Category Archives: Writing

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Time Pressures or The Right or The Left; Which Do I Cut Off?

17 Saturday Dec 2011

Posted by in Observation, Writing

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I woke up this morning with a headache and Shirley Temple’s voice singing “I Wanna Hippopotamus For Christmas” competing for air time in my head. Ugh! Christmas! I’m not a Grinch, by any means, but this is distinctly not my favorite time of year. I’ll skip the rant concerning commercialization, secularization or how rude folk can be in the check-out line. The thing is, for the sake of writing, I’ve just done little or no shopping and the oppressive weight of the 25th is bearing down on me like an approaching thunderhead full of lightening and rain.

Time. The would-be writer’s bane. Either I feel I don’t have enough of it or I feel I’m using it unwisely. For a brief month or more this summer I felt I was in the groove and making the most of it. In reality I may simply have been surfing on all the “free-er” time I had due to vacation. During the work-year, which as of next Thursday at 15:00 will be half over, it is much more problematic.

Nearly all the books on craft I have read, Schmidt, Monteleone, Sellers, Bates, King and Bickham, make it clear that writing is both hard work and time consuming. To get it done, one must dedicate time and energy with discipline and devotion. I am fortunate that of the six sections of English I teach, two of them are honors classes. I am constantly telling them, “Successful honors students are driven to excel, dedicated to their education above all else and are disciplined enough to see ‘it’ to the end. It you don’t have what it takes, step down.”  I realize that every time I say this, I am actually talking to myself: “Successful writers are driven to write, dedicated to their craft above all else and are disciplined enough to see their manuscript through to its fullest potential. If you don’t have it, move on.”

After the NaNoWriMo I feel I have been less than focused and no where as driven, dedicated or disciplined as I should be. My 04:00 writing sessions are lethargic and not producing the successes they did this summer. Time seems to be at issue, but it’s not really ‘time’ per se, so much as it is the demands on that time placing pressure on my productivity and satisfaction. Now, this is a scary thing to admit as it begs the question: if I can’t make time for everything, what will I give up to release some of that anxious pressure in my chest and that sense of impending doom so as to give my writing time room to produce (because I sure as hell, ain’t given up my writing)?

I don’t know.

I presently have five time-competing secular interests and demands that are not seasonal like Christmas shopping, which, regardless of its presently un-done state, will be done by the 25th: family, school, bagpiping, HOL, blogging and Oblivion. In some ways I’m glad, very glad, these are the things that I’ve got threatening me with torrential downpours as they happen to be clearly identified. I would hate to wander around in my head cluelessly looking for the source of my distraction.

Family. This is, of course, a no-brainer. Can’t live without ‘em; can’t kill ‘em and while I wish they were a little more interested in what I’m writing, I am thankful they appreciate what I’m doing enough to give me room to write. I see rainbows, bless ‘em.

School. Of all the demands, this storm cloud is the one I resent the most. I could go on nauseatingly about the state of education. I’m not going to. Suffice to say, that this used to be the thing by which I defined myself: Andre’ the high school English teacher. Federal, state, regional and local politicians and administrators, however, chasing the super-student on the “road to no where” have robbed me of the joy of teaching. From bell to bell when I’m with my kids, I still love what I do, but during the down time when politically driven bullshit resumes its regularly scheduled programming, I hate the career and dream of writing for a living. It gets eleven hours of my day for only seven and half hours of pay and there it is.

Bagpiping. Another no-brainer. It is who I am. My Gaelic heritage, of which I am fiercely proud, calls with all the power of the North Sea. I could no more give up piping than I could writing. In my heart I have been able to convince it to take a back seat to writing, but when the page refuses to give up its secrets, I turn to piobaireachd, play Cumha Mairi Nighean Alasdair Ruaigh or Struan Robertson’s Salute and the world rights itself. I will not attempt to explain how deeply impacting that moment is when the drones and chanter reeds vibrate sympathetically enveloping me in a warm cocoon of sound that can lead me to “…converse with old folks of old affairs.” Suffice to say it would be no more possible to give this up than it would family or to stop working all together.

