NaNoWriMo?

So we're halfway through October, which means we're halfway to November which means a.
in two weeks (Inter)National Novel Writing Month (NANoWriMo) begins, and b. sometime within the next fourteen days our baby arrives.

No matter how I look at it, these two facts conflict.

All year I've looked at NaNoWriMo posts and felt a little stab of envy? covetousness? greed? I love the rush and challenge of NaNo. It's the closest I get, or want to get, to a team sport. Gazillions of writers from all around the world supporting each other to get 50,000 words down in a month. Mmm.

The thought of all those stories being created is incredibly amazing, and I love being part of it. Guys (or girls, I'm not sexist) mucking around with balls when they're not even exercising a dog?Incomprehensible. A world wide outpouring of creativity and novels? So inspiring.

But newborn.

My previous three babies have been great sleepers and great little milk guzzlers. But that still means they woke every two hours for feeds, burps and nappy changes for the first eight weeks. This left me somewhat sleep deprived. And while it's easy to read while nursing, it's not so easy to type.

And it was fine with the firstborn, as I did just sleep when he slept, or read or lounged. But became increasingly less fine with each additional kid when this was not an option. I have also noticed that with each child I get less help. Which makes sense. I know the ropes. It's just that each child does actually increase the work load. With baby no. 1. Beloved would bring me food to deal with the Great Hunger every morning and a cup of coffee, would bath and do nappy changes. And then the house help would arrive to make everything sparkled while I popped baby in a carrier and wandered down to the beach or the market. Baby Three? The coffee would still be left, but there was no time for nappy changes or anything else baby related with a long commute and longer, stressful hours.

Baby four? Beloved's recently decided after ten years of making me coffee in the morning it's his turn for morning coffees- and will be for the next ten years. To be fair. (I am blaming the nurses at his hospital. Some of whom seem stuck in the 1940s and he recounts gleefully comments such as 'if your wife loved you she would iron your clothes'*, 'your wife should spend every hour you're at work cleaning the house.' We hates them.) Mornings do not begin with coffee brought to the bed, but instead with 'where are my keys?' 'I can't find my cards', 'have you seen my boxers?'  So yes.  Workload doubles with each child. Help decreases. Good thing they're cute.

But... NaNo. Story. Writing. World Wide Buzz. Cafe meet ups for intensive writing...

Beloved is firmly of the opinion I should do it. Sleep Deprived, Milk-Fuzzed or not. I am a nicer person (although the house is a lot messier) when I am immersed in story.

So... I'm considering. Possibly not the whole 50,000 words. (1666 words a day) but maybe 25,000 words in the month? That's only 800 odd words a day. That seems do-able.

Sooo... the main decision seems to be... which novel.

Having decided to go with crazy, (always go with crazy) I've now got to narrow the direction of crazy.

There are three possibilities - a retelling of the frog prince set in Scotland in 1801-4 with a half Indian heiress. I've already written 50,000 words in a previous NaNo so 25,000 would nearly finish her. The second book in my Mithiana series - Overly Caffeinated Were-Wolves. Again, the bulk of the story was done in a previous NaNo so 25,000 words would get her fairly complete... or Fosterling. A cross-worlds retelling of the Irish myth of the god Lugh. I've written about 100,000 words in Fosterling, so 25,000 would go over-words. But I'm missing a lot of key parts, and other bits could do with curtailing and... and... well Fosterling has ended up a very birth and baby focused book. (Beginning as it does with the birth of triplets and ending with the birth of twins... (The story of Lugh's son Cuchulainn is, after all, the one in which Macha curses the men of Ulster to suffer the 'pangs' of birth when they're about to attack. Death and birth are very much centre stage.)

So... 25,000 words, with a newborn, who happens to be a fourth child. Piece of cake. (And cup - or dozen or three - of coffee.) Why simplify when you can intensify?

Wish me luck. (And coffee. Lots of coffee.)






*my retort being if you're not old enough to dress yourself you're not old enough to get married. I have four, soon to be five other people to dress. An extra one is not on the agenda. (Except, of course, it is. Sigh.) 

on writing & nano

(A thistle in my garden - a great hulking thing, taller than the kids, and completely out of place amidst the coffee plants, hibiscus and bougainvillea. I've let it grow... because. It's going to seed now, so I'll cut it down soon, but I am half tempted to vase it up...) 


I'm drawing breath now, a break from getting the words down. Coming up for air in this place, this time, rather than story-time, myth-time. Shaking my thoughts free of character and plot for a short time before I dive in again.

Yep. It's (Inter)National Writing a Novel Month, that time when all around the world thousands of us are trying to write fifty thousand words in a month.  If we're a bit not-quite there, a bit off-in-story-land, looking vaguely into the distance, that's the reason.

I'm hearing voices in my head, a couple of voices in particular - one being a very arrogant Irish godling with a strong Glaswegian accent. He's just about to fight in the Second Battle of Moytura.

This is my first NaNo since I had the three kids rather than two, and yes, there have been days not a lot of floor has been visible at our place. (Beloved's been working a rather brutal series of nights.)

There have been days that a lot of coffee has been a necessity because I've been up most of the night before catching up, or tracking down an elusive snippet of story or information I want to use or looking for images of a particular waterfall.

I'm on track for today - I've caught up at 30,000 words and a bit so far this month. I find if I miss a day of writing, I quickly fall behind - if I manage each day's official 1666 words it's so much easier to stay on target.

This month I'm finishing an Old Nano project - Fosterling - the first fifty thousand words were written in a previous NaNoWriMo, I tinkered and added an extra 10,000 words in the interim - and voila my book is now up around the 90,000 word mark. I enjoy it's solid bulk, although I know I'm going to decimate it.

The earlier words are also a distraction though - for every word count I first have to word check, then subtract the pre-NaNo words (maths, moi? bleah!) and only then can I enter it into the NaNo page for the cute little graph to tell me how I'm going, how many words I need to write to complete the day, how far behind I am or how far ahead I am and how many words altogether my region has written - we're getting close to a million.

This is a team activity I can totally get behind. I admit, there aren't that many team activities I like, but this is one.

I find I stop every three or four hundred words to update my word count. Procrastination is a wonderful thing, even on something I love doing.

