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!)  

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.

Family Games - Mah Jong

Unique Wonders - My Beloved won with this hand shortly after I taught him to play, back when we were still living in the Solomon Islands. In all my (um, thirty) years playing he's the only one who has got this hand. He was very proud. 

I think most families have games they always come back to - with us, it's Mah Jong.

In the late 1940's my Great Aunt and her family went to China, where they lived for four years, only returning to Australia when the Communists took over (the boat they left on was shelled). She returned with a Mah Jong set. While my Great Grandmother also left a Mah Jong set (which was possibly older, I'm not sure) it was Great Aunt Jean's set that we played with throughout my childhood. Every time we went down to the beach house, out would come the Mah Jong.

Mah Jong is a lovely, tactile game to play. There's the gentle clack of the tiles as you shuffle, the making of the four walls, the dealing of the hand. First to east, second to south, third to west, fourth to north, and then again, and then again, then first and third to East and one each in order around the table. Tiles are sorted and flower tiles are retrieved from the Flower Wall.

The tiles are solid, cool, the suits and honours engraved in them. 

I think I began playing at three or four, pretty much as soon as I could recognise numbers. I still remember the excitement of playing with the big people, the dark surrounding the small shack, the sound of the sea, the click of the tiles and the great anticipation of what the tiles would bring. 

Mah Jong is very much like Gin Rummy to play. (A fact I discovered on one of the hop-on-hop-off buses going across Eastern Europe. A nice New Zealander taught me to play Gin Rummy - then stopped speaking to me when I won the first four games ...) There are three suits - bamboos, characters and circles and then the 'extras.' The aim is to get four sets of three and a pair, but then there are the fancy hands... the Unique Wonders, the Heavenly Twins, the One to Nine... 

As a child I thought the pinnacle of happiness was to win with an All Green Hand. This would be a hand of two, four, six and eight bamboo, with a pung (or better a kong) of my beloved Green Dragons thrown in for good measure... and if I managed to get a bouquet or a pair of flowers ... all the better. Of course, a one-to-nine is always a lot of fun, as there's the tension of having to pick all the tiles up from your hand, rather than the board, and the dread that a tile will go 'dead' before you get it.

Most places I've gone around the world I've brought a Mah Jong set. Not a lovely old, aged bone or ivory one, but a cheap plastic one, and taught the people around me how to play.

Thus it was that shortly after we started going out my Beloved and I moved into a share house on the shoreline in Honiara, the Solomon Islands and, pretty much simultaneously, I taught him how to play Mah Jong. The house was (is) still, pretty much my dream house. It was all exposed wood and polished  boards, a tree grew through the verandah, the rambling garden was full of basil and chilli, aubergine and tropical flowers, the trees along the sea-line had hammocks to loll in and look out at the-island-that-made-me-sick and the canoes easing by, and there was a leaf house.

When we voted on what to call it, I obviously opted for Green Dragon House. Most people scoffed, but that's what we ended up calling it, Green Dragon House, White River, Solomon Islands. While poker was the main game, Mah Jong came a close second.

Now, the next book I'm writing has a Green Dragon House (indeed a River Valley resting on the top of a sleeping Green Dragon) and a magical Mah Jong set. I am looking forward to ordering the Winds and Dragons about, although of course, my first love is reserved for the Green Dragon.
I'm looking forward to describing the clack of the tiles, the building of the wall, the families coming together.

I got my Mah Jong set out recently when my sister-in-law came to visit, and taught her how to play. While my kids only showed marginal interest in the game, my Sprocket was very good at putting it away, and matching all the tiles together. (Seriously, I even like putting the tiles away - there's something about looking at a tray of Flowers, Winds and Dragons, all neatly ordered, that is intensely satisfying, and even the Characters, en masse, look very orderly. The rest of the house may be a disaster but the Mah Jong set? A thing of beauty.

Maybe not this year, but soon, hopefully next year, the kids will become the next generation to play. I can't wait. 

