Relax, Make Your Steps Smaller & Keep Your Feet

Suzanne, my dance instructor, will lead us through a routine several times at a nice, manageable tempo. Just as I'm feeling pretty good about it, she says, "Let's speed it up," and the whole thing just falls to pieces. The secret, she says, is to relax, make your movements smaller and keep your feet directly underneath yourself. And if I can remember to do all that, it works.

When writing a first draft of a story, I don't have much trouble with working in smaller bits. It's seems perfectly reasonable to grab fifteen minutes here and there to dash off a few paragraphs. While it's preferable to have a block of time, I can manage writing in a catch as catch can manner. Maybe because I can smooth things out a bit when I go through for a quick clean-up before I submit to the group. After all, it's just a first draft.

Revisions have been another issue. For some reason, I have convinced myself that I need substantial blocks of time to work on rewrites. I'm not sure why. Probably more as an excuse to not work on them, truth be told. But that excuse goes away today. It's time to take Suzanne's advice and apply it to this part of my life.

What excuses do you make for yourself?

December Goals

Obviously didn't get much done on the writing front last month. Didn't even manage to keep up with blogging. I did, however, think a lot about revisions. Not just for MMG, but for Vesta and TNN as well. Neil Gaiman has said, "Thinking about writing is not writing." While I hate to disagree with the great and powerful Mr. Gaiman, thinking about writing is definitely an important part of writing. Especially in the revision process. What's working, what isn't? Which characters are three-dimensional and which are only two (sorry, guys, but one-dimensional isn't possible)? Do I have a well-defined goal for my protagonist? Am I beating him/her up enough? Is the setting visible for the reader? Etc, etc, etc.

I did get my one critique done. This month, I also have only one critique to do. Next month will be the same. So no excuses there.

But it's December, with all that entails. Even with all the days that have things planned, there are more than enough that do not. So, can't really use that as much of an excuse. Dammit.

Three writing goals this month:

--Finish all Christmas shopping/decorating and card sending by 7th and mail packages by the 10th
--Work on MMG revisions
--Complete CWC critique (0/1)

Why is Christmas stuff a writing goal? Because something that like can become a major distraction when I do sit down to write. The old "I should be . . ." [fill in the blank] instead of sitting here.

So, that's it. Ali's is "get stuff done." I like it. What about you?

What Does This Say About Us?

Words. Big part of a writer's toolkit, of a writer's life. And one word in particular got me to thinking the other day. It's not a big word or a complicated word or a deep word. But those aren't always the ones that get you going.

I was thinking about how creative people get that first gig. What do they have to do to get the job? They all audition somehow, but what are the specific synonyms for each?

Singers sing.

Dancers dance.

Actors read.

Artists show.

Musicians play.

And what do writers do? We submit.

WPW: Scratching

See Ali's blog for the guidelines for Writing Prompt Wednesday.



The scratching started up again. Under the sink. Where the huge bag of dog kibble was stored. I told him to buy one of those big Rubbermaid tubs to put it in. But no.

I reached back and smoothed the hairs on the back of my neck, the ones that stood up whenever I was scared. I knew what made the noise. Recognized it from childhood. Mice. Back then it was field mice that came in the house to get warm. "They're more scared of you than you are of them," my mother said. Impossible. And now it was late October and the weather had turned cold.

We'd tried traps, all kinds. But the scratching continued. Always when he was at work. Night shift, of course. That's when bartenders get the good tips. He said he believed me. But there was that look.

So I bought a book. Then I collected the supplies: a small cauldron, charcoal, sage for cleansing, a tiger's eye to protect and draw down spiritual energy, black salt to keep away evil (and mice are evil), and a mixture of herbs for banishing.

Early evening on the 31st, I started by lighting the sage and smudging the whole house, all four rooms of it. Then I lit the charcoal and threw the herbs and salt on it. As the smoke rose toward the ceiling (making my eyes water so I opened the window a crack), I clutched the stone in my hand and pictured the mice rising up and away on the smoke. I threw a few more herbs on the fire for good measure.