More usefully, I stop every so often to watch documentaries about the Bronze and Iron Age (If such a thing is possible I might have overdosed on Neil Oliver. Hmm. Nah, not possible), to check distances and work out locations or quickly read through pertinent blog posts.

How long would it take for a heavily pregnant woman to walk between Tara and the Hill of Uisneach? How many counties would she walk through? (There was an ancient road between the two? Brilliant.) How long would it take on horseback? Should Lugh kill Balor with a spear or a slingshot - both are correct...

Half my book is set in Bronze/Iron/Myth age Ireland, while the other half is set in present day Scotland and Australia. I still haven't quite got my head around the complicated, interwoven, never-quite-agreeing genealogies of the Fir Bolg, the Fomorians and the Tuatha De Danaan, but I'm getting more of an idea of how I want to batter the old stories into a shape that works for me.

I'm cherry picking myths from here and there and everywhere, working out which versions work best for my story and quietly kicking closely related ones under the table. (The one about the guy who was force fed a vast amount, does a massive poo and then has sex with a woman I think might be some kind of land/fertility goddess. Um. Yeah, leaving that one out. The one about the poet, Cairbre, cursing the high king, Bres, for meanness? that one works well.)

I cannot say how much I love being able to escape to a cool green world when all is heat and mugginess here - interspersed with spectacular storms. I love piecing together and discovering, trying to fit the ever-changing archaeological evidence - very roughly - with the myths.

The more I read, the more I tend to think the Invasion Myths are based on some kind of truth and that I'd love to read more, study deeper. I've loved cramming in so much knowledge. I've missed it. I still haven't unearthed my old university readings book (Pagans, Christians Kings & Goddesses in Early Ireland) but I intend to do it soon. I'm just a tad worried as to how much has changed since then, how much of what I studied has become outdated as new discoveries have been made and new interpretations gained favour.

I wasn't sure I could do it. I wasn't sure it was possible to write a lot, consistently, with the three little ones underfoot and so much going on. I haven't written solidly since before the baby (now the toddler) was born, and it feels good. I'm still a little cautious as to the quality - does baby-brain still have me in it's grip? Am I just producing milk turned into words?

The book begins with the birth of triplets, and ends with the birth of twins, although there is an equal amount of death. I figure I can always do something with words that are written, it is impossible to do anything with words that are not written.

I'm on the homeward stretch - passed the mid-way mark, wish me luck for the next eleven days!

Tag - you're it. Blog Hop.

Belinda Mellor, an extraordinarily talented New Zealand writer, whose novel Silvana: The Greening, a beautifully crafted fantasy, was published last year, has tagged me in a very fun blog hop. I’ve loved exploring new authors such as Melissa Legette and B L Draper, as well as favourites from the online writer's group scribophile such as Louise Redmann --- who have been previously tagged.

Belinda’s novel, the first in a very exciting trilogy, is the first ‘fantasy biography’ or 'fantasy family saga', I’ve read and the images, themes and characters are both gripping and evocative. I feel very honoured to have seen the work progress from early drafts through to the final novel.

So without further ado -

 What am I working on?

I’m working on three different young adult fantasies this year. Last year I completed a Nanowrimo and two Camp Nanowrimo (each is fifty thousand words written in one month) and now I have three rough drafts that I need to beat into shape finish off and ruthlessly edit.

The first is a retelling of the fairy tale The Frog Prince set in Scotland in 1801 and called The Toad Lord.

The second is about a barista renouncing her heritage as Queen of the wolf-people in a world founded on lost earth lore, Overly Caffeinated Werewolves (Are not Pretty).

And the third and final is a fantasy based upon the Irish Myth cycle and the coming of the Celtic god of sun and craft, Lugh. When the infant Lugh is hidden away from his murderous grandfather, he’s given into fosterage to a teenage Celtic-rock musician living in our time. When Lugh returns to his own time  to confront his grandfather, all his best-loved foster-family are placed in jeopardy.

As I’ve just had my third (entirely adorable) baby I’m not embarking on any new novels – but I’m loving spending time with favourite characters. We’re going to be in Scotland for Christmas this year (and London, Amsterdam and Paris shortly after) and I’m looking forward to lots of inspiration and descriptive detail for my Scotland based books. And why yes, I am very, very excited! (Not quite so excited about three kids, one a babe, on a twenty-four hour flight…but it will be an interesting experience!)

 How does my work differ from others of its genre?

Ouch. It's difficult to talk objectively about your own work. I know what I would like it to be, but what it actually is? A lot of my work features the creation of different worlds - in a kind of reflection of my own love of creating worlds through writing. Many readers have commented on the gentle humour - particularly with my Emporium Sisters' series, as well as on the vivid descriptions. 

     Why do I write what I do? 

I think every writer has a story that resonates strongly with them and that they keep coming back to in various forms. I tend to write cross- world fantasies – with people from this world slipping into another, fantastical world, and vice versa. While I’m strongly influenced by writers such as C.S Lewis and Diana Wynne Jones, I think it’s also a factor of being a second generation immigrant, of growing up hearing of a ‘home’ across several oceans, and of later travelling back and being blown away by all that is deeply familiar – and all that is unexpectedly alien. 


 How does my writing process work?

I have no set process – I’ll have months when I’ll set myself targets and write so much every day and other months when I just write sporadically.

I do like planning out each chapter before I begin, and I have hundreds of books filled with notes and sketches, but I’ve also had books I’ve just sat down and written and been bemused at what happens next. Each book is different. 

Many of my ideas have been inspired by images, (hello pinterest,) a few by dreams.  One of the books I’m working on (Fosterling) started out as an assignment I was given in high school – make up a rock band. I fell in love with the characters and they’ve been with me so long – twenty years and counting now – that writing their story is like spending time with very old friends.

Having been tagged, I’m tagging in my turn another wonderful scribophile writer – Nessie Strange. Her debut paranormal new-adult novel, Living Dead World was published in January this year. I admit to having a bit of a crush on her hero, Jack. 

In general, I’m not an immense zombie fan – Nessie’s writing is truly exceptional to get me over my zombie hang-up. I’m eagerly awaiting the sequel so I can see what happens to characters that I am a little obsessed with are engaging and sharply written, both those on earth and those consorting with the grim reaper in the after-life. 