Excessive Consumption & the Thrill of the Chase

The kids and I were in the Big Smoke this week and it was shiny and glossy and full of hipsters and 'stuff', both of which I pointed out like the country bumpkin I am. "Look, look! It's a hipster. I swear I was one of those bright young things ten, sorry, fifteen, o forget it- years ago." "Ooh. Shiny."* 

The kids and I checked out op-shops in the Big Smoke and came away laden with 'stuff'. Okay, I did. And the Poppet. The Sprocket turns up his nose at anything that isn't a robot so came out of two of three shops empty handed. Not so the Poppet and I. We could learn a lot from him. 

I love op-shopping. The thrill of the chase is so much more real when you truly have No Idea what's going to turn up. But... I find once I go on an op-shopping binge the urge for 'more' takes a bit of killing. 

The perfect cups? Yay. But what will be in the next shop? The gorgeous winter dress for the Poppet. But the next shop might just have... the Holy Grail? 

At the beginning of the year I decided not to buy anything that wasn't second hand or handmade. Halfway through the year I'm considering how it's going. 

It takes planning. Planning is not my forte. You need to plan ahead for things like kindie drink bottles and lunch boxes and winter shoes and gumboots. And birthday presents I was absolutely and completely going to get around to making (way in advance) in a thoughtful, handmade kind of way... four months ago... and they are now ridiculously late and why don't I just pop along to a shop right now... I mean tomorrow. 

I think I'm getting the hang of it. I'm looking out for summer clothes now. Also school clothes for next year. Yes, it would be easier (and cheaper) just to go to Big W. But we're actually time rich. And now the kids know about the wonderful world of op-shops (you let Mummy look around for five minutes and you can completely have that bag-of-annoying-plastic-stuff-they're-desperate-to-get-rid-of-and-I'll be-picking-up-for-the-next-week-and-then-return-to-the-nearest-op-shop/pink gilt necklace) it's a whole heap more do-able. And fun. Just. Addictive. 

Op-shopping is also guilt-free. Even if the stuff was originally made in a sweat-shop and will end in landfill (sooner rather than later with my family) the guilt stays with the original purchaser. (Win.) And to be honest the best stuff is the oldest stuff and not the sweatshop fall-apart-in-three-minutes-stuff. 

One of my friends earnestly assured me a few years back that ethical shopping was the sop of the middle class, the thing we do instead of you know, actually doing anything, but the truth is that even if I wasn't trying to shop ethically and limit our massive footprint (apart from the, you know, no-sleep-last-night- 'whatever' days) ... I regret to admit it, but I wouldn't be marching in the streets or working for the revolution. I'd be sort of hoping the revolution didn't stuff up the kids education and hoping it didn't arrive too soon. 

The killer, the kick to all of this keen desire to save the world's resources? 

One of the series I'm presently working on is about a family of five shopkeepers. Shopkeepers of the most opulent, luscious, decadent and extravagant of luxury goods. Of course, they get their stuff completely fair trade and environmentally friendly because it's all imported from a magical world created by the wishes of their maternal ancestors. Talk about cop-out. 

Originally, the Emporium Sisters Escapades were going to be romance/detective novels set entirely in this world as the girls tried to source their goods in a fair-trade, sustainable kind of way, but I reluctantly realised I'm not a romance writer. I need dragons. And made up worlds. And the fantabulous.   

But of course, I still (obviously) need to research and taste test the girls opulent, decadent goods. 

Excuse me, but I need to hunt down some hand-crafted, sustainable, totally impractical, hipster-worthy goods. Luckily, the next town along has the perfect stuff. 

Rose caramel chocolate anyone? 

*I used that line in a novel recently and at least five people pointed out the character sounded like a half-wit. I downgraded her age to 13. It worried me.

Dreaming ‘n’ Plotting, Dreaming ‘n’ Plotting, Dreaming ‘n’ Plotting

I couldn’t sleep Monday night. I lay awake and waited for sleep. And waited.