I awoke to him standing over me. My teeth chattered in the coldness of the room. All the windows were wide open and the ceiling fan spun above me. "The neighbors thought the house was on fire."

The scratching didn't return.

Missed Hallowe’en, though. Rats.

November Goals

I pretty much rocked October, especially given that it was chock full of extra-curricular activites. I finished everything. Well, everything but getting all the way through TNN. That was due in no small part to doing exactly what I'd said I wouldn't do after it happened with Vesta. After the first feedback session at CWC, I decided to rip everything apart and put it back together --better! faster! stronger!--before the next submission. In a month--right. Please remind me of this when I submit the first part of my next manuscript, whatever that may be.

Time to set goals for November. No NaNoWriMo for me this month. I have tons to revise since Jenny challenged me to put a revised full of MMG through the group soon. And then there's Vesta waiting to be revised as well.

I want to finish the first draft of TNN before I start the MMG revisions. I have maybe 100 pages to go, and there will be a submission due in January. I doubt it will be the rest of the story, but should get everyone close to the end. Of course, the critique for this month. It'll be great to revisit Mary's TF. And then revisions, revisions, revisions. I don't know that I'll finish this month, but I have until the end of March. I, foolishly perhaps, raised my hand on Monday night and claimed March to submit the full.

Should be a busy, but fun month.

Forced Focus

Regular readers of this blog know that I sometimes--okay, often--have trouble focusing my attention on one project. That other one over there in the corner always seems to be more interesting than the one right here in front of me.

Tomorrow I leave for almost a week in Florida. I'll be visiting family and friends, attending a Chris Botti concert and generally relaxing and having a good time. But there will be lots of time on planes and in airports. And I tend to wake up much earlier than anyone else in the family so there will be some time to fill there as well. Which works out, because I have to submit at least 50 pages of TNN on the 26th of this month. I have about that amount already. However, they follow my original train of thought on the project and things have changed since my last submission. Not many days to complete a lot of work. See sidebar for complete list.

While gathering and packing things to take, I found myself wanting to grab the MMG notebook to throw in. And maybe a couple more research books for Vesta. I could take those books I ordered on Prohibition for a future project I have in mind. Then reality hit. All that paper is damn heavy. I'm not going lug all of that through the COS, DFW and Orlando airports. Twice. So, only TNN and only what I need at this moment in time. That, the netbook and my journal? Easy peasy to carry around.

And I will have to focus on the one project, because that's all I'll have with me. Maybe I should go away to write all the time.

Wouldn't that be loverly?

WPW: Fuchsia Feather

See Ali's blog for rules.

I have no idea, but there has to be a good story to go with this....

The woman with the teal blue hat tottered into the cafe on bright red stilettos. The black band around the wide brim held a fuchsia feather that bobbed in time to her unsteady steps. The air around her thick with the smell of espresso and tapas, now blending with Chanel No. 22.

All eyes watched as she made her way to the counter. Eyes in young faces. Young faces with single chins and slender, healthy bodies. Most wearing jeans and t-shirts. A few with funky tie-dye skirts and gauzy blouses.

She reached into the banana yellow handbag and pulled out a ten. "A glass of chardonnay, please."

The counter man's sleek muscles rippled under the tight black shirt as he poured the wine. He glanced at the woman and poured a little more into the glass. "Six dollars, ma'am."

The ten slid across the counter, and the woman picked up the glass by the stem. "Keep the change." Another, shorter, expedition--seemingly in time with the jazz standard playing in the background--across the slick tile floor brought her to the table for two in the very back, very dark corner. The chartreuse dress strained as she sat, but she sighed with satisfaction to be off her feet for a time.

Anyone still watching saw her lift the glass in salute to the empty chair across from her before she took the first sip.