My Writing Life: The In Between Times

While finishing my book I was busy. Not regular busy, I was crazy-nose-to-the-keyboard-busy, writing and revising every free minute I had. For weeks my eyes were twitching and I had the craziest dreams. I wasn't even reading as much as usual. Finally my draft was ready and I sent it to two betas. I decided I'd take a break from that story. The plan was not to look at it for six weeks (this is the Stephen King advice). Hopefully when I pick my book up again, it will be with fresh eyes that can see the forest and the trees and all the plot points that need tweaking.

Actual trees

So I relaxed into the in-between life finally done writing and not yet editing. I tried to soak up the sense of pride at completing something. Surprisingly that worked for a few days. I watched Orphan Black and gave my dog a haircut. I had a list of books to read, some as research for my book. Tragically, despite how I tried to occupy my time I was left with too much of it. Maybe I was too adjusted to the hectic writing schedule or simply cannot handle being an inbetweener.* My mind itched to open the word document to start revising. I remembered things I need to clarify and I'm pretty sure I forgot to tie up one kind of important subplot. My betas are going to kill me. There was no way I'd make it six weeks without writing, so I pulled out an ongoing list of story ideas. I wrote a few lines summarizing what I would do with each one until I felt that tug and knew I'd found my next project.

Initially I thought starting a new book while another one is still in progress would be confusing. I was afraid I'd lose interest in my completed story and when the six weeks were up I'd ignore revisions in favor of writing the new book. Writing generally being more pleasant than revising which requires harsh self assessment. I suppose that could still happen, but I'm crossing my fingers that it doesn't. Possibly the new book will keep me optimistic when it's time to switch to editing mode or when I'm reviewing notes from betas asking, whatever happened to that pivotal character who is missing from the end of the book? Seriously, so sorry about that.




Disclaimer: Inbetweener is not a word. The Inbetweeners was a British sitcom about teenage boys. I have never been British or a teenage boy.

You Betcha, Beta!

If you have been following my blog for the last few months then you are probably tired of reading about me editing my YA Fantasy. Well you are in luck because I am changing my focus to a new story which at the moment is only an outline and a few hundred words of nonsense. The new story is a YA Retelling, there are fantasy elements, of course.

The YA Fantasy will continue to be edited and critiqued two chapters at a time with my super fabulous critique group. But I won't be waxing on and off about here.

I have finally sent copies to a few Beta Readers.

Eek!

It isn't perfect, far from it actually. However, it is time for it to be read. I am tired of keeping it to myself. I keep thinking about what Ursula LeGuin said.

"An unread story is not a story; it is little black marks on wood pulp. The reader, reading it, makes it live: a live thing, a story.”




I want it to come to life, to be a proper story. And then I want to perfect it. I want to know other peoples' thoughts because I am getting lost in the minutiae. For every hundred words I add, I remove just as many. I need to talk to someone who has read the whole thing, so they can ask questions.

It's time to let my sweet betas breathe some life into it and see if it can stand.

These are memories frozen in time

Cape May Point, Summer 2001

That's me with the pink hair and goofy face, Liz and Ariel.

Recently, my friend, Liz, was back in town for a baby shower (Ariel's actually). I went to her mom's house to visit. I really should call it The Burrow since Liz's mother has kept me nourished since 1997. We hung out, reminisced and ate tofu fajitas. Chicken and steak were also available, because she is Mrs. Weasley and makes sure everyone has what they want.

At one point Liz said she had one of my yearbooks. I didn't believe her. When would I have brought it over? She disappeared upstairs and, sure enough, she returned with my 2001 yearbook. I felt old. This was from ten years ago. Then I read the ridiculous things people wrote to me and I was happy to have a decade standing between then and now. I was confused though. Why I would leave it at her house?

As if to answer me, a note fell out from between the pages. One look at it and I was very pleased to have so many years between me and the version of me who wrote it.

I always complain about "kids these days" with their horrendous grammar and spelling online and in text messages. My niece, 17, is a big fan of adding extra letters to words. I can only assume this is to highlight their imporrrrrtanceeeee. Imagine my embarrassment when I see that I was taking similar liberties with spelling and capitalization. And what's with all the stars? I know I liked them, but really, isn't this excessive?

And why am I questioning the date? Couldn't I have found confirmation of that somewhere?

I read the note and laughed at my sixteen year old self, which would have really pissed her off. Finally, I saw the bottom.



I was proud to have learned what P.P.S. stood for, I guess.


Guess what? I opened the yearbook and there was a page in the back, the top corner said, "Liz's pg" and the whole thing was blank! 10 years and she never signed it. Sixteen year old me, suspected as much.

I vaguely remember writing this note. Liz spent the Summer of 2001, working as a beach tagger in Cape May Point. This was after our sophomore year of high school and a month before I turned 17 and got my driver's license.

There had been some drama. Liz was getting close a boy she had known for many summers spent at The Point. They were starting up a fling, I believe. But then, our guy friend went to visit her for a few days and on his last night there was much kissing. Things were weird because they were friends and...I think that is what I needed the calling card for. Oh, the days before cell phones, when you had to pay for long distance.

I miss my pink hair. That is all.