Kinesthetic Plotting...

The writing journey is precarious at the moment. I'm balancing anticipation and fear for my finished MS while trying to get a handle on the new WIP and move forward, and I haven't had much success with managing either. Today, I decided to dive into a different approach and see where I land. As you can see, I think I'm hitting every end of the spectrum...technology, notecards, and old-school journaling.

I ADORE Scrivener.  I have laid out so much amazing information and research using electronic notecards and such. However, this is the first time the plot of a WIP has really eluded me. I know where I am starting and I pretty much know where I want to end up, but all that glorious stuff in the middle is just a giant puff of smoke and funhouse mirrors. Everywhere I turn, I smack my face into something else but I can't even tell what it is.

Thus begins the odyssey through notecards. With a purple sharpie in hand, I decided to brainstorm some plot elements and slap them down on those little rectangles of doom so I can shuffle them, order them, shred them to bits, or plaster them on the wall—whatever it takes. I just needed to be able to feel those pieces in my hands, to believe that I had some control over them. After a handful of purple-spattered cards hit my blotter, I realized I needed to talk to one of my main characters in more depth.

Out comes the journal. I journal through every book I write. Sometimes it's my own thoughts about the process or pieces of research or little epiphanies. Journaling helps me process my feelings about the work as well as the work itself. Now I've found myself in a sort of psychoanalysis/case history session with this girl and wow! I did not see that coming! Another epiphany lights up the night and a few more notecards hit the desk.

Soon I'll be ready to lay my cards on the table, literally and figuratively, and flesh out the basic gist of this book. I just needed to go hands on in a more substantial way, I guess. To feel something both hard and fragile in my grasp. You might argue that manipulating a mouse our tapping on a keyboard is just as hands on, but trust me. It's different.  There is just something primal about bleeding ink on card stock and sound of tearing paper or the sensation of 90-lb pressed cotton between your fingertips.

Thanks to this little excursion, I've just picked up some major character motivation and development, a strong motif, and some direction. There may not be any words on the ticker at the end of this day, but there is progress. Definitely progress.

Undue Influence

1200 words into my new WIP, I realize I'm doing it again. I'm letting the words of someone else cloud my original focus and doubt my own vision. This person shall remain anonymous, but he is very enthusiastic about my work, which is a good trait. He is sometimes also very enthusiastic about dispensing advice when what I really need is a wall to bounce ideas off of.

That said, I came to that moment when a writer wonders if she is spending too much time on character and neglecting the plot. I voiced that question and got an immediate response from my anonymous donor. While I tried to explain what I intended to create, said donor had disappeared into his brilliant cave of ideas and fished out some advice. It wasn't bad advice. It was just the wrong species.

After beating my head with this new angle for a few weeks, I've come to the conclusion that it is just too much. It's not the right fit. I'm trying to squeeze a 20-inch big-mouth bass into the skin of a 6-inch perch. (My apologies for the lame fish analogy)

So now I find myself in the midst of an existential crisis. Do I slug through what I thought I was going to write or do I heed my donor's suggestion and try to liven things up with a more genre-oriented structure?

This whole adventure is a bit of a departure from my previous novels, so it is truly uncharted territory for me. The issue of the main character also hits very close to home and holds some sacred truths that I'm not ready to divulge yet, but she is the crux of the story. I find that my donor's advice has me worrying far to much about mechanisms and extraneous characters and I've lost my connection to her and the heart of the story. I will still worry whether this is enough "happening" but I think I need to forge ahead. In the meantime, I am drawing out the basic plot structure on a chart to keep myself sane and on track.

When I'm done, my WIP might be missing structure or lacking some definite sense of genre, but maybe that's not a bad thing. At least with any luck it will be a fixable flaw. I love my anonymous donor to death, but his passion sometimes overwhelms me. It's time to check off his influence and set it aside as a reasonable but ill-fitting experiment for this particular WIP.

Now, if I can only remember what the hell I was doing...

Identity Crisis #2

As I wait [impatiently/anxiously] for my agent to pass judgement over the latest revision of book #2, my newest project is struggling to be born. Like Yeats' "rough beast," this one seems both elusive and menacing, but inescapably exciting because is quite the departure from my previous work.

First, it is not historical. This one just needs to happen here and now. But does that mean that I am a fraud? My niche seems to be the historical ghosty fiction, but this particular project is screaming from a different place. Inspired by someone near and dear to me, it is also a rather bold experiment both for me and my potential readers. This MC is not your average clairvoyant. She has a few other exceptionalities that will remain a secret for now.

