Onward and upward...

Project X is going along swimmingly. It's just pouring out of me, which is an alien sensation.

Confession time: I'm not what you could call a fast writer. I mean, when I'm writing, it's fast, but I have a hard time planting myself in the seat and actually doing it. If I hit a wall, I run and hide from it, sometimes for weeks. I see other authors' blogs where they talk about cheerfully (or torturously) churning out a book in three weeks, six weeks, three months. And I've always thought that clearly at some point I swallowed the blue pill instead of the red one.

But here is a different situation, and I'm quite intrigued, and I'm kind of having fun letting myself write compulsively and quickly. One fun thing about this book is that the story doesn't hinge on the details of the plot--X doesn't need to lead to Y and then Z, and if you change Y and Z and then X doesn't fit in, you are at an impasse. This book is more about the characters--who did what to whom and who said what to whom and what they did about it and what happens next and so on.

We'll see if it's all worth anything, in the end, but for now I'm going to go with the flow.

It's sort of a lesson of "don't put yourself in a box"--maybe I could cheerfully (or torturously) churn out a manuscript in two months (let's face it: three weeks might be forever out of my range).

I guess we'll find out!

Last night I dreamed that a pirate ship was coming to attack, and the husb was an officer on the ship that was going to go out and fight them. The captain of the ship and his wife were very elegant and genteel, and when I asked if I could go say good-bye to the husb before they left port, the captain refused, because he had seen the husb's gigantic bushy beard and figured he was the second assistant cook or something, instead of realizing that he was an officer. I'm sure I didn't help matters by not being genteel or elegant myself.

This probably ties into the fact that yesterday the husb finally got around to tidying up his facial hair and the bathroom looked like a small furry animal had exploded.

Happy Thursday!

Wooooooooo, scary!

Happy Halloween! Last night I had a panicky dream that we didn't have any of our Christmas decorations up yet. (I must secretly be a department store -- oh, snap!) And I came home and the husb was taping Happy Birthday streamers to multicolored balloons. At least he was trying.

I made myself a really simple skirt yesterday out of Halloween fabric, but this morning I have to tackle Winston's costume. I don't know what to make him. Last year we were both Dalmatians.

I've been letting the book sit for a few days while I decompress... I have to jump back in soon, probably this weekend. I'm sure I'll find tons of stuff to change. That's just the way it is. The thing is, I get it in the best shape possible before I send it in -- I really do ask myself, "Would you want it published exactly the way it is?" And by the time I send it off to an editor, the answer is, "Yes, if it had to be." Because while it would be wonderful to hear that I am a perfect writer and got everything right the first try, I like feedback and I like having the input of an editor. So far, between the Lovely Editor and the Delightful Editor, I don't feel that the book has been led astray at any point.

So that's good. And that means editors' notes aren't scary to me... But yesterday I did take a peek back at the first couple of chapters of the WIP -- now that's scary. Both the prospect of finishing it AND the prospect of revising it.

Have a good day! Anybody dressing up?

How authors really make their living.

Last night, I dreamed that Therese Fowler and Pat Wood tried to get me to rob a bank with them. I initially agreed, but then there was an announcement, really more of a plea, stating that there was word of an intended bank robbery and would the robbers please reconsider? I did change my mind, and then I had to call Therese and tell her, and she said, "I knew what you were going to say." And she was pretty gracious about it, but I was a little worried they were going to send a hitman after me.

I think I had too much caffeine with dinner.

Speaking of dreams, the night before last, I dreamed that we were doing the 48-Hour Film Festival again, trying to come up with a script. And the woman I was on a team with (whoever she was) had this really terrible idea, and I kept saying, "What's the conflict? What's the conflict?" and she said, "He tells her he doesn't like the barbecue sauce," and then when I insisted that this was not enough to carry a story, she fired me from the team.

I'm not sure if there's a conclusion to be drawn from this or not, except maybe that I took this blog entry over at Pub Rants more seriously than I knew at the time.

We have friends in town. They are seeing the sights while I see the monitor on my desk over at the dog show.

Maybe I should change my mind about that bank thing.

A bit of this and a bit of that and a song about birds.

You know you were cut out for a life of luxury when nature creates you with a built-in sleep mask.

