Have I mentioned...

...how incredibly difficult writing is? The process of getting the story out of my head and onto the paper is taxing. Trying to expressing a character's feelings is worse. Editing can be unbearable. 2 a.m. is a horrid time to write, and yet here I am once again.

Must

get

sleep

soon.

A clear head has to be better than this cloudy, exhausted orb resting on my shoulders right now.

A good question

I have no clue why I keep this blog. I know why I started it--I had every good intention of recording my writing journey, my woes and break-throughs. It hasn't quite worked out that way, has it? Between mothering four children, remodeling for four months and trying to keep my house from imploding from the weight of 15 batches of laundry per week, I have been overwhelmed. Swamped. For a while there I thought I was drowning.

But I kept the tip of my nose above the seas of chaos, kept breathing, and am writing again. It's such a joy to my soul. I love having something that is mine-all-mine, something to work on, to create. I love the giddiness of opening my Mac to find words, my words, staring back at me and begging for revision. I love the little thrill that zips down my arms when I realize I've molded a scene into something truly good. My novel is not beautiful, heart-rending prose a la Keats, it is a YA novel full of angst and shallowness, but within the characters a depth is unfolding. I love writing about teenagers. They are so self-absorbed, yet teachable and constantly experiencing defining moments. Casey and Ezra are in the same boat. They're seniors trying to swim out of the communist society of high school--the society that has jammed them into roles they aren't ready to accept.

I recently realized I'd spoken to an illustrator friend about doing some drawings for my chapter headings nearly a year ago.  That realization was a bit discouraging, but I am forging on. And really enjoying the process again, come mountains of laundry or vomiting children.

Excuses, excuses!

I haven't written but twice in the past three months! It's been a long, hard, dry spell and there's no respite in the near future. Between a kitchen remodel, juggling four kids and a week-long trip to Disney, I am spent. But I wrote for hours this week which was bliss.

March will hopefully find me back in the saddle again.

Only Mostly Dead

I am not dead. Yet. I am exhausted and have no time to write, let alone think about anything but my son's upcoming surgery, Christmas and all the lovely holiday entails (including hours upon hours on the computer for non-writing shopping, researching...am I the only one who obsesses?), and catching some shut-eye every once in awhile.

The plan: dive head-first back into my novel once the kids are out of school (and I don't have to worry about the blasted schedule) and continue on when they go back in January.

I miss the character chatter that used to constantly fill my brain. Is it strange to say I'm a little lonely without Casey and Ezra? And Jean-Pierre, oo-la-la! I'm sticking to it, promise. Until then, the blog will continue it's silent time-out.

Merry Christmas!

To Sleep, Perchance...

I am a perpetual night owl. It's a double-edged sword. My muse awakens around midnight, but it's about the time my brain stops forming cohesive sentences. To write alone, uninterrupted, without a babe on my leg...it's worth the sleep deprivation. But it does catch up with me, and the loss of sleep has hit me hard this week. October overflowed with family and visitors and staying up into the wee hours of the morning. It was worth it, as always, but I stole from the sleep fairy, and now there's H-E-double-hockey-sticks to pay. Mr. J and kids can vouch for me. They've been taking the brunt of my theft.

The other night I went to bed at eleven--Mr. J was knocked flat on his back, shocked. It's like getting the kids in bed by seven. It never happens. But I needed the sleep badly, so there I was, cozy and warm under the covers, the only light coming from the numbers on my clock. Just as I was drifting into that wonderful, fuzzy place where your mind is all mushy but you can kinda, sorta still hear the tree branches scratching against the window, just when I was there...words came streaming through my consciousness. The opening scene of my book played out in my mind--the scene I have worked on approximately 86,493 times re-wrote itself right behind my darkened eyes. And I knew it was good, much better than anything I'd written before, but why--*yawn*--why did it have to come now? It wasn't even midnight yet.

I rolled my tired bones out of bed and typed in the dark on my laptop as hubs moved into REM slumber. I'm glad I did. Even in the light of the day, it's proved to be good stuff. Now, dear Muse, if you could but wake me and tell me exactly what I need to change on page 257, I would be much obliged.

This beats out any YouTube laughing baby vid...

You can't help but be happy after watching it.


...And lucky me, I am related to this chub-a-lub.

Needed this

http://querytracker.blogspot.com/2009/10/editing-how-to-avoid-staring-into-great.html

Advice on editing your manuscript. Great, sound advice. I'll be re-reading it in the throes of my editing woes.