No more wordcounts in these posts; I'm just going to start using those writertopia icons. I can't actually join Writertopia, since I'm unpublished, but that's okay. I wouldn't want to be a part of any club that wouldn't have me anyhow.
It's always interesting when I don't write for several days and then pick it up again. There's this little fear in the back of my head that the muse won't be there when I return, and this palpable relief when the words start flowing again. It helps a lot that this wasn't a hard chapter to write. It was fixing to be, but then I was able to put some of the advice I got this weekend to good use. I basically saw that the reason I was unmotivated to begin this chapter was because there was no real conflict in the opening scene. Once I fixed that, I was on my way.
One of my main characters is a huge Atlanta Braves fan (I'm not; I'm a Yankees fan) and it's beginning to rub off on my protagonist. It's interesting to see them take on personalities of their own.
Before I hit chapter eleven, I plan to spend tomorrow, and maybe even part of tonight if I get ambitious, pulling up some of those old stories I stopped sending around and looking for homes for them. Now, unlike Vanishing Act, where I'm trying things I haven't tried before, sending these stories around is just a matter of going back on the slush piles, so I have no real reason to expect better results from this round of submissions. Except--you know?--I do think some of these are pretty decent stories. Sooner or later I'll find someone who agrees . . . right?
There is a cute fluffy dog in VA, and Cor, the dog lover, told me in no uncertain terms that nothing better happen to this dog. As if. I'm writing a warm and fuzzy YA thing. I'm not going to kill a dog! But now, just to tease her, I keep dropping off stuff for her to proof with "Lionel exploded" inserted in random spots, or other kinds of over-the-top obviously joking demises. I'm thinking I'll start looking for ways to put those in the real text, like "Lionel exploded into his arms" or some such. Hey, if you can't have fun, why write, neh?
So I finally crossed the big 50K today. It's only taken me, what, two months of solid work? And I'm, at best, halfway done. And to do it I've neglected everything in sight, pretty much. I try to imagine what it would be like to write 50,000 words in a month, as in nanowrimo, and I just can't. I'm glad that works for some people, but not for me. That whole "Give yourself permission to write crap" mentality doesn't work for me, because I don't find that I get anything salvageable when I "let myself" write crap. Usually, when something is hard to write, for me, it's for a good reason. There's something wrong with the way I've conceived a scene or something. And so if I bear down and just write it, I'll have to throw it away and rewrite it anyway. I think their whole philosophy lends itself to people who don't already enjoy writing, who need permission to write, who are inhibited in their writing. Or people who lack motivation. I'm neither of those. (I lack motivation to follow through, sometimes, but not motivation to write.)
I think that it's great that it works for some people. Different strokes and all that.
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