Less (can be so much more) On writing and Nanos

My aim this year is for Less.
Less clutter. Less junk. Less stress. Less rubbishy food. Less screen-time.
I'm fairly sure tens of millions of others are starting out the year with the same resolutions.
As I've started the year with a binge shop of massive proportions, checking out op-shops from Maleny to Mont Albert, Morwell to Morayfield, I'm not going too well on the less clutter. But on the plus side I shouldn't really need to shop much for the rest of the year. And I do have bags of stuff piled at the door to go back to other op-shops. It's a beautiful cycle. Sort of.
The other thing I've decided to do less of is… writing. Last year I clocked up over 150,000 words, mostly in three lots of National Novel Writing Months.
I loved the rush. The drive. The community. The sheer satisfaction of getting the words down. The thrill of spending dedicated time with my beloved characters.
I was also distracted from my kids, drank too much coffee, ate too much sugar and fat, didn't sleep enough and had spiralling stress levels from trying to juggle everything else while also finishing my novels (or 50,000 words of them) to deadline.
November? When my Beloved had his BIG, all important exams, I was just recovering from two months of morning sickness, which had immediately followed two months of bronchitis and sinuitis and my Beloved had various ailments?
I. Don't. Want. To. Think. about how stressed I was. I can feel my shoulders tense just trying to remember it.
Do I love thinking about the gorgeous gem of a story I wrote that month, gleaming on my desktop just waiting for a polish? Why yes, I do.
Did I love spending all that time with my characters, discovering unexpected plot twists and delving into new layers? Absolutely.
Was it immensely satisfying finally getting down a story I've been thinking about for o, eleven years.
Well, yes.
Do I want to do it again this year?
Not a chance.
This year, I'm taking it slowly. While I feel a pang, (or two, or twenty, or two hundred) for all the stories I'm desperate to begin, whose characters keep clamouring at me, write me, write me, I'm going to put them on hold for now. While I might write down the odd note, or scene or even chapter here or there, I'll block my ears and let them nag a little longer.
I'm still going to do Nano's this year. But I'm chopping them in half. In each of the three NaNo months I'm only going to write 25,000 words. And I'm not starting anything new. I'm just going to finish off the three novels I wrote in last years Nanos. Green Dragon Waking - a story of a world of wishes, a girl who dreams true and the turmoil that comes when a wrong is righted. Overly Caffeinated Werewolves -    a tale of a edgy barista who has to confront becoming a were-wolf queen, her sister's kidnapping… and the fact she inexplicably can't drink coffee anymore, and The Toad Lord - a retelling of the fairy tale of the frog prince set in Scotland in 1801.
I can't wait to step into my magical worlds.
But I'm so relieved to have decided to do less. 

After NaNoWriMo

So November and the National International Novel Writing Month is finished. My 50,000 words are sitting smugly on the computer and I'm in a writing lull, catching my breath and blinking alot. 

Christmas is here, the holidays are here, we're busy not-getting-done-the-long-to-do-list I write each year for my Beloved's university holidays and I'm staring around rather blankly wondering what next. Of course there's the to-do list, but my Beloved and I are rather at odds about the-to-do-list. And I can see his point. 

After the madness that was November we're both in collapse mode and only just rising from (figuratively speaking) shuddering heaps on the floor. 

Seriously, what was I thinking trying to do NaNo in the months of the major exams of my Beloved's med course, while we were both sick, with one car out of action, the garden looking like something from a horror movie with one shed roof and a few massive branches knocked out with the big winds recently, another shed roof collapsed after the Sprocket decided to dance upon it, and weeds taller than Poppet. And the house not much better. 

Hmm. Maybe that's what I was thinking with Nano. Not thinking about it. Instead trying for something achievable. With a tangible end. And time pretending to be on top of everything in civilised cafes. 

Amongst all the disasters it's comforting to know that the bones of a brand new novel are sitting waiting to be finished. Of course, the fifty-thousand completed words only turned out to be about fifteen chapters out of twenty-six. Despite three assassination attempts, actually, no, four,  a couple of life-changing revelations and a sea-journey into the past, I'm only beginning to get to the really fun bits. 

I'll hopefully get the last forty-thousand words written over the next few months, put the whole thing aside for six months, ruthlessly cut ten to twenty thousand words and then put the whole thing up on the online writers site, Scribophile for critiquing. Which will take maybe another two months to earn the karma and then make the suggested changes. 

Writing is a long, slow, process. 

By the time the first draft of the book I've just been working on - momentarily titled Green Dragon Waking -  is finished, I hope to have completed the first fifty thousand words of the next two novels in the series. (And yes, most of my giddy spine-tingles at the moment are reserved for those stories. The New, Improved, All Kinds of Wonderful.) 

But see- look - my certificate! (This years certificate was a bit disappointed, the seem to have decided upon an overly pixelated look I'm not a fan of, but hey, it's still a cute little piece of digital paper to say I did it!)  

Home Alone

(Roses my Poppet picked and carefully placed in holes she dug in the garden, before she left)

