The Motivation Of FIRE

So, I’m doing NaNoWriMo this month. For those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s National Novel Writing Month. And yes you write a book in a month.

And yes, it is possible.

And yes, those of us who do it are a bit cracked in the head. But we're awesome.

And yes, the first draft is a bunch of rubbish.

And I’m going to start one more sentence with and because my brain is shot.

Anywho, the other night, on day 21, I was at 34,171 words—before starting for the day. That meant before I could go to sleep I had to crank out two thousand words.

Let’s just say I was in need of some motivation. My hubby handed me my ipod. He found my ear buds. He did the dishes so I didn’t have to. He changed the laundry and put the kids to bed. (He is such a keeper!) But, I needed something more to get my brain juices flowing. And yes, I know I’m pathetic, but I have very stubborn brain juices.

So anywho, I asked him if I could have a reward if I wrote my words.

Our conversation went something like this:

Me: I need a reward to make the words come out.

Him: What kind of reward?

Me: I don’t know. What do I like that isn’t food? (Usually I’m all over food as a reward, but I’d already rewarded myself for breathing and other hard things several times that day and felt kind of full. And when you read ‘full’ you should really read ‘afraid of the bathroom scale’.)

Him: Um, you like art, and books, and fire—.

Me: Ohhh! Can I start something on fire?

Him (looking wary): Like what?

Me: Like my manuscripts! The ones I have to revise!

(Here is a picture of said manuscripts.)

Him (looking scared now): No.

Me: Why not? That would be awesome.

Him: You’ll burn the house down. Remember last time?

Me (smiling): Yeah.

Him: No.

Me: I’ll do it outside. In the culdesac. That’s far from the house. It will look cool in the dark with snow falling down. Yeah?

Him: No.

Humph. How mean is that?

I had to write my two thousand words without any cool motivation—like fire. NaNo is hard without fire.

I know you feel bad for me, because I can feel your pity. Or is that aimed at my hubby?

And no, I did not start my house on fire the last time I burned stuff. I just almost burned down the deck.

Anywho, how about you? Are you doing NaNo? If not, are you doing something else this month that pushes you to greater heights? What motivates you in your goals? Drop a comment and share. My hubby will thank you for new non-flammable suggestions. J

Recipe for Writing

My friend Cherie at Herbivore Meals is doing thirty-one days of meal planning on her blog.

Sound great?

It is, even though it's been hard for me to embrace new meal ideas. Just so you know, I have a long standing feud with meal planning. Well, it's more like I have a problem with trying new recipes. We're like strawberry ice cream with chili topping--we don't go well together. Why? Because the new recipe is new. It's different. It takes work and thought and effort. It takes me out of my comfort zone, and my comfort zone for cooking is pretty narrow.

I've never loved cooking. Ever. It's like cleaning the toilets. Really. Why? Because it has to be done or things go south. It just gets stinky if I slack off in the bathroom, but if I skip making dinner a few times people die of starvation. Ack! The pressure!

I have about ten things I cook on a regular basis, from homemade spaghetti to wheat bread from scratch. And what goes on the table tastes pretty yummy, if I do say so myself. (I never said I couldn't cook. I just said I didn't like to.) The only problem is, when you eat spaghetti every week for twenty years you start to think: Meh. Or even: Double meh. Or even: Maybe I'll go clean the toilet.

So, lately I've tried to branch out, add new things to the old rotation, because who wants to be thinking about toilets while they eat? And in my efforts to branch out, I've--shock of all shocks--experimented with new recipes.

Some of them have resulted in a chorus of yums. Others...yeah, not so much, especially the time I ACCIDENTALLY dumped a cup of brine into the casserole I was making. Just so you know, brine doesn't taste good. EVER. Who knew that the people who make roasted peppers bottle them in brine instead of water? I mean really. This was so not my fault. Oh, and you probably shouldn't cook when your mind is off conversing with characters from a book, just saying.

The point of all this is, it's been good to get out of my rut. It's been good to try new things. And even if the family is a little hesitant when something different shows up on the table...and even if they all ask me if there is brine in it, they've liked the change. And I've liked the change.

What does this have to do with writing? Plenty. How many of us are in a writing rut? Do you sit down to write and think: Meh. Maybe I'll go clean the toilet?

It's time to change things up, to get a new recipe. Grab your computer and leave the house. (Yes, you can do this. It's called living.) Go to the library, bookstore, or park and spend a couple of hours working there. The change in scenery will do you good.

Go somewhere without internet access--you might go into withdrawls, but Google will not die without you. And, no, you won't die without it either. I promise.

Call a writing buddy and arrange a writing date.

Start a new project, or pull out an old one.

This doesn't mean you can't eat spaghetti anymore, it just means sometimes you need a change. And yes, sometimes you might eat some brine as you try new things, but the yums are worth it.

What are you going to do to shake it up today?

