest is.

I’m lost in thought as I wander through the streets, already missing my brief time in the woods. I wish I could be alone like that here, but there are always people jostling or being loud or –

“Hey!” I yelp as someone pours a bucketful of soapy water from a window above me. Krik Marama, with some of my more obnoxious classmates, stands laughing at my sputtering. The chants of "Looney Delaney!" start immediately.

The wonderful city of Siran, always a joy to return to you.

I glare and imitate a sign for a witch’s curse. Some of the boys keep laughing, but I take a fierce pleasure in Krik’s discomfort as I hurry away from his house.

Paranoid idiot.

I finally reach home, just before the last rays of sunlight disappear over the mountains to the east. I fumble for my gate key in the dim evening, muttering curses at the absence of a lamppost. I have no idea how my mother manages to unlock it when she comes home well after dark.

Once I’ve wiggled the key into the lock, I close it snugly behind me and make my way through the maze of our yard to reach yet another locked door. Unlike most of the houses in the far south of Ayakrim, ours has a terrace garden in the front and a jumble of hedges in the back. My godmother, Tanya, says Mother bought the house envisioning the barriers she could create around it. Front door, barred and bolted. Terrace staircase, blocked off. Back door, concealed by a hedge maze. They must be popular in Tsgeniz, where my mother was born, because I’ve never seen anything like it in Siran.

It’s a good thing we never have guests over. People would wonder what we’re hiding. Buried treasure? Stolen paintings?

Well, we aren’t.We're hiding me.

I shake the pointless reminders out of my head and flip to the next key. Before I can turn the handle, the door flies open.

“Laney! Hurry, hurry! The hobgoblins will be out for you soon!” Tanya yanks me over the threshold and slams the door shut. She fusses over me, checking for goblins and all manner of supernatural creatures that haven’t set foot in the city for decades.

Satisfied that I remain curse-free, she turns back to the pot of noodles sitting on the stove. I throw my things in the living room and flop onto the couch, grimacing when I think of all the homework I’ll have to do. I theoretically have already done it, since I’m only allowed out of the house to go to school, do schoolwork at the library, or hang out at my friend Cleo’s house. The first, I can’t get out of without my mother knowing. As for the second, unless I have a hideous group project, my godmother’s permission and Cleo’s silence give me free reign of the forest.

A noise from the yard jolts me out of my reverie. I groan a little on the inside and plod back into the kitchen so it looks like I’ve been home for ages, helping Tanya prepare dinner. She hands me a bowl of carrots to chop just as my mother walks through the door and drops her bag on the table.

“Hi Mother.”

“Hello dear, good evening Tanya.” She sighs. I can tell without looking that she has collapsed in her favorite chair.

“You had a really long day today, huh?”

“Yes. Councilor Marama heard reports of a witch sighting in Bayarm that we needed to research. Pray the gods it is only a prank.”

“Mmm.” I don’t believe in witches, but I’ve seen how superstitious Krik’s family and other traditionalists are. Including my mother.

After a quiet dinner, I retreat to my room, paging listlessly through all the homework I have to do. Essay on historical literature, mathematical problems, memorization of yet another patriotic chant. Today, only one thing helps motivate me.

Tomorrow it’s my birthday. I can’t get any incompletes. Tomorrow has to be perfect.

As Requested: An Excerpt!

I apologize for asking for input and then disappearing from the blog scene. This being summer, I'm still super busy taking mini-trips and trying to get a job and getting organized. Soon, I'll [hopefully] have exciting things to tell you about the lovely city of San Francisco. For the moment, I'm going to post an excerpt from one of the 20+ stories that I would finish writing if I could quit being so ADD about it.

Now, this has never been read by anyone else [unless someone's been hacking into my computer, which is doubtful] and is thus in a highly unedited state. But I got the idea of doing a Sleeping Beauty retelling, and I happen to like Sci-Fi, so that's what this is an attempt at doing.

Time Thief

Station S16B97-1

                Red lights swirled ominously around the sterile workspace.