Second, it is far more character driven than anything I have written before. Of course, now I find myself wondering what the hell is the plot, but I'm pulling on my tall boots and wading in. I have to admit I'm a little scared. How much plotting do I really need to do before I jump in and just start writing? I made a royal mess of my first go round of the last novel, but I think I have ironed out some of its worst faults. But this new project has many, many layers. More complex characters. Delicate issues.

Third, I'm going to attempt a first-person narrative. There is really no other choice. We need to be inside the MC's head for this one and live inside her skin. Can I do it?

In light of all these innovations, I'm wondering if I am in the midst of another identity crisis. My confidence has been shaky many times...well, pretty much always. There is part of me who had sort of branded herself as the historical ghost fiction chick, but can I just be a writer? I'm still swinging the big ghost stick, but it has a very different place and purpose this time around. Is that wrong? Is it doable?

I guess the only way to find out is to take the leap. Let's hope my boots are tall enough and I don't spring a leak...and that this crazy beast won't jump up and bite me in the ass, either...

Visual Inspiration

As #wipmadness continues, our fabulous host Kip Wilson Rechea blogged about visual inspiration for this week's reflection. She shared a few snapshots of the visuals that keep her inspired and fill her WIP with authentic setting details.  I have always used visuals to feed my WIP-ping heart and create atmosphere and inspiration as I plow through each draft. Sadly, I spend most of my days in a lab at the university, so I'm not really free to paper my walls with all the cool photos and bits of flotsam that drive my writing. So, I have papered my Scrivener bulletin board with them:

Of course, my Project 365 blog as well as my new adventures in Light and Shadow have helped me fine-tune my senses to those amazing little details of the world around us that bring my story to life. I just hope I am doing it justice when I write. Through these bits of setting or hardware or direction, I'm pushing to create that world, to make it real enough for the reader to embrace. Shapes, textures, light, and shadow—it's all essential.

I suppose if I papered my little corner of the lab with all my scraps and photos, security might think I was a psycho or something, building my little WIP/stalker shrine. Ah well...I suppose it would just keep them guessing...

Starting Over From the Middle

Has it really been nearly a month since I last posted? Egads! In that month, I have spent far too many hours creating two Southparkian videos on plagiarism for work, begun work on the next WIP and received editorial feedback on the one I just finished, which has carved out a whole new summer plan for me. Hence the title of this post.

I knew there were good things about the WIP, but it also never sat quite right with me. I fell into an old trap. An amateur mistake. I tried to start at the beginning.  I had way too many ideas and none of them had reached maturity yet.

The good news is, there is good, salvageable material here. The bad news is, I've already hacked 20k words and started in a completely different place.  The great news is, I like it! I have a better sense of things, a stronger sense of direction.

My agent rocks. She is completely right in her criticism and I am embarrassed that I turned in such schlock. I lost my way and got dug in so deep I had to look up to catch the subway back to reality.  I know it's still in me, that awesome book. I just got bogged down with details and research and too many ideas. She reminded me that I had a very particular audience to think of.  I kept, thinking "go big or stay home," but I forgot to actually do the work. So, I'm jumping into the middle of the story, the juicy, dangerous stuff, and starting over.  With a fresh new look at things, it's time to dig out and kick some YA ass.

I hope all of our #wipmadness pals are hanging in there!

Gray Matter

Adolescence is a time when what should be and what is come crashing together in a world flooded with swirling hormones and shifting perceptions. That is the challenge of writing books for teenagers. As I look at my characters, I am constantly asking questions like:

• What does she expect?
• Why does she expect that?
• Is it fair?
• What does that mean?
• How does she rationalize that?
• How does it affect her?
• How does it affect other characters?
• Why is it different?
• How would she change it?
• What difference can she make?
• Where is the justice?
• Why is it important?

If the answers are too easy, then I'm not sure I'm doing it right.

I finally figured out that the hardest part of being a teenager for me was the barrage of grayness that came the minute my hormones were launched. No longer were the big questions a simple matter of a black or white answer. Suddenly my moral and social landscape had gone all gray.

In my battle for self-discovery, I was an unarmed civilian stumbling through a dusty minefield of choices. There was no map to me. No schematic with neat little dots marking where all the bombs were buried so I could navigate my way safely to adulthood, which to most teenagers means freedom.

(Who am I kidding? After the hormones kick in, there is no safety, ever. Of course, I didn't realize that until I reached about...40.)

As I read some tween and MG novels to my 11-year-old daughter, I see her perception struggling to hold on to the black and white. Allie Finkle isn't always right, but my daughter is outraged when other characters are so clearly wrong. Her sense of justice is still holding out for the clear answer. But I see the color wheels turning and those answers are a little bit harder to find.