Avoiding Mannequinism, or Writing Realistic Dialog

Today we're talking dialog. Why? Because every book needs it, but writing it can be hard. When I first started writing all my characters sounded like mannequins. How does someone sound like a mannequin? Ha, it's difficult, but I have mad skills. You just write every line of dialog so stiff and formal that the reader knows the characters are plastic and dead-eyed. Viola, mannequin. So not a good thing. Do not try this at home, your computer may self destruct. And it's painful. For everyone. Just saying.

I'd share some early examples of my dialog, but it might destroy the internet with its awfulness, and then the feds would find me and turn me over to all the internet junkies to be drawn and quartered. And I burned it, so it would be hard for you to read the ashes. Some things just need to die, and my early dialog was one of them. Really.

What I'll do instead is share my friend Angela Citte's awesome dialog exercise from a writing class she's taking. The instructions were to spend a day just listening to people talk and get the feel of the cadence of their words, the flavor of their voices. Then she needed to write up a scene with nothing but dialog. That means no narration, no dialog tags--nothing but the actual speech. And the characters needed to be distinct and have voice. (That means they needed to sound like living people not mannequins. Or politicians. Shudder.)

Angela chose to listen to her kids and recreated a breakfast conversation/song. I say song because the first speaker sings everything. I can't read it without hearing a four-year-old's sing-song voice. How about you?

THE BREAKFAST SONG

“I like my little doggie. Her name is Alligayla. I like my little doggie. Her name is Alligayla.”

“Lily, stop singing. You’re going to make me puke.”

“Yeah, your songs are weird.”

“And sheeeee likes to dance, and sheeeeee likes to eat some food.”

“Lily, stop singing. Eat your cereal.”

“Dogs don’t dance.”

“And sheeeee likes to sing, and sheeee likes to play with her dolls.”

“Mom, do you have some ‘duck’ tape?”

“Or some of that stuff you can stick over her mouth. Mmmm, mmmm. I can’t sing my weird song anymore.”

“That’s ‘duck’ tape, Zach.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“And sheeeee likes to comb her hair, and sheeee likes to put pretties in her hair.”

“Lily!”

“And sheeee likes to put her make-up on, and sheee likes to wear a princess dress.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Lily, dogs don’t do ANY of that.”

“I like my little doggieeeeee. Her name is Alligayla.”

“That’s not even a real name.”

“IIIIIII like my little doggie. Her name is Alligayla.”

“I know, Lily, let’s play the quiet game and see who can keep their mouth shut the longest.”

“I think you gave me a headache . . . right here.”

“And sheeeee likes to swim in a water, and sheeee likes to go on the swirly slide.”

“You’re making me sick.”

“Yeah, and then he’ll puke all over you. Bleaaaaaa.”

“And you’rrrrre not the boss of me, and you’rrrrre not the boss of me.”

[Silence]

“IIIIIIIIII like my little doggie.”

[In unison] “LILY!”

So? Wasn't that delightful? Did you hear their different voices? Did they come off the page as real kids? They sure did for me. Not a mannequin in sight. I love this exercise and can't wait to apply it to my own stories. I'm going to go through a couple of scenes and remove everything except the dialog just to see if the characters sound distinct or if there is some plastic left. And then I'll delete the plastic and insert life. Ahhh, sweet dialog.

How about you, what's your favorite bit of dialog from a book or movie? Or if you write, what's your best bit of living dialog, and how did you get into your characters' heads to write it? Come on, you know you want to share.

Bugs And Breaking All The Rules

Last night I dreamed about bugs. Now, normally I'm not the squeamish kind, you kind of have to get over that if you're the bug slayer of the house when Dad isn't home. But dreams are different. Why? Because bugs don't follow the rules in dreams.

What are the rules? So nice of you to ask.

Bug rule number one: They die when you squish them.

Bug rule number two: They stay dead when you squish them.

Bug rule number three: They are always smaller than you. Period.

Bug rule number four: They aren't allowed to engage in active warfare. This means no ganging up on the humans with the intent to kill everyone. (I know some of you will contest this rule, but getting attacked by a swarm of killer bees is way different because bees--even though they make honey--and wasps and hornets are evil and therefore do not count as bugs. They count as EVIL. And those killer African driver ants that devour whole cows and occasionally people don't live by me, so they don't count either.)

Can you see why bugs that don't follow these rules would be bad? Yup, nightmare city. I spent the whole night trying to fend of swarms of resurrecting/zombie bugs who had it out for me. Shudder. There should be some serious consequences for bugs who break the rules.

But! It did make for an interesting, if freaky, night. Why? Because they did break the rules. This got me thinking about writing. Weird, huh?

We spend so much of our time as writers trying to jump through the hoops and follow all the little rules. Sometime it feels like everyone has a new list of rules: Use internal dialog. Don't use internal dialog. Add physical responses. Don't ever add physical responses. Let your character cry. Don't. Use first person. Use third person. Do the Hokey Pokey. Stab me in the eye! How is a writer supposed to write? It's like getting caught in a traffic jam with five hundred policemen all directing traffic a different way. How is a girl supposed to know who is right? Is anyone?