The kids, my Beloved and my father-in-law are on their way home now.
They've driven about half the distance down from Queensland and are stopped in Dubbo for the night, with a ten hour drive before them tomorrow.
They've been gone nearly a week. This will be the sixth night that they're away. My Sprocket tells me he's had 'the best holiday ever.'
I've been trying to remember the last time I was alone in a house for any length of time, without a baby or toddler or preschoolers with me. The last time I slept in a bed, just me (okay, and the dog) and I had to cast my mind back… more than five years to when my Sprocket was summersaulting inside me.
My Beloved had gone to work in Vanuatu and, being heavily pregnant, I hadn't been allowed to join him. I'd asked scores of doctors and travel agents and the nicer ones hadn't laughed as they'd explained  there was no way I'd get travel insurance in my advanced state, so my dreams of a lovely tropical baby moon, lounging poolside while my Beloved worked, were scuttled.
Instead I went down to the family beach house and waited for my Baby and for my Beloved to return for the birth. I remember long walks, long baths, candles, music, calm birth classes, visualisations and long one-sided conversations with my Sprocket, awe at the braxton hicks, and feeling very ponderous, heavy and happy. Life slowed to the sound of the sea and the movements of my baby within.
Now, I'm alone in a house again, with only the dog sleeping by me, and the much softer flutterings of my third, and last, baby within, but I'm out of practice of being alone.
The night-sky outside seems very large. I jump at noises. While the first night I luxuriated in all the space and the remarkable rested feeling when I woke without small arms flung over my throat, small knees pressed into my tummy, and yet… it just feels… odd. Skew-wiff.
Through open windows I can hear the birds scuttling in the garden. I light candles without fear of the kids setting their hair alight. Fill vases with flowers without fear of them being tipped.
I spend time talking to my littlest one within, singing to it, willing it to kick a little more.  I make the food my family won't eat - chunky lentil soups and stewed fruits, tuna pastas and rice puddings. I have plans for a long, luxurious bath involving a home made body scrub and rose petals. I stay up late - reading and writing past midnight and then sleeping in - no falling asleep with the kids at 7.30, half-way through a lullaby. It feels ridiculously decadent.
And yet… it feels so strange that not once during the day do I have small, warm hands in mine, piping voices telling me the precise way they want their toast, long involved stories poured out, centipedes thrust at me to admire.
On Skype and on the phone their voices sound so little. Their presence is so big, when they are here I suppose I've started thinking of them as big. But they sound so young.
It's been so lovely to stretch, unwind, sleep. There is no way I would have finished my fifty-thousand words in a month to complete NaNoWriMo if I hadn't had this time. Or managed to sneak away all the excess toys and broken oddments. I am excessively grateful to my Beloved for giving me this time. To dream. To think. To write. To begin to think about getting organised.
But I'm so glad my family will be home tomorrow!

Exam Stress & Nostalgia

I should be desperately writing my novel, and I am, I am.
Sitting by a window in the deserted university cafe, all the kids students in Swot-vac or exams, coffee beside me (have I mentioned how much I love being able to drink coffee again? a few times? Let me mention it again). I've got one computer window up on my manuscript, one up on a word count doc, one up on the Nano site to enter my word count, and I'm all set to pound out five or six thousand words. But instead I'm staring hazily around, getting all nostalgic.
And stressed. Let's not forget stressed.
You see, my Beloved is sitting his exams somewhere in the building.
You know, the exams that are the make-or-break. The barrier exams. The exams worth more than any other of the whole four years. Next year is pretty much just a matter of turning up and applying for internships.
This is it. The do-we-have-to-do-this-year-all-over-again time.
Deep breath.
He can do this. We can do this.
But you know exams. And examiners. They're tricksy and mean and completely random. (In my completely unbiased opinion. I'm only talking med exams here. I only had about three exams in my three degrees, and my main exam memories are of pleasantly writing an essay about Byzantium in the sixth century. Something about Malalas?  Okay, the Latin one sucked. Even if I'd understood the Latin bit, I hadn't a clue about 'grammar talk' - past participle? what the heck is that? Med exams are a completely different kettle of fish.)
Anyway, my Beloved is on day two of five. We dropped him off at 7.45am and we'll pick him up at 5.00pm.
Unfortunately, in exam stress, we ordered pizza last night and my Beloved ordered chilli. Extra hot. 10/10 on the heat scale. He's suffering today.
It's almost de ja vu-y, because three years ago (give or take a few months) when he was doing his multiple-mini-interviews to get into the course, he suffered similarly. We'd all flown down from Queensland, then made the drive out to the country, staying in the cheapest motel for the night, our six month old Poppet sleeping on a makeshift bed on the floor, our Sprocket curled between us, and my Beloved decided to break six months of no wheat with… a pizza. And garlic bread.
And suffered for it.
My main memory of  his interview is of taking the kids to a completely wonderful wooden-fort-playground and the Poppet having one of those nappies that just explodes. It went everywhere. And I mean everywhere. And for some reason I didn't have a change of clothes on me (stupid mama) and had to make the trek to Coles with the not quite two year old and the six month old who was…in an interesting state.
But I remember the excitement of driving out the day before, heading through lush and gently rolling hills of green, and gushing over how this could be our home. Can you imagine? This could be our home. For four years.
That amount of time in the one place seemed inconceivable.
And now that time way in the future is now. All going well we'll be on the final stretch soon.
And we're full of the same nerves and stress as we were then, and I keep stopping to tap my fingers on the table. (I should have made sure he got more study time. I should have sent him to the library more often.)
Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap.
Back to writing.
Maybe another cup of coffee?

Back on (the NaNo) Track

I'm finely back on track.
Nearly half-way through November and I'm finally settling into writing mode to finish my fifty thousand words by the end of the month.
If you'd asked me yesterday I would have said there was no way in the world I could possibly finish the fifty thousand words in time. Today, it all seems possible.
Have I mentioned before that cafe's are wonderful things? I might have?
Let me re-mention it. Cafes are wonderful things. In fact, I might go further and say that cafes - away from all the distractions of home - the washing to do, the floor to mop, the dishes - are a writer's best friend. Or maybe a working mum's best friend. Today after the Kindy drop my Beloved and I both went to the University, me to sit in the cafe (with a coffee, a real, live -okay, not so live, coffee, yay for second trimester!) and write, him to work in the library with his study group. It's oddly companionable to know that we're both frantically working in the same building, although my Beloved obviously has far more at stake.
Anyway, in the cafe, away from distractions, I've managed to put six thousand words under my belt and double my word count.
The cute little Nano graph that tells you how you're going is still looking very behind, but I now only need to write a little over two thousand words a day to catch up. I can do that.
The most annoying thing is the words I wrote pre- Nano, when I was prepping. I wrote about four thousand words before Nano started, just outlining what happens in each chapter, so the story doesn't become too derailed. Now every time I do a word count (roughly every five hundred words, ahem) I have to minus those 4,970 words. It only takes a few seconds, but it's irritating, and the first figure looks smug and respectable and then I minus the 4,970 words and it looks so much less smug and respectable.
But I'm finally back on track. The words are flowing. Those hard, stuttering first chapters are over and I firmly believe (touch wood) that it's all go-go-go from here. The adrenaline is back.
My Beloved has told me I need to write, not least because I am a far nicer person when I am writing. I tend to believe him. And now the story has me firmly in it's grip it's all smiles (and coffee) from here.
Ahem. I hope.  