My almost-15-year-old son, on the other hand, crossed that valley quite a while ago. He is painting his social consciousness with a much more nuanced brush and is cautiously stepping into the arena of boy-girl relationships. He has no map. Just a vague destination. But he marches onward with amazing determination. He is one of those rare kids who has decided very early that he and no one else is going to choose who he is.

As I revise my latest WIP, I need to remember to pay attention to the gray matter, to leave some things unanswered, to let my characters choose badly sometimes. Adolescence is not devoid of conviction or even lacking in direction (for some, anyway). Teenagers are not the clueless wanderers so many stereotypes try to portray.  They are just us...at our most human.

All My WIP Children

As authors, we often refer to our books as our children.  At conception, those little babes fill us with joy and anticipation.  We imagine their future in every detail and nurture the concept until it is fully formed and ready for the real labor.  Oy!  You think 15 or 20 or 30 hours of labor is tough, try two years!

As each WIP grows, it takes on a personality of its own.  You love them all, but you can't help but compare them sometimes and realize that each one needs a very different kind of discipline.

One WIP has you running non-stop right from the start and you're always excited to see what he's going to do next.  He takes risks and isn't afraid to get a little dirty or scuffed up.  Blunders are just another nugget of gold waiting to be mined.  And he does not like to wait...for anything.  He's that child of wonder who is always discovering some glorious secret that he can't keep.  He inspires you and sucks the life out of you at the same time, but you always know that eventually he will "wow" the world if he gets the chance.

Your next WIP is not so gregarious.  This shy little bud needs more coaxing.  She is brilliant, but hyper critical of herself and afraid to put a foot wrong.  She becomes fixated on some ridiculous detail and can't move on until it is just right.  Yep.  This is your perfectionist.  Completely obsessed with the details. And though you try to hide it, she knows you expect more out of her than the others. Before you know it, those unspoken expectations have spun out of control and cranked up the pressure until performance anxiety almost cripples her.  The best thing to do is take a spa day (or two or three) and have a make-over.  She'll need a heart-to-heart reminder that she is just as awesome as your other WIPs. She's just different.

And somewhere there is that sweet, quiet, parent-pleaser who is just waiting for her chance to shine.  This was your first.  She had to be the test subject, the kid who got to endure all your early parental mistakes and experimental discipline.  There were no hand-me-downs, but her hand-made clothes were a bit cheap and unfinished. You hadn't quite learned how to cut the patterns and sew yet. Amazingly, she still has her dream intact.  She just waits patiently to see if she'll get another chance to go to the ball or the parade or whatever it will turn out to be.  No judgement.  No grudges. Just hope.

It's the shy one who is giving me fits now.  I'm hoping that she is a gifted child in the end, and that these are just her perfectionist growing pains.  That I'll be able to unlock her inhibitions and give her a little more faith in herself so she can really take off.  After the first spa day, she is starting to loosen up a bit.  She is still a little afraid of the big finale, but I think I can get her there.  Soon.

A Letter to my WIP

Dear WIP,


We've been together for a while, now, and I've come to know you pretty well. You are bold and interesting and not afraid to take some risks.  I always liked that about you.  Sure, you say some stupid things now and then, but who doesn't?  Lately, though, you have been so hard to talk to, afraid to open up.  You're holding back, showing me only the tiniest bits of your world where you once wore your heart on you sleeve and felt free to gush.  Is it something I said?  Have I offended you?  Did I give you bad advice? Are you having mad hormonal surges or something?  


I can only wonder if this new wrinkle in our relationship is because you are growing up.  Believe me, I've been there. One day you are doing your own thing, oblivious to the existence, let alone the opinions, of anyone else.  Then "Bam!" You realize that you're not alone.  That others are watching you.  Maybe you start watching them.  Before you know it, you are constantly comparing yourself to others or worried about being left behind or making the wrong choices.  All of a sudden you are aware of what's out there and it scares you.  That's growing up.  I won't lie; it ain't always pretty.  And it definitely isn't easy.  You will be judged, rejected, deconstructed, and made over.  But that's life. That's how we become our best selves.


Or maybe it's me.  Maybe I've made all the wrong choices for you. Maybe somehow I've lost touch with the real you.  Have I stifled your voice or failed to listen closely?  Maybe I've been the one who's afraid.  So scared to get it wrong and send you out there unprepared that I become overprotective.  After all, you are my responsibility. But maybe it's time to let you have your head a little more.  Drop the reins and let you run.  It's hard.  You'll never know how hard. I just wonder, have I given you enough direction to keep you from dashing head-on into catastrophe?  I guess it's time to find out.


So here it goes.  I'm letting go and letting you lead the way now.  I'm right behind you.  Just remember, don't be afraid to show yourself as you really are. Make no apologies.  Just put yourself out there.  