HOL. Hogwarts Online. So demanding. So satisfying. So amazing. This online simulation is a complex interest to describe. More than Harry Potter, as a teacher, I fell  in love with the idea of a Wizarding school. How cool would it be to attend or teach at such a place? HOL is that option. With joy and surprise I found it directly feeding the writing animal inside me and I have written more short stories and poems as a result of HOL homework assignments and projects than I ever have. Some resulted in Rowlings fan-fiction, I am decidedly unashamed to admit, but more were original works inspired by classes in fairy tales and folk lore. I really don’t want to give that creative stimulation up. Unfortunately, I also worked my way into the lower echelons of HOL administration. As with all positions of responsibility in such a situation, it is time-consuming to create entertainment for others. I struggle with pressure issues there and have not been as present as a Prefect should. It’s not fair to my HOL friends or my writing. It is the single most pressing thought on my mind, one I will admit to avoiding dealing with.

Blogging. Well. I’d like to blog every other day but that rarely happens. In a way, it has taken the place of journaling and though I may not be as ‘all-reveling’ in it, blogging, especially “The Salamander’s Quill,” is the conduit, tiny though it is, I use to inject myself into the writing world from my lonely desk top. It takes care of itself though and is easy neglected for the sake of a manuscript page without the crack of guilty thunder the others above do.

Oblivion. I want to kill the kid who gifted me the game for Christmas. I’ve spent too much time playing just the “…next quest.” I am thirsty to RPG and this is the next convenient thing to it. I think, however, that it is also the most easily marginalized pursuit conflicting with my writing. Problem: it’s fun. Damnit.

And let’s not even mention the upcoming season premiers of Merlin and Camelot. I hope they suck and I won’t want to watch them.

HOL admin and Oblivion? How badly do I want to write? How driven, dedicated and disciplined am I? I need to find out. Now. Before the rains come; I’ve got Christmas shopping to do.

Originally posted in The Salamander’s Quill 1.0 now deleted.

The Storytelling Fire

08 Thursday Dec 2011

Posted by in Retrospection, Writing

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I posted the following yesterday to the OLL blog. I’m not going to link it because things got a little out of hand when it came to copying and pasting my missive from MSWord to the blog and it copied twice and placed an ‘enter/return’ after just about every paragraph. I have no doubt posters who followed were wondering who the dingle was that took up all the space. With a sigh, I raise my hand. Yep, I’m the asshole who obviously was trying to get the most attention. In my own defense, there was no edit or delete option I could find. Anyway, since “Post NaNo Blues,” I’ve been thinking while listening to Jim Dale’s superb voice-acting on Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire on the way to work, trying to fit my big-boy suit on and get back in the writing saddle. Yes, I’m still somewhat bummed, but it’s time to get it under control and look at the ‘good-stuff’ I happened across while doing-the-NaNo (sound like a new dance) and in retrospect there was a lot. Not the least of which was a greater appreciation of being a storyteller amongst storytellers.

Storytelling can be such a lonely business in modern society. The lone writer pounds or scribbles out his or her story in silence and privacy without any grantees the tale will see the light of day or ever be read or heard by anyone other than themselves. Writing can sometimes feel like a life-sentence more than a life’s vocation. The appreciative, receptive and immediate community that responded to the Irish seanchaí or the Indian vyas does not, for the most part, exist for the modern writer, but we ache for it nonetheless–something in our storytelling DNA remembers the aboriginal fires and dramatic shadows dancing across cold cave walls.

Though I played with the idea of participating in the NaNoWriMo for sometime, even lurked a bit on site during the ‘off season,’ I could never work up the wherewithal to tackle it. I constantly made excuses: too much work, too much family, too many outside obligations. After a summer of what I call, “writing like a man on fire,” in which I made 50k targets on a couple of NaNoWriMo-wannabe-clone-sites, I decided this year would be different; this year I would take on the NaNoWriMo and regardless of where I ended up, I’d get there fighting the good fight. Well, I did and I made it and battered, bruised and wheezing I arrived at the winners’ circle.