Caro & Nano & Green Dragon Waking

My National Novel Writing Month has stuttered to the next thing to a halt.
While for weeks I've been looking forward to the first of November when I could finally, properly, start, itching to get pivotal scenes on screen, now the time has actually arrived I'm only puttering along, second guessing, third guessing and frowning a lot before turning to a light-weight novel or pinterest.
I suspect I know why.
It's my main character. My protagonist.
As with the first two books in the series - Dragons' Nests and Firebirds and Overly Caffeinated Werewolves (Are Not Pretty), I'm writing in first person.
While first person tripped off my tongue, or rather, flew from my fingers, in the previous novels, this time it's a lot harder.
And it's all caught up in the character of Caro.
Caro has a big secret. One that has shaped her life down to the minutest detail. It's made her pretty OCD. It's also made her very good. Annoyingly, perfectly good.
I hope she doesn't put readers off, because really she's very endearing and loveable and flawed when you get to know her, but first take? She's just too damn perfect. And did I mention she's stunningly beautiful? Yes, she knows it. Little annoys me more than heroines who have guys salivating around them and not having the brains to realise they're drop dead gorgeous. Half-wits.
No, Caro knows it. But she doesn't care.
She's vegan. She's pretty much tee-total. She only ever eats organic, fair-trade goods and only sells completely fair-trade organic stuff in her shop. I suspect she doesn't eat sugar. Let alone deep fried stuff. She only has about nine sets of clothes. She only wears sensible shoes, and only has three pairs. She has NO clutter. She actually does her yoga every morning before breakfast, and meditates every day. She walks or catches public transport everywhere.
Do you hate her yet? I'm feeling irky just thinking about it and she's my baby.
Writing from her head-space is harder than I thought it would be. She holds to the beauty in the small things and routing, in simplicity and order. To write properly in her voice I think I need to slow down and concentrate on details, she observes carefully. But I tend to want to race along into the story. (Well, okay, with a lot of description.) I want to get to the part where she and The Guy start sparring, to where she enters the Lands of the Sleeping Dragon... But Caro doesn't race.
I'm pondering skipping the first getting-into-the-flow-and-setting-the-scene chapters and just writing all the fun bits. You can do that in Nano and not feel too guilty.
But.
I don't know.
I feel like I should slog it out to make sure I get the voice right. Introverted, intricate, careful, deeply appreciative of the beauty in the ordinary. Maybe I need to read some very Zen poems. Haiku. Sip green tea. Actually do the Salute to the Sun a few times in the morning. To get into her head span. Maybe that'll work.
Or maybe I can just imagine it.
Maybe I can just stare at the screen for awhile longer. And hope. Maybe if I just find the right tea to inspire me. Oolong? Green? Rooibos?
Or maybe I should just sit done and right whatever comes.
Hmm. That's a novel thought. Stop procrastinating. Hmm.
Caro would never procrastinate.
Damn, she's annoying.

Tea for Caro (and me)

National Novel Writing Month has arrived, but I'm still pondering my beverage of choice for the Month of Writing Madly. 
Particularly as coffee still seems to be out. 
My favourite herbal tea, Liquorice Legs, is also out, as liquorice is on the no-go-in tea-list for pregnant women. As is, surprisingly, spearmint. I might double check fennel. 
I'm stuck looking at the traditional. And... they're just not inspiring me. 
This is particularly annoying as the protagonist of the novel I'm presently starting is All About the Perfect Tea. 
She owns a tea shop, is very particular about her tea, and has never so much as tasted coffee in her life. I also suspect she has never put milk in a tea. Or at least milk of the dairy variety. It's possible she's tried some kind of almond or soy. 
I can't make a decent green tea to save me. 
And let's not even mention white tea. Maybe I scald the tea? I don't know. It always tastes bitter. I fear Caro has far more refined and sophisticated tastes than I do. That's the wonderful thing about writing, you can make your characters go all sorts of places you wouldn't with a barge pole. Including green tea at breakfast every morning. 
I love the tea you get at Vietnamese and Chinese restaurants and happily drink gallons. (I've have a few sleepless nights as a result - the caffeine is suprisingly potent) But when I try to make it myself... nah. (Latest craving, Vietnamese spring rolls, wrapped in crisp lettuce, and then vietnamese mint or coriander, dipped in the sauce... we needs it…Nearest Vietnamese restaurant? I believe that would be two hundred miles...) 
I'm wondering if I can cheat with some tissanes. A nice Turkish Apple...? Which is really sugar with flavouring, but yummy flavourings. 
But... no. Caro drinks tea. White or green. With romantic names involving dragons. That tend to taste like hay when I make them. 
Get me all those good health benefits. Just make it so my nose doesn't wrinkle while I drink it! 
While I search for the perfect tea-type beverage, I'll savour my rose blossom flowering tea - which at least looks beautiful and reminds me of Caro in it's elegance.* It tastes bleah, but it looks divine. 
But for actual drinking tea... that spurt of inspiration in a cup? 
I'm going to try for a spiced tea- I've found a new recipe and I do love blending spices... but... I really want something more... zen? (I overdosed on lemon-water/lemon-lollies/lemon slices in the early craving weeks and now... not going near lemon tea or lemon grass.) 
I can't stand chamomile. Not a fan of ginger... Deep sigh. There has to be something. 
Brow furrow. It's possible I need to seek out a tea tasting session... 
Any recommendations? 

*Although as I'm not entirely sure what the tea is - my mum recommends just admiring the look of it, at least while pregnant. I took a few sips and wholeheartedly agreed with her. This tea is not going to get me through a month of passionate writing! Anyone want some simply beautiful but bleah tasting tea? 