One last thing.  When it's all said and done, I, and a highly qualified team of specialists, can always give you a kick-ass make-over, so be bold, be sassy, and run like hell!

Identity Crisis #1

Warning:  The following post may ramble a bit. 


It's that uncomfortable place where anxiety, momentum, and perfectionism smack into a rapidly deflating self-confidence.  In this case, I am sharing this particular moment of truth with my main character and I'm not sure who will come out if this ahead...or even alive.  Plodding through this latest WIP, Maggie's back story keeps getting richer, but what lies ahead for her and for me remains lost in a fog bank.  I keep writing her character in my head, embracing each little epiphany and checking it off for revision later.

But what about now?  I'm working on the last rise towards the climax and I seem to be stuck on a ledge, terrified to climb up but absolutely petrified to look down.  Where do I go from here?  I'm fighting the urge to go back to the beginning and start revising.  Maybe starting again will give me more momentum to get over this hump and realize her character and the plot more fully.  But the other part of me is saying, "NO!  Stay on the path and get to the end and plant your flag so you know where to go when you make your second journey through this tale." Which voice do I listen to?  Do I let go and repel down the side of the mountain and start again or keep climbing hand over hand until I reach the top?

Behind all of this is my own insecurity and doubt.  Every writer goes through this.  I know that.  The tape in my head keeps saying, "You should have been there by now," and I have a hard time seeing the growth and the miles I have come already.  I keep hoping that I'm stuck in a time warp and it really hasn't taken this long to get this close but still not there.  No such luck.  I am where I am and I'm kicking myself for not performing better.

Today, I stopped by the library to grab something new to read, something to distract me a little so my other neurons can fire less self-consciously.  Jay Asher's Thirteen Reasons Why ended up in my bag, though I can't believe I haven't read it already.  I remember Jay's posts on the Blue Boards way back when he was feeling what I feel right now.  He was ready to give up on writing and being published.  Okay, "ready" may not be the best word for this feeling.  I'll never really be ready to give up and neither was he.  But he was feeling defeated and unsure, just as I am now.

Then magic happened.  He got a book contract.  Soon came the accolades for his work and the speaking engagements and now a movie.  He had been on that ledge, wondering if he could ever climb that last stretch, and somehow he found the strength to keep going and flew to the top.  I'm sure he will tell you that it was and still is hard work, as it is for all writers, even after you "arrive." Writing is not for the faint of heart or the fatally insecure.

So where/who am I now?  I'm with Maggie, I guess.  Not fully formed.  Impatient.  Expecting perfection from myself.  Afraid of failure...and success.  Worried that the magic may have passed me by or judged me lacking in some infinite way.  It's funny.  I guess in some ways I feel like...well...a teenager.

Maybe it's time to pick myself up and draw on that hormone-induced mania that makes adolescence so much fun.  Use it.  Listen to that 17-year-old voice in my head and let it lead me, and Maggie, to the next stop.  Onward and upward, right?

...but I'm drawing the line at re-living acne and incomprehensible mood swings, okay?

The YA Show Down

If you missed it, go now and listen to today's broadcast of Radio Times from WHYY. The debate over Meghan Cox Gurdon's assault on dark YA literature continues and I must give a standing "O" to Maureen Johnson and to Madeleine Kemper for their eloquent, informed, and well articulated response.

Let's just set aside the fact that there is a lot of wonderful YA lit out there this is funny and smart and full of hope.  As for round 1 of #YAshowdown, a few points stand out to me as I thumb through the highlights in my brain:

Let's start with an attitude.  Not only is Ms. Gurdon's tone condescending to the writing community, but to teenagers as well.  Teens get talked down to enough without literature taking the elitist stand that it knows best and will present a carefully prescribed view of their world no matter what the teenager is going through.  Her cloying remarks to Cheryl Rainfield were quite telling.  "I'm filled with pity...however, your book could be...extremely disturbing to children...who haven't encountered the phenomenon of cutting." I certainly hope what she went through disturbs people.  Cheryl wrote the book in hopes of letting kids know they aren't alone, that healing is possible, that their world is real rather than the sugar-coated bubble-gum culture Ms. Gurdon grew up in.  Don't condescend to kids.  Don't dismiss their experiences.  Don't belittle their response.

Let's talk about the "fun-house mirror" aspect of YA lit, as Ms. Gurdon referred to it. Adolescence is one big fun-house mirror where the world is trying to come into focus, but is drawn askew by so many influences.  Emotions are bigger, problems are scarier, no matter what the cold reality in relative terms gives you.  YA lit recognizes that and doesn't criticize young people or tell them that they are blowing things out of proportion.  It gives them a safe place to explore those emotions.