More important to me than making the target however, has been the discovery of an amazingly supportive and world wide community of storytellers and folk interested in seeing stories told. It has made the difference between my summer experiences and the NaNoWriMo as marked as night and day. The ease of site navigation made it conducive to poking about and exploring, something I would not have done had it been slow or disconnected. As it was I met some wonderful writing buddies, read amazing and funny posts, checked out my region and attended a write-in of four brave souls including myself. I enjoyed and appreciated the communication between staff and WriMo’s, the videos, blog posts and encouraging letters. It was so delightful and inspiring.

I was so impressed by the resources afforded by the program, so moved by the active participation of staff and WriMo’s, that I went so far as to set up a fund-raising page and campaign for sponsorships. You cannot know what a step and endorsement that was for me. I detest fund raising. I have very strong adverse feelings about it, but the sincerity and dedication of staff and the underlying theme and emphasis of the program was something that this crusty old English teacher could truly get behind and support.

The bottom line however, is that my first experience with the NaNoWriMo turned out as wonderful as it did because of the amazing sub-culture of support and acceptance built around and into it. It is a warm and welcoming, encouraging, entertaining and immediate community. Being a part of this whole thing has been a heady and invigorating experience, so much so that it’s almost depressing to have it come to an end. I walk away, however wistfully, inspired to keep writing, to keep on storytelling, armed with a new perspective of what is possible and with the knowledge that there are so, so many others like me out there aching to tell a story ,completely grateful to finally find a place, a warm crackling fire surrounded by glowing up turned faces, to begin telling our tales.

Originally posted in The Salamander’s Quill 1.0 now deleted.

Post NaNo Blues?

06 Tuesday Dec 2011

Posted by in NaNoWriMo, Observation, Retrospection, Writing

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“Sunwolfe”

This is not meant to be a profile, but I see some irony in my long standing choice of screen name and what I’m feeling right now…some synchronicity and some paradox.

I am a writer and therefore a lone wolf of sorts, writing being the lonely business all the experts purport it to be.

I am not, however, a ‘dark man of mystery’ that my choice of totem might insinuate, not by even the most outrageous stretch of the imagination. I think I work with so many “Bride-of-Satan” and “Misunderstood-vampire” types—cue the heavy sigh—as a high school teacher that the image lost its savor long long ago. No, the wolf I picture myself as is not furtive or tragic in its creativity, but one who is naturally prone to warm smiles and a ready laugh, though I admit to being moon-sensitive, prone to introspection and melancholy in my private moments.

Actually, my students call me, “Papa-Bear.” One rather bright young oracle, and with an accuracy that actually scared me, called me “The Sad Clown.” Shurg. We all have our ups and downs.

I guess I’m on a down now that the NaNo experience is over, some sort of post-NaNo Depression, and am suffering an onset of withdraws. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was such a phenomenon, the mind being what it is, but I’m just a bit taken aback at being subject to it myself. I suppose it stands to reason though.

First there was all that build up in the weeks prior to the event. I’m not a pantster, but an outliner from way back, so my approach to the month was built on previous ideas and outlines that were the basis for a fairly extensively laid out plan of attack. I was checking out what others were up to in their novel synopsis and snippets. There were forums to digest, writing buddies to carefully pick, donations to make and regions explore.

Then there was month itself was full of activities that spawned spin offs and narrower explorations: forums to monitor, author and novel descriptions to write, a sponsorship page to set up, NaNoMail to send and read, Regional activities and Write-ins. The final push for the finish line was chaotic and blinding; it’s focus so sharp and pointed.

BAM! Suddenly it’s November 30th and it’s done-done-duuuun!

An odd lull set in afterward, a sudden silence, followed by the Scrivener build up that produced anothera flurry of writing centered activities: project saving, uninstalling the beta version, installing the full trial version and uploading the project, getting the 50% off coupon for the win, pay for the license and apply it.

So now what? Continue to work on my NaNo project? Return to work on The Kevodran? Try and make up for being absent at HOL and finish all my homework?