Decisions, Decisions

It is often difficult, when one novel is finished, or at least in the editing stages, to work out which novel to start on next. There are generally two or three, or three or four, floating around in embryo, all with decent claims.
With Nano starting in a few weeks I had to nuckle down and make a decision. 
I had thought to use my Nano time to complete the novel that I half finished in Camp Nano in July. With 50,000 words done and the manuscript half complete, it seemed only sensible to finish the thing off. 
But no. That one, Fosterling, is too weighty, requiring too much research and (yes, I'm craven) too much emotional involvement. I will finish it ... soon. Maybe next years Nano? For this year, I want (need) to work on something light, and easy, frothy and fun. I had two possibilities: the third in my Emporium Sisters' series, about serious Caro and her tea shop, or a one off, steam-punk, flapperesque, apocalyptic novel set in an ancient library and the search for magical Golden Book that can Save the Known World. With zeppelin-pirates and a mechanical tiger familiar. 
I, of course, opted for the easy book.
I'll be working on Caro's story. The world is known (at least to me) the research is minimal, and it's the story that I presently spend my not-quite-waking-not-quite-sleeping-hours plotting out. I'm having fun with it. There's a fantastical green river delta floating on the back of a sleeping green dragon, a magical mah-jong set, a true-dreaming jade bowl, and a love story betweeen a (carnivorous) and slightly wild were-wolf, were-cat cross and an OCD vegan. 
So far I've plotted up to Chapter Fourteen on scrivener - only another eleven chapters and I'll be ready to start seriously writing. 
I think, I could be wrong, but I think the kids and I will get out the paints tomorrow and do some painting in the garden as its supposed to be a beautiful dragon. While my Poppet paints princesses and my Sprocket paints worms and robots, I intend to paint the Green Dragon Delta and the Kittubs' Fort. I suspect it will be messy. (Just a warning, Beloved. Expect to return to a house covered in green hand prints ... ) 

Preparing for Nano

So it's October again, which means I'm beginning the countdown to National Novel Writing Month (International Novel Writing Month to be precise) in November, and beginning to prepare.

For those of you who haven't come across it - NaNoWriMo is when a whole heap of people sit down to write a novel, or part thereof, in a month. Fifty-thousand words is the official target, and if you make it to the fifty-thousand you get a cute little banner and certificate, the smug satisfaction that you've done it and fifty-thousand words humming contentedly at you from your computer.

This year I've also done two 'Camp NaNos'. The Camps have the same aim, a novel (or fifty thousand words) in a month, but lack many of the perks, although the campfire graphics are nice. The cabins never really worked for me and they just lacked that vibe. Obviously, I'm happy to have the bulk of those stories done, but the Camps were really just tasters for the main event of the year. The original, The best. NaNoWriMo.

I'm looking forward to the city meetups (people like me! wow! be still my heart). I'm looking forward to seeing all my buddies' word counts steadily rising and spurring me on. I'm looking forward to the pep talks by famous authors pinging into my inbox. Really, you're writing to me? You shouldn't have.

I'm looking forward to the deadline.

The online writers' group, Scribophile, that I am part of and love dearly, has a whole forum* which I have read (okay, skimmed; it's presently up to twenty-two fraught pages) with delight, about the evils and perils of NaNoWriMo. Basically, it's seen as a mechanism by which millions upon millions of semi-related words are dredged into the world and either released, unedited, onto an innocent audience, or destined to obscurity in a thousand dusty hard-drives.

And, yes, the posters are a hundred percent right. I'm sure a lot of the manuscripts will end up doing exactly that. But even if only a small proportion of the books produced get published (successfully, in fully edited formats) thousands of people have had fun. We've played with word and story and juggled ideas and met up with other people doing the same thing, not just in our home city or state, but online across the globe. That's gotta bring a tingle of joy to the most hardened spine? Doesn't it?

And o the joy of the deadline. The wonder of really-needing-to-get-this-done, putting off inessentials until the end of the month, to focus with whole-hearted-determination on The Story.

So I'm preparing now. Past NaNo months have painfully taught me that planning and research should be done before the month starts. Getting halfway through a month and realising you need to read a couple of dozen academic books on Edinburgh in 1801, and probably have a go at getting through the complete works of Sir Walter Scott, is lowering.

The story I've chosen to write for this November's NaNo is a fantasy based on a completely imagined world, so I don't need to do much research. I hope. But I do need to flesh out my antagonist (always my weak spot), and draw a detailed map of the Green Dragon River Delta. And maybe the plans for the Lair of the Kittubs. Okay, definitely, damn it.

I'm busy writing a quick outline of each chapter into the writing program Scrivener, and hoping that I won't have to read (too many) histories of Ancient China. And that the hankering I have to start reading about the Ottoman Empire doesn't mean anything. (Please, pretty please, don't let it mean anything!)

I'm enjoying seeing the structure coming together into something solid and strong. I'm aiming for 75,000 words all up for my novel, so twenty-five chapters (Scribophile prefers people to post their work at or under 3,000 words and I have fallen into line). Already I can see the story coming alive, as previously blurred sections clarify. Here is where I need the first assassination attempt. Here is where the major reveal takes place. Here.

My story calls. I'm away. I worked out a new chapter last night in the moments between waking and sleeping, and I want to get it down before it goes.


Is anyone else doing NaNoWriMo this year? Or considering it?
Have you started preparing yet, and if so, what are your preparations?



*Many of the writing forums on Scribophile afford me hours of entertainment. Who would have thought people could get quite so vitriolic about adverbs or semi-colons? It's refreshing to see people so passionately engaged with words and grammar.

Thoughts from the Campfire*

So I'm halfway through Camp Nano July in which I once again attempt to write 50,000 words of a novel in a month. And I've finally, as of about two hours ago, caught up. I'm officially past the half way mark and not lingering way, way behind on my word targets.
Sickness and sad stuff had me (and the house) in a mess for awhile, but now we're back on track. It doesn't hurt that all the holidays - my beloved's and kindy and playgroup are over. Thank goodness. Back to lovely, plan-able routine. As someone living in the centre of self-created chaos, routine imposed from the outside is greatly appreciated.