And the last caller who said, "The job of the writer is to teach the reader...."  As Paul Acampora tweeted, "NO. NO. NO. NO. The job or the writer is to tell the truth."  Good books do have a clear and consistent moral compass, but that does not mean that their primary purpose is to instruct, no matter what Alexander Pope thought. There are truths that ring hard and clear to teenagers even if adults are afraid of them.  We want to protect our kids from the truths of this world as long as possible (and believe me, I do). BUT, kids will go looking for those truths and I am glad there are YA writers out there who will offer it.  Those kids can see through the Newspeak and the propaganda.  Give them more credit and be a part of that journey rather than a bystander.  Read with them.  Talk to them.  


It should not need to be said, but "correlation" does not mean "cause and effect."  Don't assume that if a kid reads a book about cutting, she'll go out and cut herself.  Ask why she picked up that book in the first place.  Something drew her there.  Our world isn't perfect.  It isn't always funny.  It isn't always nice.  It doesn't even make sense half the time, especially to a teenager who is still trying to discover who she is and what kind of power she wields in the great big world.  Explore it with her.

Fear and Loathing

I just read a writer-friend's post on The Abyss of Suckitude and she has nailed some things right on the head.  Maybe it's the artistic temperament, but I think we all go through some version of what she describes.  It got me thinking about this last year of writing...and not writing...and why I've been in such a funk.  I'm working on my third YA novel, now, and each one has been a different experience.

My first story was in many ways a catharsis for me.  It was a taking back of things in my childhood that had been so rudely stolen by the dysfunction of my family.  I know.  There is dysfunction in all families. But trust me when I say mine is pretty royally screwed up.  So, I took things from my MC and forced her to grow up and confront her own guilt and longing.  Catharsis.  (not necessarily "writing") I don't know if I'll ever publish it, but I will treasure it.

My second novel was a journey.  I learned where my writing could go and gained more confidence in it. I crafted and molded and dug deep.  I met characters who refuse to leave me even now, refuse to be quiet while I try to move on.  They are still waiting for their day in the sun.  I have to believe they will find it when they are truly ready.  Or at least, when the world is ready for them.

Novel #3 is a whole new experience.  In some ways, I'm afraid of it.  I have big plans for it...maybe too big.  That is part of the problem.  What if I choke?  What if in the end, I truly deeply suck?  There is only so long I can blame the upheaval that has been the last three years of my life for hindering my writing.  Now I need to take charge and make it happen.  What if I can't do it?  There are people I don't want to disappoint, including me.  What if I only think I can write? Am I kidding myself?  If that kind of doubt isn't enough, the next step is to pick apart my draft and search for every fault just so I can beat myself in the head with it.  How many good writers do that? I have almost managed to convince myself that all good writers to that.

But somewhere deep down, there is this odd little person who thinks she can really write.  Who believes she has some fascinating stories to tell.  And behind that funny little person is a host of characters all waiting to be heard.  Waiting to be discovered.  Waiting to change someone's life, even if it just means they live in someone else's head (or heart) for a short time.

I've taken my share of rejection and handled it.  I don't blame my crappy childhood for my adult failures (mostly). If anything, I might have to give thanks for it.  The store of emotions and experiences I have to play with is vast and oh so interesting.  I've learned to kick myself harder than anyone else can just to stay ahead of things and that's not always bad.  What doesn't kill us makes us better writers, right?

And then I find those bits of gold that remind me why I write.  Those same gilded clubs I beat myself with are what make me a writer.  They are voices that won't be silenced.  The moments of crystalline brilliance that I cannot be afraid to own.  The little morsels of humanity that force us into a kind of intimacy with ourselves that only books can bring—both in the writing and in the reading.

So I'm going to kick my fear and self-loathing in the butt and write a stunning YA novel.  You know that saying:  Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear.  ~Ambrose Redmoon


I think I have found just enough in my writing to make that judgement.

Will Technology De-value Our Books?

As I was thumbing through my usual blog quest and twitter scan today, dystopian visions of a Brave New World sort began to cloud my writerly fantasies of what the future will hold not only for me and my books, but for books in general.  Several cyber acquaintances are exploring the ramifications of the electronic world of publishing.  I'm not pronouncing the end of literary days or anything, but I do wonder.  No matter what lay ahead in technology, story telling and books will endure, but will they hold the same value? Or will it simply become our dose of soma, minus the euphoria?  Something to maintain the status quo, fill a void but only with white noise?

Nathan Bransford's post looks at the economic philosophies that drive market evolution and applies them to the publishing world, namely to the bargain ebook phenomenon.  While his post is hopeful, it does leave me wondering if books will be as valuable to our grandchildren as they are to us.  I won't rehash the whole doomsday prediction of the end of paper books, but as technology takes us in a new direction, will books become no more than a disposable blip on the kindle/ipad/computer screen?  I tend to agree with Nathan that quality will always find its way out and the everyman march to mediocre is a myth. (I pray!)