I’m in a weird space.

During the lull between NaNo and Scrivener I blogged a bit (three versions of this). I spent too much time trolling the NaNoWriMo website for interesting blogs and reading up on what peeps had written about. I read the forums I hadn’t earlier. I dedicated an inordinate amount of time to Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, a major time suck.

WTF am I doing? Not working on my manuscript, that’s for sure.

I wonder if I’m Jonesing for a writing community? The NaNoWriMo was such a heady experience, all the resources, the buddies, the concern. It was like a Writing Woodstock. Am I wanting something similar locally, with warm bodies? I know the late Jack M. Bickham, AKA John Miles, a prominent novelist with over 30 books to his name, was pretty skeptical about writer’s groups and their usefulness, saying,

“…to ask a club member, relative or friend for criticism is mostly a waste of time for at least two reasons: they won’t be honest; they usually don’t know what they’re doing anyway” (Bickham 85).

Ouch, I can understand that from a certain POV, but I’m not sure I’d be there for criticism, which of course begs the questions why go and why the desire?

I guess I’m wishing for the quintessential “Inkling” experience: the pub, the authors, the exchange, the discussion, the affirmation and the ale/coffee/tea. It could be all part of that romantic image many of us, including myself have of what it means to be a writer—characters taking over our story, muses that highjack plot and other myths. Shrug. I’m guessing it’ll soon pass as I cease the avoidance behavior—gaming, cruising, blogging—pick my manuscript and get back to “Two hours or 2k a day.”

There is no magic bean, no silver bullet, no arcane method. It’s all about sitting down, shutting the hell up and pounding out the words.

Who said that? Oh, yeah: me.

Bickham, Jack M.  The 38 Most Common Fiction Writing Mistakes (and How to Avoid Them).  Cincinnati, Writer’s Digest Books: 1992.

Originally posted in The Salamander’s Quill 1.0 now deleted.

December 1, 2011: The Day After

02 Friday Dec 2011

Posted by in NaNoWriMo, Observation, Retrospection, Scions of the Moon, Writing

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Done. According to the NaNoWriMo validator: 50,047. According to Scrivener and MS Word: 50,449. Regardless of the number, it’s over 50k and that is the important thing.

There were a lot of professional, personal and interest oriented obligations in November. There were professional academic requirements that needed tending including teaching and tutoring. Thank the gods, two of those professional obligations, Rock-a-thon and Assessment evaluations, were canceled. There were family obligations of significant proportions that occurred including the advent of a second grandchild, Samantha Xenos, travel to Hollywood to watch my wife receive two music awards and hosting the family Thanksgiving celebration. I was able to maintain those responsibilities and still get my 50k done.

It was in the interest department that things did not work out as hoped. Though I was able to maintain my bagpipe practice and lesson schedule, I totally dropped the ball on HOL and Gryffindor prefect duties. I’m probably going to lose serious standing in that online community. I just could not do the 50k and get all the homework in. If I had been smart, I would have made arrangements to be gone and hand in my homework late. As it is, I have not been on site or in the Gryffindor Common Room for over a month. Not good.

So, were I to analyze the success of this NaNoWriMo experiment in light of the above, I would rate it neither a complete failure nor an unqualified success. It’s obvious I cannot maintain such an intense combination of writing schedule, academic career, family obligations and personal interest responsibility.  On the other hand, I did prove I could tackle such a large project in the midst of those things and complete it. I just wish I could have kept up on HOL too.

What’s next? Good question. Do I soldier on and finish the first draft of Scions of the Moon or do I return to The Kevodron and complete that manuscript by adding the second POV? I have to admit to a certain feeling of obligation to those who contributed to my sponsorship page, three dear HOL friends and a partner-in-creative-crime from the OHS art department who has been particularly encouraging to finish Scions to a point they can read it. I have to admit I am leaning heavily that way. I just don’t know. I’m afraid of getting so far away from The Kevodran that I don’t want to go back…or creatively cannot.