Notes on the Nano Journey so far:

*The removal of the internet greatly improves productivity.
*If I wake too early in the morning (say 2am) not only does not a lot get done (except valuable, research-oriented pinteresting, ahem) but the next day I turn into Dragon Lady. It's not pretty. 4.30am is a much better time to wake up to get a solid two hours of writing in before the kids awake.
*Coffee (thank-you, my most wonderful Beloved) is necessary for brain function at 4.30am.
*It is much warmer in the small hours of the night if we have lit a fire the night before. Yes, big fires (and marshmallows) really are crucial to Camp Nano.
*A really productive writing day (shamefully) involves the absence of children. Today has been my first proper day writing day ALL month, as kindie started back this week. A writing sprint at the Uni cafe saw the crucial seven thousand words under my belt to see me back on track. Yesterday, all was despair. I'd lost momentum. I'd never catch up. All was doom. And gloom. Today, all is happiness.
*I am maybe a little fixated on the graphs on the nano homepage. You put your current word count in the little box and it tells you how far you've come, how many words you've written today, and how much you presently need to write each day to finish in time. You get the picture. Cute little writing graphs. We loves them.

And... I think I can do it. I really think I'm going to get the bones of the beast down. There have been moments (mainly desperately researching mythological Irish genealogy that in No Way makes sense at some ungodly hour in the morning) that I have had strong doubts. But... now, flush with a good, solid roll of writing, all things are possible. Cue happy dance.
In a wonderful example of confluence, Laini Taylor had a great blog today about Writers with Kids. We do what we have to do, but I fear I cannot be like the writer Laini quotes who looks after his four kids during day... and then writes all night! Hats off. Seriously. Awe. Wonder. In fact, I don't think there are words for it.

Anyway. Halfway through. Things are on track.

If you're doing Nano, how are you going? If you're not how do you deal with deadlines? Deadlines with kids?


*The metaphorical campfire. The one with hot water and flushing toilets and soft-sinking-into-beds close at hand. 

Countdown to Camp...and Battling the Beast

So Camp Nano begins in 3 days, 23 hours and 50 minutes.
In 3 days, 23 hours and 50 minutes I set out to write 60,000 words in a month. Again.
It's not like I haven't done it before. This will be my third NaNo. It's just this time... this time I'm apprehensive. Doubtful.
We have firewood waiting for atmospheric warmth and comradely campside cheer. Marshmallows are on the shopping list. My beloved has promised to gut an old and dead computer to retrieve the half of my music which has been missing since 2010 for the necessary sound track. And I cannot begin to tell you how eagerly I am looking forward to hearing all my favourites again.
But...
This will be my largest, weightiest novel yet, of epic proportions. And it involves real research. Gulp. I  avoid real research* in most of my books by setting them in imaginary worlds, largely as I get so annoyed by others historical inaccuracies.
This one has a large chunk set in an Irish Myth-time that I would prefer not to be too humiliatingly ridiculously wrong. Making the setting myth-time, rather than straight pre-history, gives me a fair amount of lee way. (At least that's my story and I'm sticking with it.) The character I'm centring my novel around has dramatically different biographies and faces in different countries. The Welsh version is completely different to the Irish, and the Cornish again is vastly at odds with both the Irish and the Welsh. I haven't read the French (if it still exists,) but I'm plumping for different yet again. There's a lot of room to play. But still. I might put a book or two on hold at the library. Or ten. Or twenty.
3 days and 23 hours and I'm still deciding if there will be three parts or two, three points of view, or one...
The plot is easy. I know what happens. I know the timespan is 16 years give or take. It begins with a birth and ends with a death. I know my characters. I can see everything unfolding, like a movie within my head, and snippets of conversation are keeping me company. It's the telling that's worrying me. Cue lip gnaw.
I have easier, frothier, less troublesome stories all set to go.
Three at least are clamouring. Three novels I can easily role out the first draft of in a delightful, unproblematic month. If I go with The Beast I accept the first draft probably won't be completely finished for at least eighteen months. 60,000 words for The Beast will be a skeleton with half the bones missing.
But... that seems cowardly.
So I'm preparing to Battle with the Beast.
Wish me luck.



*This does not mean that I do not read dozens and dozens of books in research, just that I don't actually need to use any of the facts gleaned, and they probably should come under the heading 'beloved procrastination.'

My Kind of Camping...

It's April 1st today. Easter Monday. April Fools day. My prizes go to Australian Geographic and Google for April Fools day pranks.
And... wait for it, it's also the starting date for Camp Nano, which is like NaNoWriMo, where you write a novel (or 50,000 words) in the month of November, but you can chose the word count you want to aim for and you don't need to write a novel - you can write a script or short stories or whatever. Everyone is also allotted 'virtual cabins' and cabin mates to help keep you accountable and to try to raise some campfire cheer.
Anyway, I've chosen to work on a novel and aim to complete the first 50,000 words by the end of April. I'm not entirely sure I'll manage it, but I love the thought of trying it. The idea of being completely immersed in my delicious and highly caffeinated story for 30 days? Mmmm. Yes please. Happy shivers.
So the kids and I gathered kindling and I lit the fire today and we watched if for most of the evening - and may I say it was a very well lit fire and a beautiferous blaze. My beloved and I drank spiced tea (in the vain hope the ginger would settle our tummies - the tea was delicious, our tummies are still tumultuous) in front of the fire and outside the stars appeared in a high Autumn sky.
Now, with the kids asleep and the fire died down, cosy in bed in my fav flannel jammies,  all warm and fuffly from the dryer, it's time for me to open a new document and begin writing my brand new and sparkling (but not in a vampy way) novel!
Seriously, forget pit toilets miles away and no hot-water, this is my kind of camping!

Tea With Me

Come, sit down, I've got the kettle on. Make your choice, peppermint, earl grey, hot-chocolate, a coffee? Sugar, milk?

The candles are lit, and if you come on one of the cooler days this week I'll light the fire.
Do come over, I'll bribe you with cake. Store brought, as the kids have been sick and I don't want to risk infection, but the fruit and veg shop do a great sponge.
Settle in, watch the flames. My Sprocket's taking his robots on a grand adventure and my Poppet's putting her dolls to bed.

Easter is one of my very favourite times of year. I love this time to reflect, to remember, to come together as a family. I love the weather - so often there are clear blue skies and a briskness in the air and the deciduous leaves are turning. I always remember my Grandfather at Easter. So often we'd be down at the beach with him and he would take the service at one of the nearby churches and his whole being would beam as he talked about grace. I'm looking forward to cooking hot cross buns with the kids and cooking a big Sunday dinner. The kids have already given the Easter bunny detailed instructions.
What are your Easter plans?