I admit—I'm a book junky.  I hoard them, spend money I don't have on them, stockpile more than I can possibly read, and lie there and inhale the sent of paper and ink and glue as if it were crack.  I pet their tattered bindings and talk to them when we're alone.  Kind of pathetic, I know.  But to me, books are not only my drug, they are my religion, my family, my consolation.

Okay, so ebooks are going to take over the world and relegate print matter to back room "read-easies" or the Antiques Road Show or the antiquities section of the Smithsonian along with the mummies and the salvaged remains of the Titannic.  Let's say that ebooks do balance the market out and maintain the integrity of good reading.  What happens to those oh-so-precious-and-valuable signed editions?

Someone has thought of that.  Autography will allow an author to sign her ebook for a fan and digitize that personal touch for posterity. (Pardon the ironic smile)  So...what will a signed electronic edition of J.K. Rowling's next book be worth in 50 years?  Will electronic signatures be pirated and distributed en masse with a single click?  What would an e-signature be worth, then?  How is it authenticated?  Or does that point simply become moot because that sense of iconic wonder, of religious fervor, of hero-worshipping awe has simply faded away into the everyday blip of silicon-induced complacency?

I wonder...

Miscellaneous Madness

Butler made it to the finals and almost took the championship, tragedies both small and large changed my path more than once, and writing goals took on new meaning over those 31 raging spring days.
Thank you to the March Madness crew and all those who participated for keeping me motivated and inspired.  I didn't quite reach my goal, but I gained momentum that will surely kick some April butt.

The biggest event of the month continues to haunt us as Japan struggles with the devastation and potential radiation contamination wrought by the earthquake and tsunami on March 11th.  I continue to get news from friends and acquaintances as I pray for healing and grace for everyone effected by this event.  If you wish to help, Charity Watchdog has compiled a list and some general information about organizations committed to helping Japan.

As for a small tragedy, my dear daughter unexpectedly lost her bunny last week.  Can you remember that first pet that was really yours, that you gave your whole heart to and spoiled with affection every day?  This was hers.  Aptly named "Angel," that little rabbit loved the attention and gave Ghost Daughter so much in return.  The most heart-wrenching part of it all is that Angel died basically in our girl's lap.  She was moving and content one minute and the next, dead.  Our poor girl brought this lifeless body to her daddy and asked, "Is she dead?"  After mourning and keening for a day, and a lovely funeral, Angel was laid to rest.  A heart attack is the most likely culprit.  The first weekend of April brought a 4-hour drive North to a breeder where we adopted Angel Jr. and started a new journey, Ghost Daughter, me, and the bunny.

And the writing goals?  Well I added more than 10k to my WIP, had a few plot/character epiphanies, and kicked up the pace, so the madness led to at least a more focused method.  It's odd, though, how life can show me such unexpected moments of despair and supreme grace that not only give me perspective on reality, but inspire me to want to capture it in a place where we so often go to escape—writing.  The more real it is, the deeper the catharsis.

Perhaps that is just too much philosophizing for a Tuesday...

March Madness and Spring Break...(sort of)

Well in southwest Georgia, Spring has arrived.  I gripe a lot about living here, but this is one lovely perk...spring in February.  But March has somehow hopped right in here and I have a lot to get done.  So I will definitely be a mad hare as I dash through my WIP (ha ha) and get it ready for my awesome agent.  I wish I could guarantee that my WIP will be so awesome, but it's a first draft and a bolder project than the last.

To keep me on the right track, I'm following a fabulous group of writers who are blogging to inspire.  Join me as I check in all month:

Denise Jaden (Mondays)
Shana Silver (Tuesdays)
Angelina Hansen (Wednesdays)
Shari Green (Thursdays)
Craig Pirrall (Fridays)

*I've been told there will be prizes as well as inspiration!  

NaNoWriMo...Why Not?

I admit it. I'm a NaNoWriMo virgin. But I'm putting it out there this time around, hoping that the community and the deadline will give me a little extra momentum as I try to get this next YA banged out. I've resisted in the past primarily because I was already well into a project and making steady progress. This time, however, I could use a little pick-me-up. So here I go.

I'm looking to my writing buddies and acquaintances for further encouragement, and they never let me down. Many of the gals from The Mixed-Up Files of Middle Grade Authors have participated and they're good at spreading the fever.  Stephanie Ruble has also offered some helpful tips for newbies like me.

So stay tuned...the counter should be cranking at top speed in about 2 weeks!