And waited. Snuggled into the warmth. Listened to the steady breathing. Nudged my Beloved to stop snoring. And waited. Hello, sleep. I'm here. Hullllooo!

And then I gave up and began plotting.

And not one, but two glimmering plots revealed themselves.

Christmas came very early this year.

I’ve known these stories nearly ten years now. The characters have been sitting around in the waiting room, occasionally playing a back-up roll, but never coming into their own, never coming fully alive.

Suddenly, the spotlights have illuminated them and I know them. I know what makes them tick, I know their true story.

I've been worried about one of the characters because she’s a bit of a prig and I didn't know how I’d carry her off for a whole book. Turns out she’s like that because she lives so deeply and vividly in her dreams she needs complete control in her waking hours. She’s a True Dreamer.

And my vegan, fair-trading, pacifist control freak is just about to meet up with a carnivorous, freewheeling, were-wolf were-cat cross who’s been newly appointed as head of Law Enforcement in the Lands.

The second character I’ve been worried about for the opposite reason – she’s a complete diva, spoilt, indulged and over the top. How to play on her strengths without making her completely unlikeable? I think I’m getting there. My original plot of Death by Chocolate has been strengthened with Lands magic – and I’ve thrown in a truckload of Dragons and a Wizard who is not-at-all-what-he-seems. As well as a ‘trueloves’ kiss that brings her back from death.

The hours ticked over and I knew the following day might have its problems. But the words flowed and I couldn’t bring myself to stop.

Finally putting my laptop away I returned to the warm darkness…. To plot and dream, plot and dream…

Until  my Beloved brought through the first coffee of the day.

Since then I’ve been writing desperately.

They’re pushy, those characters. Bossy and demanding, the pair of them. I was determined to devote the next six weeks to editing and critiquing. Looks like I have other plans.

But I can’t find it in me to really mind.   

New Banner

Look, look up.
See my new banner! Painted by yours truly.
Okay, drawn in water coloured pencils and then splattered with water. The cheats way, I know. But I've been wanting a new banner for awhile and I fixated on wanting a dragon. This is only take one so expect changes! I'm also going to keep tinkering with other drawings from my WIP Dragons' Nests. I'm finding it helpful for solidifying scenes and working things out.
Of course, in the scene I attempted drawing, the building being carried has three towers, not two and the dragon is purple, not red, but red looked better and three towers was too hard to fit in. I am having more sympathy for illustrators!
I'm already having a lot of ideas for more drawings, which is a blast. I want to draw the wolf queens fort and a map of the Lands of Lost Lore for a start. And I really think the emporium (with it's secret staircase into the Lands of Lost Lore) needs it's own drawing, and not just my rough little scetches.
I'm not happy with my drawings now, but I figure if I keep drawing in another 10,000 hours I should be able to get a rough approximation of the images in my head!
I'm loving drawing because we can do it as a family. My beloved draws misshapen organs (he's a med-student and it helps him learn his anatomy), I draw magical lands and my Poppet and Sprocket draw masterpieces needing long explanations.

Can a Leopard Change it's Spots (Or a Pantser become a Planner)