Last night I dreamed that I got to see the cover of my book. It looked like a Dr. Phil book -- a red background with a photo on the front, and the title at the bottom in a very conservative gold/brown print. I immediately freaked out and started suggesting changes. In my dream, I even explained the Photoshop techniques for achieving the end I had in mind. It was probably a pretty cool cover.

My title is probably changing, but more on that later.

I am off and writing on the next book. This one is different; I was trying to decide third person or first, and I settled on first person present tense. It fits the character and her situation, I think. I feel like I'm writing without a net, but I think that's how I always feel. I am also going to do a little more mapping out of this book than I usually do, but that will come in the near future. I need to get inside the character's head for a while first.

Dog show is in progress once more. It's funny, because there are other shows at my company, and some producer from another show said something jokey about the dog shows. This person was immediately shut down (as the tale was told to me, at least). The thing is, doing something 20+ times does not make it easier -- not if you want every show to be better than the last. It makes it more challenging. You are always setting out to conquer your previous effort.

Thanks for all the bird sympathy. A friend at work, on hearing about the birds, said, "Oh, I have a great quote for you." I thought it might be something like Spring is a time when life renews, and new life faces adversity and triumphs etc. etc. etc. No, her quote was something like Spring is cruel to the weak and unfit or something. It made me laugh.

I think the Indigo Girls actually said it better.

Fly Away

Fly away little bird
Any place in this open mouthed world
Begs to be fed like a bed that beckons you, but you won't rest
Everyone's got a need to go
Most of us stick with our row to hoe
But not you, you're the black crow
With a straight line, and no time
For the birds of prey who wreck your nest
Twice your size steal your best
They set you on this course of your collision

I am a stop along your way
I am the words you'll never say
I crossed the great beyond of fear
I opened my eyes and saw us there, what a view
You went there too

Fly away little bird
Find the song in you that no one's heard
Strenghthen your wings as you sing your solo flight
Through this short life
Everyone's got a deep regret
We try to ground ourselves to forget
But your race to the end is neck and neck
You love them, you love them not
The birds of prey who wreck your nest,
Twice your size steal your best
They set you on this course of your collision

I am a stop along your way
I am the words you'll never say
I crossed the great beyond of fear
Opened my eyes and saw us there, what a view
And you went there too

But all along your chosen path are
Window panes and sheets of glass
That you won't see
You fly too fast
One day it will be over

Fly away little bird
The saddest song I ever heard
Was the one I wrote you in my heart
That never made it to the world.

Thanks a lot, resting brain!

Last night in my dream I went to this... place. I don't know what it was. A restaurant or something? Anyway, the girl that worked there came up to me and said, "Wow! You're wearing an extra ten pounds in your face."

(Die, wench!)

Then she hugged me, and proclaimed that my body could use some help, but that things could be worse.

Which is how everyone likes to start off their Friday, am I right?

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.

Untrue, I did not dream I went to Manderley.

I dreamed I went to the Jersey Shore.

I have never been to the Jersey Shore. I have never particularly wanted to go. But in my dream, I somehow ended up there, scrambling out of the water, trying to beat the rising tide up the sand. And far off in the distance were these strikingly beautiful mountains, similar to the Alps. And all of a sudden I knew why people liked the Jersey Shore so much, and talked about going "down the Shore".

I'm afraid to really look up a picture. What if New Jersey really is that beautiful and I've been missing out all my life?

Deep thoughts from a dream:

From a written list of story ideas, long missing, that in my dream I found:

"What if that lady who looks like your mommy is staring at you because she IS your mommy?!?"

Fog on the Freeway

I don't hate freeways. I hate surface streets. The freeway has its own little honor code, and 90% of the people obey it 90% of the time. Which means I can feel free to turn up the music and zone out.

Besides, on a surface street, you can't...

(1) ...see the tiny white government butterflies flying overhead by the tens of thousands. This was the most amazing sight. Butterflies, butterflies, buttterflies... the hope was that they would eat the pollen from the excess vegetation and keep it from growing quite so thick and providing more fuel for the wildfires. That would make it two years ago that I saw them. And I still maintain that if I ever start a girl band, we're going to be called "Government Butterflies."

(2) ...get caught in fog so thick that you can only see five cars on either side of you, so you feel like you're in a little caravan to the end of the earth.