                Shadowy figures appeared on the wall, creeping towards the dark corners of the giant room.

                Shouts rang out and heavy footsteps neared the hole in the command center’s wall. Heavily armed men in protective gear poured in, quickly fanning out in search of the saboteurs, while several anxious engineers began to go over every piece of equipment still intact. Quiet boots followed them in as a well dressed man examined the damage. After consulting with their teams, the chiefs of Security and Engineering hurried over to him.

                “No enemies present, sir,” reported the Chief of Security as he took off his helmet.

                “We w-won’t kn-know the ext-t-tent of any d-da-damage until a f-full diagnos-s-stic ch-check, b-b-but it s-seems to b-b-be clear, s-sir,” stammered the Chief of Engineering.

                The Unit Commander pushed past them and strode purposefully to the far side of the room. A startled engineer, feeling the UC’s gaze on him, leapt from his station and offered his chair to his superior. The man stared resolutely at the screen. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

                The lights stopped flashing.

                The engineer stared at the ground and barely moved his head.

                He nodded.

Earth

                The Sleeping Beauty. She was found by a wandering minstrel who had left the main road out of fear of highwaymen. When he couldn’t wake her, he sprinted back to the monastery which had sheltered him the previous night. The monks deemed her a miracle, sent by God for redemption, while the more zealous hermits prophesied doom at her awakening.

                Over the years, the stories about her took on a life of their own, spreading from ports to towns to tiny hamlets. Legend had it that the one that woke her from her endless sleep would be eternally blessed, or at least hailed by the masses as a miracle worker. Lord Calhoun didn’t believe in such fairy tales, but he grudgingly accompanied his niece to visit the sleeping lady. He didn’t much like the idea of Ardis begging for a miracle to remedy the theft of her dowry, but he had exhausted all his better plans.

                “Dear Edward, don’t be so gloomy!” the girl implored, cheerfully adding, “Cassandra Adams went to see the Lady and was betrothed the very next week!”

                “Coincidence,” he said stiffly, but smiled in spite of himself at her blind innocence.

                A jolt of the carriage brought their attention to the crumbling stone wall of the monastery nestled in the Blackbriar Forest. After 100 years of sleep, the Lady was very well known but attracted far fewer visitors than at the peak of her novelty. As such, repairs on the old buildings had been severely delayed.

                The two disembarked and were escorted through the main gate of the complex by an overenthusiastic young monk. “First visitors all day, not got too many this week either, I expect it’s on account of this rain while Brother Egbert fears the End must be nearing…” He chattered on as he led them through arches, creaking staircases, doorways, and twisting corridors.

                At last they came to the barred room which housed the sleeping Lady. The monk gave a password to the guards, who unlocked the rusty door and shoved it open. Edward watched, amused, as Ardis peered excitedly into the room, and then nervously began tiptoeing towards the large canopy bed where the miracle woman lay. As she knelt reverently to whisper her wishes into the Lady’s ear, Edward leaned casually against the wall and examined the large cell.

                The monks had covered whitewashed walls with elaborate tapestries portraying the Lady, awake and smiling, blessing the men and the land that had kept her safe for so many years. Water gushed in the rivers, trees burst into bloom, and livestock multiplied at her command. Besides the ornate bed, a gift from a wealthy admirer, these were the only furnishings in the room. Still, it was far more opulent than any of the monk’s cells.

                Edward glanced over at the bed, surprised to discover that his niece had already risen and was beckoning him to petition the Lady himself. He grunted his decline.

                Ardis frowned heavily and cast sorrowful eyes at him. “My dowry,” she whispered.

                Her uncle sighed and pushed himself off the wall. He bowed his head, as if to pray, and then caught sight of the Lady for the first time. He blinked and moved towards her bed for a closer look. His eyed widened in surprise, peering desperately into the woman’s face.

                It was her.

                He had seen her face at his manor, laughing at him as she vaulted through a window and balanced on the air. She had disappeared almost immediately, but what concerned him most was the fact that she had disappeared with the last jewels from Ardis’ dowry.