Are you a pantser or a planner?
I hadn't come across the term 'pantser' until I joined Scribophile, the online writing group, last year, but discussions about 'pantsers and planners' come up frequently in the forums.
As I understand it a 'pantser' is someone who writes 'by the seat of their pants', ie. without a plan. They just sit down and type. As opposed to a planner, who (as the name suggests) has it all planned out.
I've been thinking about this a lot recently as I write (and re-write) my synopsis for my Work In Progress,  Dragons' Nest.
There's something about condensing a novel into a page that brings out all the plot flaws.
The kind you look at and go. O. Hmm. And then hmm, again. And then, why don't I just go and have a cup of tea. And then another. Maybe some wine. And horrible phrases like 'Deux ex Machina' reverberate rather badly.
Now, I'm not saying I'm upset to spend more time with my delightful characters in my perfectly delicious world, because let's be clear, it's a heap of fun. (Hello, fortress of the werewolf queen, I'm here to stay!)
But it's a little worrying when you truly think you're finished, and have been thinking you've finished for a good few months, to realise there's plot holes big enough for a container ship to disappear into, requiring a good three extra chapters to fill.
And I got to thinking maybe if I'd written the synopsis first, and you know planned, that wouldn't have happened.
As it is, what is now one of the crucial plot lines only sprang itself on me one delirious night when I was approaching the finishing line. Now, fleshed out and bristling teeth, it's an integral part of the story.
Which isn't to say I don't write a lot of notes: because I do. I have hundreds (literally) of notebooks all filled with almost illegible writing of snippets of scenes, character descriptions, research and chapter outlines.
But... in the heart of writing strange things happen and I end up on unexpected voyages into the unplanned and unknown. Unfortunately these voyages sometimes contain detours into the land of Gaping Plot Holes.
I can think of at least three manuscripts I have sitting in forgotten folders that all have a sweet little hole... about eight tenths of the way through.
Yep. I love the characters, love the setting, lots of tension. But... there's that dang hole again.
So I'm wondering. I'm starting my next book soon (cue excited shiver of anticipation) and as usual I know (and love) my protagonist well. I know the names of her great grandparents and her favourite childhood pets. I know her main conflicts, flaws, weaknesses and bugbears. Mia just wants to run her cafe and concentrate on making the best coffee in the world... but instead she has to deal with her ancestral legacy of a magical world of mythical beasts. She can ignores the fantasy world pretty well until a werewolf pack (which happens to be the one her long dead dad came from) holds her sister hostage until Mia takes her rightful place as Queen of the Wolves.  
Problem: why, exactly, do the pack want Mia to be Queen?
I want the pack to want Mia to be Queen (or at least contest for the Queenship) because that's where my story goes and it suits the images in my head. But why do they want her to be Queen? They've never met her, didn't think much of her sister, and know she has no interest in them.
Problem.
Will I write the whole book... get to... o yes, eight tenths of the way through where, in the denouement, some explanation needs to be made for this irrational behaviour and um...fudge...and then put it in a folder for a few months hoping the issue will miraculously resolve itself? Or will I try to write out a complete and satisfyingly believable synopsis first?
I believe... I believe I'm going to try to write the synopsis first...
I think nature intended me as a pantser, but that bit.. that bit eight tenths of the way through a manuscript?
It's really getting to me.
So goodbye to my old pantsering ways.
Henceforth, meet the new, improved planner.
Stay tuned to see if a leopard can change their spots... or a pantser become a planner...

drawing dragons...

I've decided I need a new banner.

And I know how I want it to look, but not being an artist or done any artwork since year twelve (an aeon ago) I've been perplexed about how to go about getting it.

In the end I took the plunge, got me some new watercolour derwents and set down to create.

An afternoon, some candles and several cups of tea later and voila, one emporium-carrying dragon. The result is far from the picture in my head, but it's what I've got to work with so I've been playing with colours and crops, of various severity and luridness.

What do you think? Do you have a favourite, or a 'anything-but-that-and-don't-make-me-throw-up'? Back to the drawing board? Maybe fineliner with a watercolour (or pseudo watercolour) wash?

Gotta say I love playing with it all... but I find myself all indecisive in this old/new medium!

 Take One.

 Take Two.