There are also a couple of short blog entry essay ideas floating around in my head that I would like to give air to, one involving an idea about the limited use of the word “love,” and another about the role of the Mentor from Campbell’s Hero’s Journey I play here at school. I suppose those would be short and sweet and could be done regardless of what I’m working on manuscript-wise.

I suppose I’d also like to finish Sanderson’s Well of Ascension too…and Vogler’s The Writer’s Journey. Regardless I need to go to HOL and see what I can salvage of my reputation and house points, get what homework I can done and turned in and talk to Jenny and Kadina.

Were it not for that disappointment and guilt, I would have to say I am seriously happy I made the 50k. I did the NaNoWriMo! I got into it, raised money for the cause, worked hard, wrote my fingers to the bone and now have a second Earinna’arin manuscript to work on. All in all, not too shabby.

Originally posted in The Salamander’s Quill 1.0 now deleted.

Thanksgiving and Under the Weather

26 Saturday Nov 2011

Posted by in Family, NaNoWriMo, Writing

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Since last Saturday, I’ve been sick. I almost know the exact time I felt my cold/sinus infection make itself known. I had taken my mom out to an hour at the book store and then some lunch. We were on our way back to my house for a cup of coffee and some conversation, when I felt the tell-tale itch in the back of my throat that signals the onset of post-nasal drip and a serious bout of cold.

I’ve found the older I get, the longer it takes a cold to run its course and for me to recover. This has been no exception. It’s Saturday, a week later, and I’m still not fully recovered. Part of that has to do with having to work for two days. Lecturing on Monday damn near killed my voice. I’m so happy we had Thanksgiving on Wednesday. Without the momentum of working Monday and Tuesday, I’m not sure I could have made it had there been a Wednesday lull before a Thursday Turkey Day.

As it turned out, we got all our entertaining finished on Wednesday and for the last two days I’ve been able to convalesce here at home while Marirose works. I got up on both Thursday and Friday and give myself permission to be sick. I tried to do some writing, but just didn’t feel creative enough to sustain the effort through all the coughing and sniffling. I played Oblivion for an hour instead, took a nap for two to three, got up, ate, played Oblivion again, took another nap in the afternoon for two or thee hours, woke up and visited with my wife for a bit. She’d crash about 22:00 at the latest. I’d hang out for a bit and then crashed myself about an hour later.  Both days were like that: lots of sleep and mindless monster slaying. Yesterday night, I started feeling “worried” about reaching my NaNoWriMo goal and knew I was getting better.

Thus, today, here I am, dropping a note into the Void to say, “I’m on it.” It’s going to take some serious sprinting over the next five days, but I’m pretty confident I can make it. I’ve got over $400.00 in pledges on my fund-raising page and I don’t want to disappoint. What a great crew. They know they probably won’t see a copy of Scions for years if at all, but they have faith in me enough to throw some cash at OLL. I don’t plan on letting them down.

Originally posted in The Salamander’s Quill 1.0 now deleted.

Award Winning Laundry Lists

20 Sunday Nov 2011

Posted by in NaNoWriMo, Observation, Writing

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There are times when I feel very unsure about writing. Yes, yes, it’s what I’m driven to do, blah-blah. But all that, ‘I have to do it’ and ‘It’s more comfortable to write than not to write’ rubbish aside, I have this complex knot within me made up of multiple threads concerning subject, skill, genre and about me writing in particular, that is only just now being teased at. One particularly knotty thread involves the fantasy genre and my wannabe aspirations and tendencies within it.

These stories I write, I can’t help but wonder, who would want to read them? Seriously. I have no illusions about myself: skill, spin and polish. The modern miracles of Riordan, Meyers and Poulini (let’s not talk quality just yet, and besides, regardless of what I might think, they are at the top of our particular literary food chain), let alone the demigod-like heights of Tolkien or Howard, are not within my power to create or reach. And while I do believe that in certain areas of the genre and in my own modest way, wild and untrained as I am, I have quite a lot to offer that these well-known folk don’t or didn’t—again a conversation to hold with myself later (look at all those commas!)—the obvious remains: who would want to read them? My family, close friends? Alas, I don’t think so. Again a conversation for another time; for now let’s just say that I am quite envious of Poulini’s familial cheering section and that the enthusiasm expressed by my own flesh and blood for my work might generate enough energy to charge a nightlight. Case in point, it is quite doubtful that this blog entry will ever be read by anyone from my clan even though some actually watched me write it (It has its perks, I know. I can say what I want without fear of censure, but it’s the thought that I miss).