My Poppet had her first cup of tea this week.
Well, really, hot water and milk, but we called it tea. I used the tea set my prep teacher gave me so many aeons ago and it felt  ... momentous. I come from a tea culture. Growing up the kettle was nearly always on or we had a cup of tea in our hands, or both and it's lovely to see my daughter becoming part of it. Already she knows that tea makes (most) things better and Mummy-Needs-Tea. She often brings me 'pretend' tea cups.

And it made me think back to my first cup of 'tea.' I can't recall the very first cup, but it would have been at my Great Aunts', Eve and Margs, house. Most Sunday's we would catch the rattling green tram out of the city (and later when we moved we would walk the forty minutes) and have Sunday Lunch at my Great Aunts'. Come mid-afternoon I would be sat at the little table in the wood-panelled living room and the tea trolley would be wheeled in. There would be cheese biscuits and lemon slices and 'tea' served in a thick earthenware mug, and I would feel so grown up and important. After tea I would look at the curios collected from all around the world in their curio cabinet, or would be allowed to carefully leaf through their first edition of Ida Rentoul Outhwaite's Elves and Fairies, which was pure magic. And then there was their garden...

My Beloved, the med-student, has started his 'Women's Health' Rotation at the hospital. In the next six weeks he has to 'catch' three babies. I am a little jealous. I love the promise and excitement of birth. Each week we watch The Midwives and One Born Every minute and we pretend it's for my Beloved's studies, but really, it's just for me to ooh over the babies and sticky-beak! But ... this is also our first experience of 'almost-real' doctor hours. My Beloved starts at the hospital at seven in the morning and finishes about seven at night. He's rostered on nights and weekends as well ... including this one ... Easter. And while I know many families do this all the time, for us, it's a first and I'm not entirely sure how we'll go. My Poppet started My Beloved's rotation yesterday by waking up and promptly throwing up. Luckily, she stopped after a few hours, but her poor little pale face and big eyes as her body did this to her, was haunting.

Next week (on April Fools day, talk about auspicious starting date!) I start Camp Nano - which is when (like last November) I'm going to attempt to write 50,000 words in a month. This month is going to be more logistically challenging than last November, seeing as my Beloved is going to be MIA for most of the time, so I foresee much coffee and midnight writing sessions. But I'm so looking forward to it. I'll be starting my novel Overly Caffeinated Werewolves (Are Not Pretty) and just thinking about it makes me want to do a happy dance. With Camp Nano, I've been asssigned an (online) cabin of other writers and we'll all egg each other on around the (online) campfire. Most of my six cabinmates are teenagers, but there is one other person my age so I don't feel too much of a doddering misfit!
What are you excited about this week?

Joining with the lovely Em at teacups too for 'tea with me'. 

Writing Wednesday - 4 Writerly Discoveries of 2012

2012 seems to be racing to a close, galloping furiously towards the New Years finish line.
Before the Christmas rush catches me up I thought I'd take a moment to reflect on things I've learnt this year about writing.

One. I now know what steampunk is. I like it. I like the aesthetics (Victoriana with an edge) I like the literature: Scott Westerfeld is a favourite. I love the way it twists ideas, subverts the known, how brilliant it is for stretching boundaries and pondering what if's...

Two. I've come across the concept of Fan fiction. I still find this a bit perplexing to be honest. Seriously, if you can create your own totally personalised world, why would you gatecrash someone else's? However, I'm willing to keep an open mind - a lot of people seem to like writing it, a lot of people seem to like reading it. I'm willing to be persuaded... And... well, maybe that's what I'm doing in my re-telling of The Frog Prince? I like the story so much I'm re-writing it into my own world? Hmmm...

Three. I've discovered the totally wonderful world of Online Writer's Groups. Over the years I've tried to find in-person writers groups, but haven't had much success. (Although I keep hoping!) With the Online-Writers Groups there are so many people participating that it's easy to find writing that it's a true honour and delight to critique, and critiquers that really make a difference to my writing. Winner.

Four. I've entered the fantastic world of National (International) Novel Writing Month, (NANOWRIMO - 50,000 words in a month) which is a blast and comes with cute badges, certificates and word-count tracking graphs, as well as support group and a series of great pep talks by famous authors. (National Novel Editing Month is coming up in March... 50 hours of Editing in a Month. I'm so there) I never knew it existed before. Now I can see it being an annual, much anticipated event.

All up, this year's been rich in words and learning. Bring on 2013!

Winner

Done.
With one day to spare.
I am now an official National Novel Writing Month winner having completed 50,000 odd words in 30 - make that 29 - days.
And yes, they are sequential, and no, it's not just the one word repeated all over, a la Rimmer's exam failure on the British comedy Red Dwarf.
There were a couple of days in the middle of the month when I wasn't quite sure I'd make it, but overall I was fairly confident.
What I've got at present is not a novel, it's what I would call the rough bones of a novel, (with a lot of dead flesh hanging off them, to be completely honest) but it's got a lot of meat to work with. And now to move on from the gross imagery of decaying corpses.
May I say again, done. Dusted.
And I am so excited about actually being able to edit the thing now. It's been like being unable to pluck my eyebrows for a month not being able to cut the random words/pages/chapters that just don't work. Festy. Now to read through, spell check, beat into shape. Funness.


Things I have learnt:

*it appears having a little counter telling me how much I've written in the last day and how much I need to write in the next few days to reach my target is actually quite helpful.
*It's a nice feeling to be part of a great body of writers, all scribbling down stories, creating worlds.
*If you set your mind to it, you really can achieve a lot.
*If you take your computer to a cafe and work sans internet it is perfectly possible to finish 6,000 words in a morning. Cafe Love. Mmmmm.
*NANOWRIMO gives you a nifty little certificate when you reach your 50,000 words in the alotted time. Oooh. Goodies.
*My ideas about my own productivity are being... thought over. I don't intend to write 50,000 words every month (at least, not till the kids start school) but a thousand words a day really seems quite do-able.
*A little accountability and competition... are not such bad things.

In conclusion I would like to thank: My Beloved, the kid's childcare and Cafe Crema and the great team at NaNoWriMo. These word's would not have been written without your help.
So. When's the next Novel Writing Month? And who's with me for the next one?

Do you like to set yourself goals? Targets? Give yourself big rewards when you reach them?