 Take Three

The Original

Cropped and Lurid Take Four

Mistress of Spice

Wandering through the city last week we reached the Block Arcade (opposite the Hopetourn Tearooms) and I stopped short and let out something like a squeal. Because... a new shop had opened. A spice shop.
I promptly dragged my reluctant friend inside and set about exploring because...
My present book is about someone who opens a spice shop.
And I've never actually seen one.
I've swooned over pictures in National Geographic and Pinterest of big woven baskets of colourful spices in suqs and bazaars, and I've always loved all the spice goods available at Oxfam - spice drawers and unground spices and mortar and pestles... but I've never been in a shop solely devoted to spices.
A few people have asked when reading the book and discovering that Nell, my beloved character, opens a spice shop 'so what does she sell?' and I have refrained from hissing at them, and instead replied 'all things of wonder and aromatic delight!' but it was very lovely to walk inside and view an actual spice shop in it's rather pricey flesh!
This spice shop specialised in different mixes, such as hot-cross-bun mix and apple-cake-mix and various mixes for fish dishes and chicken dishes and all sorts of exotic salts. Looking at how this shop was laid out made me think more about how Nell's shop is laid out.
Dragons' Nests and Fire Birds is the first in a series of five, and Nell's  four sisters, who each get their own adventure and book, open respectively a cafe, a tea shop, a silk shop and a coffee shop. So I'm having a lot of fun designing 'dream' shops and researching.
Not being at all restrained by anything approaching reality (the emporium is a gift from grateful dragons, powered by the dragon sleeping in the basement and all the goods come from the magical Lands of Lost Lore) I can let my imagination spiral unchecked.
So... in my spice shop (ahem, I mean Nell's spice shop) the spices will all be sold unground (to keep the flavour longer and because I love the shapes of star anise and nutmeg, vanilla and cinnamon) while there will be ornate spice drawers and delicately made spice bottles, carefully carved boxes containing frankincense and myrrh (especially around Christmas) and of course spice treats and goodies. Spice scented candles and soaps and of course gingerbread houses and hearts. Mortar and pestles will be neccessary for spice grinding (as all goods come from the Lands of Lost Lore electric grinders are out of the question.)
Downstairs in Nell's sisters cafe, tasty spiced  will be sold... sticky spiced puddings, vanilla macaroons, highly spiced crumbles and rice puddings, while there will be spiced teas in the tea shops and melt in the mouth cinnamon truffles in the chocolate shop...
Now I'm getting hungry just thinking about it.

What would you sell in a spice shop? Do you have a shop you dream of opening? 

It takes THAT long.

I'm not writing at the moment. 

Not that I don't want to be. Not that the ideas aren't clamouring away. The voices saying 'hey, get on with it, right me down. Pronto.'

But I'm resisting. And not just because it's Christmas and I'm supposed to be packing for our annual migration up to Queensland on (gulp) Monday. 

Nup. 

It's time to edit. And seriously? Editing a book takes so much longer than writing it. 

I'm dusting out a book I finished in the first part of the year and going over it. It's already had three people read it and make comments, (for which makes thanks!) which involved two fairly complete work-overs. 

Now I've set it aside to stew for a few months and returned to it. (And hey, do you know, I still really love the characters? I love the story. I love the setting. I love being in that world again. It's like a kind of coming home. If home is a spice island in a wonder-world created by Scheherezade...) 

And I'm working on the gazillionth re-write.

I'm also putting up chapters on Scribophile, the online writing group. But for each chapter I put up, I need to earn 5 karma points. Which takes about 5 hours (minimum) of critiquing other peoples work. Which I love. 

But it takes time. And on-the-ballness. And needs to be done with both hands, so not with a kid sleeping in one arm. And there are 25 chapters in my book sooo... that's about 125 hours of critiquing to get a complete novel up on the online critiquing site. 

And then there's thinking about all the suggestions people make in their critiques on my chapters. Discussing them with my beloved. Making them. Re-writing. Taking them out. Putting them back in again. 

Reading through the novel as a whole again. 

Reading it aloud. 

Reading it backwards. 

Getting my beloved to re-read it. And anyone else I can plead/bribe/blackmail/cajole. 

And thinking about their suggestions and doing a whole load more revisions. 

So I'm missing my writing. There's a pack of overly caffeinated werewolves in a wool-trading village in the Arpathian mountains who really want me to get their story down. 

But I won't be starting on anything new till April. 

It really does take that long. *

Yep. Writers should write every day. But sometimes that writing comes in the form of re-writes. 