Somerset Maugham said: "There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are." (Even traffic directing policemen. And no, Somerset didn't say that last part, that's all me.)

I think it all comes down to breaking the so called rules. Martine Leavitt told us at the WIFYR conference that we could break any rule we wanted--as long as we did it brilliantly. Last night the bugs did, they slaughtered every one of the rules. And they captivated me. Even after nearly a full day of wakefulness, my mind keeps returning to them and their bug rebellion.

Maybe it's time for our own rebellion. Maybe we shouldn't stay squished. Maybe we should write larger than life and let the bug spray fall where it may. How about you, are you ready to revolt? What rules are you going to break today?

Humpty Dumpty and Writing

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king's horses and all the king's men
couldn't put Humpty together again.

Just so you know, this has been my month. Okay my last three months, maybe more, but who's counting? And no, I haven't been an egg, even if (alas) I may be trending toward that shape. Think of me more like all the king's horses and all the king's men, and I've been trying to put my WIP (work in progress or current manuscript for you non writer peeps out there) back together again.

It's not working any better than trying to fix a broken egg.

So what to do?

Eat scrambled eggs and get a new Humpty--one who doesn't like walls.

I'm done, finished, OVER trying to fix my messed up manuscript. I can't stomach sitting down at the computer and fiddling with the shattered and cracked pieces one more time. Today I will trash it. As in deleted, scrubbed, GONE.... Well, at least I'll take it off my computer and store it on a flash drive, then I'll hide the flash drive in the basement under sixty pounds of photos waiting to be scrap-booked. That'll teach it. That old WIP is never going to see the light of day again. EVER. (I'm just not that brave with the delete key. It scares me. Just saying. But I'm great at hiding stuff. It's a true talent. I call it denial. Aren't you jealous?)

And no, I'm not bitter at all. Really. Why? Because the premise is still a good one, and that I'll keep. And the characters can stay if they start being nice to me. (You've been warned.) It's just my words that have to go. Stupid, messed up, egg-covered words. Be gone I say!

Strangely, I'm excited to start all over fresh and new with no mistakes...yet. It's invigorating and hopeful and tingly and hopeful. Did I mention hopeful? My question is, why did it take me so long to get to this point?

I guess I'm just plain stubborn.

What about you, when do you stop trying to pick up the pieces and just make scrambled eggs?



Yum.

Kissing Up To An Angry Cat

My cat is angry. Why? Because we left him home while we all went away, which is why you didn't get a post earlier this week. It's really hard to post without internet access. Really hard.

Anywho, back to my cat. We left him home because he's a cat, even if he thinks he's a better human than me. He had food and water and other cats to torment, but he didn't have us--no people to pour his fat little self milk. No humans to open the door when he meowed. No family to cuddle with. None. So now that we are back, he's ticked. Okay, really ticked.

How do I know? He's giving me the silent treatment. Heck, he won't even look at me. He just turns his back and shuns me. Ouch. No one does the silent treatment like a cat. They can make you bleed from lack of eye contact. Seriously. I had to get out the band-aids. Sniff.

And just to make sure I know how mad he is at me, he curled up with kid D and purred. Then he glanced back at me to rub it in.

And they say women have mood problems. Sheesh.

So, I have to make up with my cat, and like any good man, the path to forgiveness is through his stomach. Can you say milk? And cheese? Yes, and even *gasp* tuna. Tuna always works.

My only question is, if he's so ticked, are you? Are you shunning me for my absence? Will you give me the silent treatment for missing a couple of posts? Will you make me bleed?

Hello? Are you out there?

I'll go get the band-aids.

Okay, and the tuna.

Burnout and Cooking, Oh and Smoke, too. Lots of it.

Hey all my favorite peeps! My post today is over at The Scribblers Cove. Soooooo, just to whet your appetite, here's the opening paragraphs:

Tuesday turned out to be a pretty smokin' day. Literally. As in the whole house filled with it, and we all still smell like a toxic campfire. Think of it as our new perfume. We're calling it Burnt Burrito. So sexy. Meowwwww! Want some?

So, how did we all end up burritofied? Let's just say Kid C decided he could cook. By himself. Without permission. Yes, be afraid. I'm still having nightmares. Shudder.

The first clue that something was amiss reached me as I worked in my office. A tendril of charring snaked into the room and coiled up my nose. The mom alarm in me spazamed, and I ran from the room to find the billowing burrito. Did you know that if you fricassee one of those they become weightless? Really. And they turn blacker than the heart of a demon. I know, I checked. Don't ask how that is so another post.

Head on over to The Scribblers Cove for the rest of the story. And what's that? I'm a big meanie? Why thank you. I'm so glad you noticed. Mwahahahahaha!