                This woman, this lady, who they had come to for help was the very thief who had undoubtedly ruined his niece’s prospects.

                There was no question it was her face.

                But the Lady had been asleep for 100 years, even he knew that. How could she, in a windowless cell under constant guard, escape from the monastery and travel to his family’s estate, miles away?

                “Are you quite done praying, Eddie?”

                He blinked, unaware that he had unconsciously sunk to his knees by the bed. He suddenly felt dizzy and reached out to steady himself, accidentally brushing his hand against the Lady’s, still and soft. The guard at the door took a step forward, and Edward quickly stood, backing away from the Lady.

                 He was through the doorway, a mumbled apology to the guard, when he heard Ardis' gasp. "Edward, look!"                

Working on Inspiration

So you know how I finished that short story in February and haven't talked about [or worked on] my book since?

I'm writing again!!!!!!!

This calls for celebratory picture spewage. Don't worry, I'll get to the point in just a minute.

Jokes from my sister. Her birthday was yesterday.

Maleficent movie is moving forwards. SO EXCITED!

More jokes. Combining two of my favorite things (three if you count the color).

Sand art. I love watching these.

I need to watch these in order.

There's a certain kind of headspace I expect to be in for truly inspired writing to happen. It's like I can't write anything until I get this I-must-write-words-pouring-out-of-my-head feeling.

The problem is, it's hard to get to that particular ... event?

Sometimes, really fantastic books inspire me. Even just really fantastic paragraphs or sentences. Those bits of craft that blow my mind. Watching beautiful sand art with haunting melodies. There's a few movies, ones that I watch over and over and over again, that have moments that just pull at my heartstrings. That's the only way to describe it, really.

But yesterday morning, all I needed was a little procrastination on the 8 page paper I had to finish that afternoon.

Basically, I got so sick of school that writing on More Blessed was bumped up from the bottom of my I-don't-have-the-time-or-energy-to-do-this list. Which is probably not the nicest way to think about this book, but it's pretty honest.

I think another part of it is staying away from the Internet. I've been trying to leave my computer unconnected to be more productive on all of the BIG THINGS that were due this week [also to save money on electricity by turning of the blinking lights of the modem/wireless router dealies]. Today, with no internship to go to and all day to run errands, I've wasted the past 4ish hours bumming around online.

So. I know I won't become a speed-writer overnight. I know that my biggest dream in the world is not to become a writer. It's pretty far down on the list, but it's the one that's most...accomplish-able right now. [I have been making up so many words today.] I hope, really hope, that I can finish this book by June just for my own sense of pride so that I can print it for free on campus.

If I could write a thousand words a day, that wouldn't be a big deal at all.

I Finished!

So basically: deadlines are the most wonderful things ever invented.

I have officially, finally, thankfully finished a short story that I call 12. My first serious, completed bit of writing.

[Wait, you thought I had actually finished my book? Yeah, I'm going to get back to work on that...this weekend. I promise.]

A little smidgen of background: I mentioned 12 when I asked y'all to pick an idea for me to start working on. I don't remember why I put it in the running because I always planned for it to be a short story. But anyways. According to Microsoft Word, I first created the document on September 10, 2009. When I was avoiding More Blessed, I would open it up and write for a little while.

As of Monday, the word count was about 1,250.

As of Tuesday afternoon, the word count was about 3,900. First draft, finished! Now: editing!

As of Tuesday night, the word count was exactly 3,780.

The only reason that I was able to write more words in that one day than I had been able to over the past two years? A midnight deadline. I submitted the story to my school's student literary journal which is super exciting. I've talked before about needing motivation and/or deadlines to inspire me to write. I definitely get just how much I rely on procrastination to get things done. So hopefully this will help me actually finish other stories too :)

I can't post the story itself but I'd like to share more than that old, still mostly relevant summary. So here are some things that I had in mind while writing 12.

I'll be sure to let the world know [in April, I believe] whether or not the story gets published!