Word by Word

That's how it will begin...and that's how it will end.  Yes, my newest is WIP is officially underway and promises to be even more exciting than the last, though this one has had a tougher launch.  Lots of distraction and a little obsession have de-railed my initial plan to blaze on through this one and have a smoking hot YA thriller to send out the door before Christmas.  Ha!  I can hope...  

Summer, car trouble, family entailments, new job—yeah, I can blame a lot of things.  I think the most devastating obstacle, however, has been my own ego.  Yep.  I've been obsessing over my many writing buds who are making their sales and celebrating big deals, while I feel like a failure and put one on the shelf to rest a while and start anew.  

Oh, I will still poke my head into this pity party every now and then, but enough is enough.  My WIP will never get written if I don't start laying down some words, even crappy words.  Besides, my last book is not a failure...it's just delayed.  So, off I go to write a slamming new YA and frankly, it will be awesome.  So to give myself a little kick in the butt, I thought perhaps I might post my word count on my blog.  I know, I know.  I could be setting myself up for utter humiliation, but I need to start somewhere.  So, I start at this moment with a total of 2,775 words.  I have a few more to add today, but that's where I ended up at 3:00pm.  

And that's how I will take this next part of the journey—word by word...

Running Towards Nirvana

You hear it all the time: "Writing and publishing a book is a marathon not a sprint." What I would like to know is...Is this a 5k, a 10k, or a 20k run? I don't want to be a nattering nabob, but I feel as though I've hit that wall more than once, and I'm wondering if I have that second wind that everyone talks about. Don't get me wrong. I have plenty of stories in me, plenty of spooky atmosphere waiting to splash all over my laptop. And I know I can write a kick-ass book.  But right now I have some serious writer's cramp.

When do you break through the wall of pain and find that writer's nirvana?

I promised myself, and the Madwoman, that I would write everyday in August. Sorry folks...I stumbled. It must be faulty running shoes! To be fair, I did take my son on a 4-day junket to meet his best friend in North Carolina. Totally worth it and can't wait to do it again next year. And when I returned, I had the whole college course to design in a week and a half. So in some ways I was writing, just not writing.  

I'm hoping that tightening my schedule with these 2 classes will actually help me sharpen my focus and slam this new WIP. Is it possible?  Will splitting my concentration guide me to that Zen awareness of my inner voices? (believe me, there are more than one!) Is distraction the key to razor sharp focus? Obiwan, where are you when I need you?

I suppose I can blame summer and the scorching Georgia heat as I gasp for breath and reach for the inhaler.

But I do remember it...that rush when I get totally lost in a scene I've just written. That adrenaline overload when I've just written the last page and I can't sit still and have to walk it off until my breathing settles back into its normal rhythm.  How many miles until I know that again?

Maybe I forgot to stretch before this leg of the race. Perhaps my running shoes need a re-tread.  Or maybe I just need to crank up the iPod. Somewhere down this road, the endorphins will kick in. Right?  I guess I can't know unless I keep running...and writing.  And frankly, at this point I don't know how to stop.

To Answer the MFA Question

I just had to add this little nugget from Kurt Vonnegut:

Beware of the man who works hard to learn something, learns it, and finds himself no wiser than before... He is full of murderous resentment of people who are ignorant without having come by their ignorance the hard way.

Thanks to everyone who offered some advice on this topic.  Several people said the MFA pursuit transformed their writing lives, while others offered more practical comments, especially when it comes to the financial burden that comes with such a choice.  I think the very best advice I got came down to a very simple but essential issue:  Be very clear about what you are hoping to get out of the experience.  (Thanks, Laura).

My uber-awesome agent, Elana Roth, has me dialed in to a tee; it's not about giving myself a leg up towards publishing.  I know I have what it takes, and I have exactly the right representation on my side.  But I am totally an information junkie.  I'm addicted to knowledge and love the whole school experience, as grueling as it can be.  Usually.

However, I am in a very different place in my life, now, and I have a lot of other things to consider.  Kids.  Husband.  All the complexities of mid-life angst.  So is the MFA really the best thing for me at this particular moment?  Probably not.  Are there compelling reasons that could supersede the more practical considerations against going for the MFA?  Definitely.  But they are not compelling enough right now.  And to come back to that most salient point, what I am hoping to get out of it, I may already have.  Sorry I can't be more specific than that, but suffice it to say the point is as much emotional as intellectual.

Add to the mix a newly-procured adjunct position at the local college and you have the final answer:  No.  It's not time to take that particular leap.  Maybe some day.  So while I let that simmer in the back of my brain for a while, I will bust through this current WIP and kick some YA butt.

To MFA or Not to MFA?