(indent)“Oh, you have a blog?” I can only guess it’s the whole reading thing that presents such a challenge.

So lately, I’ve been cruising the internet checking out the big-name authors to find out what they have that attracts the prey so well, those who write (cue the special music) ‘fiction,’ the ones mentioned in Writer’s Digest, The Writer and Poets and Writers, who have a fellowship to this or a grant to that, or are a writer in residence here or a teacher of creative writing there.

I found besides writing about the “important” prize winning stuff…like…like meditations on New York laundry lists, why a marriage ceremony with a balloon release afterward is not such a good idea and how the sound of the rat trap going off in the attic at midnight led them to buy a pair of used shoes at a yard sale the next day, that there was nothing that stood out, save maybe an ego or two, concerning the perfect way to tie a fly. Just more of the funny accolades and more important subject matters.  Oh, yes; very important and timely and…and uhm…deep. Yes, deep…indeed.

Hmmm…on further reflection, fantasy as a genre is just fine all by its oddness and even though I don’t do it particularly well at this point, it fits me. I wonder though, the awards and scholarship alphabet soup sounded rater impressive. Do fantasy and science fiction authors ever get the cool accolades too: Wakawaka Fellowships and Fizbang Scholarships and invites to fiction writing challenges and readings in the park about random items found in trash heaps and such? How ‘bout bling? Do they ever get bling?

Ray Bradbury. National Book Foundation’s 2000 Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters and the National Medal of Arts in 2004. May you and your name live forever!

But really, I mean, I don’t see how meditations (imaginary, by the way) on a broken coffee bean grinder by a reflective fictioneer who is careful not to slum beyond the sacred borders of the Barnes and Noble fiction aisle neighborhood or the colony pages of Sun or MacSweeney without their pseudonym on is accessing and utilizing anything different than the writer who describes the horrors produced in a grief stricken mind trapped in a suit of powered armor.

Honestly though, who says they are? I suspect they eat and defecate like the rest of us and lie awake at night alternating between doubt and determination.

Originally posted in The Salamander’s Quill 1.0 now deleted.

Fantasy Folk: Frosty Fearful Foolish Foes

20 Sunday Nov 2011

Posted by in NaNoWriMo, Observation, Rant, Writing

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I can’t help but be amazed at the number of wannabe fantasy writers there are. I’m mean, we’re a dime a dozen if the number of posts in the NaNoWriMo fantasy forums are any indication. Cheap. The riff-raff or, at best the middle class of the wannabe writer world. I can picture this giant Statue of Liberty like monument carved in the likeness of J.K.Rowlings: “Give me your wishful, wistful and wannabe unwashed masses yearning to be like me…” How fruitful we are and, oh, how we multiply.

I wonder if it has to do with childhood wonder of that one book which led us to fall in love with the genre. For me, it was Mallory’s Le Morte D’arthur, then Lord of the Rings, then Dune, then Hyboria, blah-blah. Nearly the same path taken by so many others, but with variations additions and/or deletions, I’m sure: a lay over in Wonderland, a brief stay in Castle Brass, a country holiday in Narnia, a stint in Pellucindar.

Maybe it’s party due to the perception that prior experience or background knowledge is unnecessarily. “Come on in, the water’s fine!” As it all comes from the imagination therefore special knowledge about history, science, law, forensics, physiology or growing seasons, how to sew clothes, how far a peterbuilt can  go on a single fueling or the effects of a hollow point on a lathe plaster wall is not required. I mean, it’s all about magic and imagination. So what if I don’t know how a sewer or aqueduct works? It’s my world and I can make it work however I want it to, no prior experience necessary.