*There are a few other manuscripts I really need to edit and NaNoEdMo is in March - 50 editing hours in a month... so yeah... April.

Gazillionth Draft

So I'm up to my gaxillionth draft of Dragons' Nests.
In honour of reaching my gazillionth draft I demanded my Beloved resurrect the printer. It was thus duly lugged in from the back shed. (Yep, that  one, the one my Sprocket locked my Beloved and my Poppet in) The printer has been in a box since we left Vanuatu as I thought it was broken, and my Beloved thought it was fine but somehow never got around to sorting it out.
We were both right.
The printer was fine.

The cord that connects it to the computer was not so fine. Rats had obviously been busy and it was in pieces. *
Luckily, my beloved got out the soldering gun and the above was the happy result. Nifty, huh? I was impressed. This is one of the many reasons my Beloved is my Beloved. So the printer was connected to the computer with strict instructions not to so much breathe or the sky would fall in and the printer would die.
And what do you know, it printed! I now have a hardback copy of my manuscript. You know, of actual ink and paper.
Editing an ink and paper version is curiously different to editing on the computer. I seem to be picking things up a lot quicker. And the whole 'pen-in-hand' seems to make me a lot more ruthless.
Possibly not as ruthless as the Poppet, however.

But I'm liking it. I'm a little bit perplexed that there's still so much to fix. I was sure I'd gone over the first page at least a hundred million times, and yet there was still stuff I was correcting.

How about you, can you edit on the computer, or do you prefer a hardcopy? Or a mix?


*This was sort of ironic as when we were first going out and living in the Solomon Islands I gave my Beloved a puppy who might, or might not, have had a chewing problem. Anyway, all my Beloved's computer cables were destroyed. I blamed rats. Not such a long shot as rats did, occasionally, eat our hair at night. This time my Beloved actually believes me. It really was rats. 

Working, Working, Oh So Close!

I'm so so so close to finishing my last manuscript I can almost taste it.
Yeah, yeah, I know I said it was finished a couple of months ago, but that was the first (ultra holey) draft. This is the second draft, sans the worst of the holes!
Only one more big hole to go, and despite having yet another luergy I'm thinking of loading up on coffee tonight and finishing it. Yay.
And it's all thanks to the kid's wonderful, amazing, blissful childcare. Living a couple of hundred miles from friends and family they're pretty much the whole shebang rolled into one and tied with a nice big bow. And believe me, if this book does eventually get published I'll be dedicating it to them. Well, and the kids and my Beloved. But basically the wonderful women who keep my kids happy so I can spend a few hours each week with the stories jiving and tapping and tangoing away in my head.
Yesterday morning the kids' childcare phoned to say there'd been a cancellation and there was room for the kids, and I leapt on it with tears of gratitude. **
After depositing the kids, I hurried home and set up office.

Our fruit trees are finally coming into blossom...

There was a wonderful blue sky...

So I set up my office in the garden, grabbing the most transportable table and chair

and a cup of tea in my very favouritest cup (much thanks Leongatha Thrift-Shop)

And set to writing an entirely delightful chapter of pixie, dragon, faun & other fantastical creature revels on a tiny speck of a tropical island.
It was truly grand...
And only the big scene with the Council in the Great Library of Scheherezade to go and all the major holes have been darned. Or plugged. Or whatever.
So close... so close!


*My Sprocket's teacher was telling me yesterday that my Sprocket came up to her and said "I love you Jo-Jo," and she said. "I love you, too, Sprocket," and he said "I know." Awww.
He hasn't seen Return of the Jedi yet, I promise!

** The day before had started with the kids covering themselves and the walls with my very last lipstick, and got worse from there. Let's just say it involved lots of potty-training mis-adventures and meltdowns from all parties. When I phoned begging for some time and they told me there was no room, I dripped into a murky puddle of misery. But joy cometh in the morning! 

The Emperor's Got no Clothes on...