As if I don't have enough on my plate, I am tossing around the idea of going for a low residency MFA. Why? Perhaps because it's there. Or maybe because it would give me a more solid credential for teaching at the college. Or maybe because I'm itching for another way to hone the craft.  Of course if you read The New Yorker's article Show or Tell, you might come to the conclusion that it's all just another way for universities to make money while pampering egos and proffering false hopes.  Sure, Louis Menand tips his hat to some of the benefits of such programs, but overall, you come away feeling a tiny bit idiotic for even thinking of doing a degree in creative writing.  Nonetheless, learning is learning and what you do with it is up to you.

So that doesn't help so much.  Perhaps a list of pros and cons would shed a little more light.

PROS:

• I love going to school.  (cue the nerd music)
• I would have another reason to throw myself into my writing.
• I would have a chance to work with some of the people who inspire me. (of course I can get some of that at conferences and Highlights Foundation Workshops, too)
• I would have a piece of paper that says I can write.  (just a little chuckle on this one)
• I could add MFA to my vitae and pump up my credentials 

CONS:

• Money.  The biggest drawback is spending more money that we don't have.  I can apply for scholarships, but that's no guarantee that I will get one.  And do I really need more student loans?
• Time.  I am in command of my time, more or less, right now, but will a Low Res program be flexible enough for me and my family?
• Are there enough benefits or potential benefits to even consider sinking the time and money into an MFA?

While I mull all that over, I'll look at what's out there.  I  found a fabulous website posted by Anna from Bryn Mawr that gives a good overview of what to look for and then provides listings for programs according to regions.  Another Blog that offers information and general commentary on Creative Writing programs is the MFA Weblog.  NewPages.com also offers a list of universities and colleges who offer MFA programs—some low residency and some full residency.  Byzantine Roads is yet another cite that lists a number of MFA in Creative Writing options.

So with all of this information, do I really want to pursue another degree?  I have one half-finished Ph.d. that will go nowhere.  Would and MFA really offer me anything I truly need?  Of course the other option would be to look into a Library Science degree.  I'm just saying...

Frailty

I was at my RA doctor for a routine appointment today, and she mentioned that my recent x-rays show signs of osteoporosis. Gulp. She said it's not a surprise since I'm "caucasian, pettite, and frail..."  Hang on! Did she just use that word to describe ME?  FRAIL?  I was that skinny little girl who played football with the boys and got called for rough play.  I was the only chick on the baseball team and I kicked ass.  I've wrangled spastic horses through the hunt field and slightly crazy kids in the classroom and at home.  I've travelled the world.  I've never backed away from a challenge.  What's she talking about frail?!

My mind sort of went white and silent all of a sudden as I considered this description.  Okay, so I was ever so lucky to develop Rheumatoid Arthritis when I was 34.  Does that mean I'm frail?  Somehow less than that balls-out chick who jumped from balconies and dirt-skiied down the dusty ravine beside my house when I was a kid?  There is a huge dissonance between the person I feel in my bones and the one this doctor was looking at.  But I guess what really bothered me was the dubious assumption that physical and mental weakness were not necessarily mutually exclusive.  (Don't ask me why I jumped there.)

Then I started thinking about my characters and how they develop.  Have I let some frailty slip by me when I wasn't looking?  Do they ever feel the way I did at that moment?  Probably.  Should I allow them to feel that way?  Maybe.

One of the big issues I tackle with my new characters is their flaws.  What does that really mean?  I look at it as more of a blind spot in most cases—that part of their personality that gets them into trouble.  But what if it's something that keeps them from achieving their goal?  They could be one in the same, but not always.  Good character development is complex and lets the reader squirm a little.  We cringe when they say the wrong thing, but that only makes them more real to us.  We slap ourselves in the head when they make some bonehead move that puts them in danger or alienates them from the other characters, but that only elevates the sense of triumph when they succeed or deepens the mourning when they fail.

I've spent most of my life hearing about and facing my flaws.  Let's just say I've had a lot of practice.  But what does that really mean?  Is there some continuum where the degree and number of flaws a person has add up to frailty? Somewhere in that doctor's office I started to think so.  I thought about it as I drove home.  I thought about it as I slammed the car door shut.  I thought about it as I prepared to take my child to the orthodontist to have her skull expanded so all of her teeth would fit.  I'm not sure I really have an answer, but in the end it seems to come down to that dirty little literary notion of the human condition.  In the grand scheme of things, I suppose we are all frail...small and frail and oh so significant.

W.B. Yeats wrote a lot about human frailty... (please pardon my maudlin indulgence).

The Four Ages of Man

He with body waged a fight,
But body won; it walks upright.


Then he struggled with the heart;
Innocence and peace depart.


Then he struggled with the mind;
His proud heart he left behind.


Now his wars on God begin;
At stroke of midnight, God shall win.