Sometimes though, save in a few notable acceptations, I get the feeling that we’re seen as the third class citizens of the writing world. Consider the reaction of fellow wanna-be writers of other genres when they discover  a wannabe writer of the fantasy ilk in their midst. I got this one just the other night at a NaNo write-in.

(indent)“What genre are you writing?”

(indent) “Fantasy/SciFi.”

Pregnant pause.

(indent)“Oh.”

(indent)“Oh.” What? Not, “Oh really? Wow, that’s great. I’m writing a _____ about blah-blah-blah. What is your fantasy about?”

(indent)No. We get “Oh.”

And what is really ironic is that even wannabe fantasy authors offer this same reaction to each other! They act as if they’re upset over, “…another one diluting the genre gene pool” afraid that there’s only so much room.

Ever notice how wannabe fantasy authors love to one up each other? If the conversation ever gets beyond the ‘oh’ phase someone is bound to say, “…that reminds me of the plot from Amazing Fantasy Book, by Amazing Fantasy Writer. It’s just like that.” God, I hate that…particularly because I’m guilty of it! Sometimes I think it’s because we feel a bit less important and so we over compensate. We develop an over inflated sense of ourselves and the originality of our stories that if we tell anyone about them, we run the risk of someone stealing them. Hell, we don’t even need the high Fellowship muckity-mucks to make ourselves feel like low level literary street trash; we do it ourselves just fine thank you very much!   Another one of those ironic, both positive and negative, things unique to the genre is its built-in army, a horde of pre-teen and adolescent barbarians rallying to its standard. Who will damn near read anything (thank you She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Prior to 1997, I thought my students had quite forgotten how to read!) accept classics and think each one they read is “…my favorite book ever…” As a direct result, I can’t count how many 13 year old fantasy scifi ‘authors’ I’ve read about or met since NaNo started.

I guess it makes sense though. 13 year olds, for the most part, don’t have the ‘deep experience’ required by the Fellowship Fiction Folk to write about sophisticated laundry lists and such, so they go where they can just make shit up: fantasy. As suggested above, at first they don’t need anything to tell their stories. I suppose there maybe something to that.

Anyway, it’s time to get back to my own peculiar form of sickness and get my word count up from its presently anemic levels. More than a new manuscript, I must confess, I want the 50% savings on Scrivener for the 50k victory. So, where was I…oh yes.

Once upon a time there was a bunch of elves, dwarves and guys with furry feet who used to be dragon riders but had somehow forgotten about it until a widowed princess emerged unscathed from a smoking conflagration suckling three baby lizards…

Those teeth have got to hurt.

Originally posted in The Salamander’s Quill 1.0 now deleted.

Time Thief

17 Thursday Nov 2011

Posted by in NaNoWriMo, Writing

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I have decided to be darning and reckless. Tomorrow and Friday I’m administering the first of three Benchmark tests at school to all my sections. This exercise will last two days, two class periods for each section, an hour and a half total, to assure the students have enough time and don’t feel too much desperate pressure. I’ve tied the benchmark to their grades to give it some bite, quite unlike California’s CST foolishness, so the extra time should temper things just right. A daring move, but one I hope will pay off in just a smidge more dynamic tension as apposed to desperate pressure and result in better scores.

Now for the reckless part. While they are taking the benchmark, I plan to work on Scions of the Moon. One could argue as to the ethical nature of such and point out that I should be prowling the aisles between the desks, patting a shoulder here, pausing a bit there, using proximity and a murmured, “…keep it up…” to redirect drifting focus. And I have ever intention of doing just that, but for 15 minutes here or there, five or six time a day, I hope to type on Scions with a mad obsession. I hope I can catch up on my word count a bit and maybe force something to break loose so I can create buy-in for this story.

Originally posted in The Salamander’s Quill 1.0 now deleted.