 I finally nagged and bullied and emotionally blackmailed my Beloved into reading my manuscript last night.* So he woke in the small hours of the morning and read it through.
As always, his comments (grunts) were blunt but illuminating.
All those bits I knew I hadn't got around to writing, but the story really needs? Yep. He picked them all up. I was hoping I'd be the only one to notice there were gaping, massive holes I haven't filled in yet. Blast.
So. Now to do the chapter with the Baddie doing her big baddie spiel to add to the stakes. To add an epilogue to round it off. To make the Great Library more of an integral plot piece and less of a ooo-I-want-to write-about-the Great-Library. To flesh out the very-rushed-end, and to make the relationship with the sidekick/love-interest less of a plonked in the wrong spot and more charged and embedded. While I'm at it I'll put the dragon-in-the-basement in properly.
So even though I feel all naked and found out  (I'd really hoped that those bits didn't show, even though I knew they were there) it is exciting to be making to story so much richer, denser and fantastical.

*He claims he volunteered, but let me say that before we went out he was begging to read my stuff, in fact one of his friends pleaded with me to put him out of his misery and either go out with him or give him the cold shoulder, as all he was doing was reading my stuff and moping, and he was worried for his sanity. There was none of this not having time for weeks and weeks. Medical degree schmedical degree. Huh.

Plotting & Planning, Plotting & Planning

So. Now that book's (sort of, vaguely, not really) out of the way, I'm starting to think about the big question. What comes next?
It's getting time to put the old manuscript away for awhile and then return to it with unblinkered eyes some time hence, but the big decision remains: what to work on next. (I'm procrastinating on a. editing, b. the dishes & c. taking the kids to the park in the rain here, it's always nice to kill three birds with the same stone.)

I love the excitement of diving into a brand new story, of finally trying to grasp some of those images and conversations that have been swimming around for months or sometimes years. But first to decide.
My choices at present are between some old and new manuscripts.

Choice One: Overly Caffeinated Werewolves (Are Not Pretty) Book Two in the Emporium Sisters' Escapades. Bella's story. I suspect it would pretty much write itself... and be soooo much fun.

Choice Two: The Toad Lord: A re-telling of The Golden Ball or Frog Prince (I have not yet seen the Disney Version & would put it off until the manuscript was finished). I'd be setting it in 16th century Scotland and making it a lot more gritty. I'd also get to use my Toad Lord pinterest board for heaps of visual inspiration, thus strengthening my claim that Pinteresting is working. I made notes for this story decades ago and put it on the back burner. It would be great to resurrect the idea and the perfect place to use lots of lush, descriptive writing. Mmmm.

Choice Three: Sara and the Seven Beasts: Spoilt teenager Sara falls through the sea into another world. Created centuries ago by the seven dancing beasts, it has since become corrupted half the beings have lost memory of their animal selves. Sara & the Princess Lasiale have to wake the sleeping beasts in order to end the oppression of the unchanging and bring harmony back to the world.
This is pretty much half written. I would like to get it finished, and it has some great bits in it...

Choice Four: Searching for Seadragons: 17 year old Zoe retreats to the sea after witnessing a suicide. Over her year by the shore she thinks about who she is and the world around her. Her sister and friends keep interrupting her reflections. This is a rewriting and editing job. I wrote it back in high school and quite a lot of publishing houses (OUP, A&U etc) liked the first few chapters & asked for more... but then declined. Re-reading it, they were right. The ending is completely unsatisfying and I missed the obvious. You know - the guy yelling hey - I'm the one, I'm the one. Now to re-write, scrap the last chapters and add drama and romance. I do love the characters... and lets be honest, it would only be 20,000 words and a rewrite. And fun words. Sea words.

Decisions, decisions. Now let me add to the mix I've decided to do NaNoWriMo - which is when you write a novel (50,000 words) in a month in November, and only Overly Caffeinated Werewolves (Are Not Pretty) or The Toad Lord would be eligible for this, and I have a bit of juggling to do.