(3) ...get that crazy "where am I?" feeling when the clouds change the direction of the light... "What freeway is this? Where am I going? Where's my exit?"

(4) ...see enormous deer standing on a hill, watching over the traffic.

I didn't rush in to blog my dream, because it was terrible. It was about a group of people stuck in a museum with a serial killer, who was quite violent. I think this came about as a result of talking about "The Sims" yesterday and all the fun ways to kill your Sims, such as having a party, waiting until they all go into the pool for a swim, and then removing the ladders so they can't get out. That actually happened in my dream.

So I'm going to let the ether have that dream.

If only...?

Last night I dreamed that the live show kinda sorta happened and then all of a sudden it was done. A Kerry Blue won it all (which, as I'm sure everyone knows, is the breed that won in 2002). A Doberman won the Working Group. A Sheltie won Herding. I couldn't for the life of me remember who won the rest. Maybe a Ridgeback took Hound. Mostly the dream consisted of me wandering around saying to people, "Can you believe it's over? I'm in so much shock I can't remember a darn thing about it!"

So, while the experience is exhilarating and fun in many ways, it was pretty nice to know it was done, and without a hitch.

Last night I dreamed about zombies.

Current mood: sleepy
Category: Life

I don't remember much of the dream, only that it was scary (** good God, speaking of scary, Winston just growled like a freaking Rottweiler for about fifteen seconds straight... I don't know what he was growling at, but let's hope it was the cardboard box in the living room and not a zombie). Anyway, the zombies were mean and hungry and we were all at one of the cathedrals we went to in Dublin, only it was dark and scary inside (and outside). It was also some kind of hotel or shopping mall, and I vaguely remember wanting to stay in my room. And I was late to get back on the tour bus, but I figured they owed it to me to wait.

Maybe that's why I hate leaving my house. You know, zombies.

What a horrible place the world would be if there were zombies wandering all over the place. I did enjoy the movie "Shawn of the Dead", kind of. We had to watch it with subtitles, because the accents were so thick. And before watching that movie, I didn't know that in addition to sounds I can make when things are funny, and sounds I can make when things are scary, I have a completely unique sound for things that are both funny and scary.

In other news, if I don't start working on my Christmas quilt soon, it's going to be a very odd Valentine's Day quilt.

Winston is like the world's living teddy bear. I love how people at work just come in and want to be near him. And he's so sweet to them. It's so comforting to have him around.

I'm sleepy.

All moved in.

Here we are in our new house. Almost two months here and still just the three pictures on the walls. Well, what can you do?

Winston is good. (I use the word "good" loosely.) He is better and worse than before. The husb had him clipped so he has short hair, excepting the ears and tail. His ears are kind of smelly. You wouldn't believe the acrobatics we go through to get eardrops in this dog. And then he gets mad at us and pouts and tries to rub his ears into the rug.

Work is also good. We're well underway on Portland. Enjoyable, as always, but I'm still looking forward to having some time off in March. Woohoo.

I just thought I should write here before it did actually get to be Valentine's Day. (When clearly I still have a whole week.)

Last night I dreamed I was running the track. I can't run in my dreams. It's consistent -- I don't think I ever have. It's always this agonizing slow-motion thing where I'm just dying to break out. I even tried stretching (in my dreams, I am very flexible). It helped, but I still couldn't get any actual speed. Very frustrating. I wish dream exercise counted.

Okay, going now.

Have written 552 words this week. Goal is 2,000. I think I can make it. But not if I keep goofing off and blogging away my time.


Comment from original posting:

Jacob said...

I was just searching "cant run in my dreams" to see if it was common, or if I was weird. When I was about 16 and ever since, I can run in my dreams. I remember the first dream where I couldn't run. It's like my feet can barely touch the ground. When I was a kid, I remember running in nightmares. I still have nightmares once in a while. And I cannot run away. But I never get caught, unless I give up. I've even grabbed onto moving vehicles to get away. And that worked. Usually when I'm running away, and there's nothing moving to grab onto. I'll try to use my hands, and run on all fours, to try and go faster. It usually works for a few seconds. Well I just thought I'd comment. It seems to be fairly common.

Jacob
Winnipeg, Canada
6:44 PM