Rewards

16 Wednesday Nov 2011

Posted by in NaNoWriMo, Writing

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My NaNoWriMo reward is sitting on my library drum table now, but for a time I had it propped up on the music stand where I could admire it: Harry Potter Page to Screen: The Complete Filmmaking Journey. It is still in its cello-wrap waiting for me to hit 50k. Hopefully that will be 15 days from now, but if not, I’ve promised myself I will not open it until I reach that goal regardless of how long it might take.

I suppose it is a testament to how much of a bugger this manuscript is being. I have Scrivener’s 50% off offer and this mouthwatering book as incentives, not to mention one or two other souvenirs I plan to pick up if I make it, but I am still struggling.

Heather was/is so right. I should have stayed with The Kevodran.  The gods know how long it is going to take me to get back into that story.

Originally posted in The Salamander’s Quill 1.0 now deleted.

Odd Writing

10 Thursday Nov 2011

Posted by in NaNoWriMo, Writing

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L.A., Hollywood.

The hotel manager told Marirose that she could see the “Hollywood” sign from the room window. Neither of us could see it, however, no matter how hard we looked. It was then that I noticed the tell-tale slats of white sign board through the leaves and branches of a huge tree on the other side of the parking lot.

Story of my life.

It took about five hours for my mother-in-law, a friend of hers and I to drive out here from Riverbank. I was so happy not to have been asked to drive. I was feeling pretty loopy after the night before and was looking forward to the 24 hours being up, so I could take more migraine meds.

We made it past Merced, about an hour and a half away from home when, looking at a paisley bag sitting next to me on the car seat, I suddenly remembered Marirose calling me not too long after I’d fallen asleep. She gave me a sitrep on how things went after arriving yesterday. Turns out there was a minor crisis as the drummer and/or she misinterpreted the Awards Committee’s instructions and had left not only the drums behind, as they were supposed to, but the cymbals as well, which he was NOT supposed to do. She was trying to hook up with a source for cymbals through one of her band members who had a brother who played for Elton John and Santana. As we were talking, she suddenly remembered her son’s old and beat up set out in the garage.

(indent)“Hey! Jason has cymbals and you are going to get here long before the show starts!”

(indent)“Excellent idea!”

So the plan was for me to bring the cymbals in a paisley bag she described that was sitting on the food board next to the dinning room table. The same paisley bag that was still there, for the cymbals that were still in the garage…an hour and a half back in the other direction.

Oh, no I thought as my heart sunk to the floor. If I hadn’t seen that paisley bag sitting next to me in the car, I would never have been reminded of the conversation and what I had said I would do. I quickly texted Marirose and told her what I done.

(indent)“Oh, well” she replied.

(indent)Shit.

I spent the remaining time of the ride trying to get my mind off the situation. I mean there was nothing I could do about it. I read my latest issue of “Poets and Writers” and then tried to write. Ever tried to write in the car? Especially down Hwy 99 and later a bumpy 5. I got about a page and a half by the time we got to Hollywood.

I hooked up with Marirose and crew and apologized again for being a dork and forgetting. They were all very understanding and told me not to worry about it, that I’d had a head ache and was “elsewhere” and did I feel any better? They treat band-widows like we’re some sort of bomb that might go off without warning. I got a kiss hello and good-bye as they all trooped down to the Avalon for a sound check. I thought about taking a nap as my head still hurt, but I figured it would be a toss and turn affair, so I cracked open old faithful, fired her up and began wrestling with my three uncooperative protagonists.

They should be back anytime now and we’ll start getting ready. On the weekend earlier, Marirose showed me her dresses for the evening. God, my wife is so beautiful; it makes me want to weep. I tell her so, but, as the faithful hound, my compliments are suspected as being subject to bias and don’t count as much as do the observations of others. When she’s all dolled up and ready to roll, I have no doubt the compliments will fall like snow from others. I hope it helps temper the nervousness I can tell she’s feeling. Sound check is taking way too long and I know her…the longer it takes beyond the already long time it’s expected to, the more nervous the whole band will become.

I wonder if book award readings and ceremonies are anything like this.

Originally posted in The Salamander’s Quill 1.0 now deleted.