Which one next... which one..
Let me ponder, and return to the dishes and my editing, and hey, looks like the rain has stopped for the moment, the playground calls.

Mummy's very Favouritest Special Toys

There's something peculiarly satisfying about garden work. Especially with sharp devices. A saw and a long handled trimmer can shape a tree in a matter of moments. One minute there's a beast, the next  a shapely tree.
I find it hard to believe I was unaware of this magic until recently.
The speed of the transformation is a worry, and has often led to me saying, Oops. There goes the tree. But it's all for the greater good, and there's normally enough life left for the tree to take off again in spring and space is revealed, symmetry restored, sky discovered.
I never realised until recently how much better some trees look after a good trim.
The cypress out the front was dark and gloomy with it's full complement of unruly foliage; a bit of cutting back - and behold - a friendly climbing tree and heaps more space for the kids to run in.
Yesterday I finally got around to going up the wattle-walnut tree again to get down some of the over-running vine and dead wood. Wedged up a tree with a saw, looking down on the world and busily bringing order, brings a new perspective to things.
I recommend it to all and sundry.
While in the bush wild is good, in the garden space and (some degree of order) rule the day. And I'm not averse to wielding sharp-devices-of-power; until I get my magic-talking-sword, the saws and clippers will have to to substitute. Mummy's very favouritest special toys. Not to be touched by small hands.
(Yes, Sprocket, that means you. Okay, you can use Mummy's saw, but Mummy has to help you.)
Now to apply the same principles to my novel.
To clip away all the passive sentences, trim the sections that delay the story, saw off the excess description and prune the unwieldy paragraphs.
And when that's done there's the fun stuff - planting camellias and azaleas where the overgrown trees were, popping tulips and freesias into the sunny place revealed by savagely pruned bushes and, when in doubt chucking in some roses. You can never have too many roses. (As long as you keep them pruned, an untamed rose is a savage monster. I know, we battled one last year, four times my size and thrice as bloody-thirsty it was a very satisfying victory when it was cut to size) Then to go prowling for a place to re-plant the citrus trees.
Or rather...fleshing out the section with the mermaid and the Great Library, adding in the description of the potions and the meeting with the unruly, but very clean, pixie, strengthening the motif of the dragon in the basement, heightening the conflict between mother and daughters and allowing the character of the evil one to become multidimensional. Adding in the relationship with the hero, which I seem to have skipped.
Fun, fun, fun!

Now, if I can only work my way up to the electric saw - both in my book and in the garden, then we'll really be talking. Vrooom. Vroom. 

This one, that one, this one, that one... Toss a Coin?

I'm in the midst of the Great Title Debate. (Or trying to put off cleaning a house, which considering this last week I've done very little but write and play with the kids, is in an interesting state.)
Having my manuscript in a (semi) finished state I'm second guessing all the details. Of which the title is the biggest.
What's in a title? How much depends on it? How much should you disclose of the contents of the novel in a title - or should it just sound interesting and different? And how different can it sound when there are already so many millions of books out there!
Sigh.
So far with this book, a young adult fantasy adventure, I've gone through a multitude of various titles.
South Sea Secrets (& the variant South Sea Magic) when I was taking it in a different, doomed, direction.
Guardians of the Lands of Lost Lore,
Gatekeepers of the Lands of Lost Lore,
A Gratitude of Dragons,
Scheherezade's Legacy,
The Storyteller's Legacy,
Nell in the Lands of Lost Lore,
An Emporium Sisters Escapade, Book One, Spice, (Okay, I was getting desperate)
The Phoenix Feather
and the current title Dragons' Nests and Fire Berries  which I only changed back to very late last night, although it means I need to beef up the role of the fireberries. Okay. Add them in from the side notes. I suggested to my Beloved that I use Dragons' Nests and Fire Birds, as there is a central phoenix, but he said it wasn't as catchy. Is he right? And I recently added a werewolf element in... should I try to use that?

Anyone got any ideas? As you can see, I'm still floundering...