Yup. I did it. I not only finished my first novel, I finished the full polish.
Which, of course, doesn't mean jack squat.
I can't tell you how exhilirating it is to say it's done. While I have been working on this non-stop for the better part of the last five months, the idea is really more than six years old. To say that I actually have a complete, end-to-end, yes-it-really-has-an-ending, novel sitting on my hard drive, one that at least a few people think has some potential, makes me giddy.
Of course, I also feel like 40 year old virgin spinster at her first vibrator party--excited, scared, a little confused and wondering what the hell I do with this thing next.
Because in reality, I have only climbed one rung of the ladder. Oh sure, it is the biggest, hardest and most intimidating rung, but there is still a looming climb to becoming a published author. But the thing is, you can't become published if you don't have a damn book!
And I have a damn book!
So, its on to creating the synopsis, polishing the query letter for the 947th time and researching those agents who look like they might give a guy with a beer belly and a penchant for ribald similies a break.
So, while I continue the climb, at least I know I have made it out of the morass of wannabes and pretenders who keep saying they will write a book but never do. I must admit, the view from this level is pretty sweet.
Cheers.
AA
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Editing Update - Almost There!
Whew! The Writer Therapy bloghop was a rush. I cruised the interwebs and peeked in on the writing habits of two dozen of my fellow wanna be authors (and an occasional published one). It is exhilarating to see that there is so much support among the writing community.
I also saw more traffic in two days to this little corner of the blogosphere than in the last month. That's very cool. I hope my ramblings, rants and occasional Dr. Suess riff were well-received. Welcome to all those that dropped by and decided to follow.
The blog hop made me peek through previous posts and I realized I hadn't updated on the editing of the Work in Progress (WIP) in some time. I can't believe it was over a month ago that I updated. Time doesn't only fly, it zooms like a friggin rocket, causing whole weeks to disappear. But, I am happy to say that the first full-edit of the WIP is nearly complete. Here are the basic stats:
37 Chapters
91,000 words
335 pages
Three of the remaing five chapters are fairly short (under 2k words) but the 'money shot' chapter where everything wraps up is over 5k, so I am going to end up a little higher than I planned at about 107-110k since I still have to add a wrap up chapter now that I have tidied up most of the loose ends.
The cool thing--and those writers out there know exactly what I am talking about--is that as I move through this section of the work, I haven't seen it in several weeks and as I sit down to edit I get lost in the actual reading of my own book. I wrote the damn thing and yet I find myself clicking through page after page asking 'what happens next?!?!'
I take that as a postive sign. :)
Getting to the end of the edits is a mixture of relief, exhilaration and dread. It is good to get through it, but just like the actual writing, I know I had good days and bad days during the editing process. There are still going to be rough patches that need more work. But the book is on the cusp of query ready and I have already generated a list of agents that I will be sending it out to, broken down into a couple of tiers. That causes the dread. Is the query good enough? Is the synopsis good enough (for those agents that want it)? Can I figure out how to convert the damn thing to .RTF? Will I hit send and hear nothing but crickets chirping for the next two months?
Ah, well, for those that have been following from the beginning (Hi Mom! Again!), you know that I will keep pushing on. Over the past six to eight months, I've come to realize that writing is something I will do regardless of whether an agent moons over my work. But I'll get there. Hopefully before retirement age.
Cheers!
AA
I also saw more traffic in two days to this little corner of the blogosphere than in the last month. That's very cool. I hope my ramblings, rants and occasional Dr. Suess riff were well-received. Welcome to all those that dropped by and decided to follow.
The blog hop made me peek through previous posts and I realized I hadn't updated on the editing of the Work in Progress (WIP) in some time. I can't believe it was over a month ago that I updated. Time doesn't only fly, it zooms like a friggin rocket, causing whole weeks to disappear. But, I am happy to say that the first full-edit of the WIP is nearly complete. Here are the basic stats:
37 Chapters
91,000 words
335 pages
Three of the remaing five chapters are fairly short (under 2k words) but the 'money shot' chapter where everything wraps up is over 5k, so I am going to end up a little higher than I planned at about 107-110k since I still have to add a wrap up chapter now that I have tidied up most of the loose ends.
The cool thing--and those writers out there know exactly what I am talking about--is that as I move through this section of the work, I haven't seen it in several weeks and as I sit down to edit I get lost in the actual reading of my own book. I wrote the damn thing and yet I find myself clicking through page after page asking 'what happens next?!?!'
I take that as a postive sign. :)
Getting to the end of the edits is a mixture of relief, exhilaration and dread. It is good to get through it, but just like the actual writing, I know I had good days and bad days during the editing process. There are still going to be rough patches that need more work. But the book is on the cusp of query ready and I have already generated a list of agents that I will be sending it out to, broken down into a couple of tiers. That causes the dread. Is the query good enough? Is the synopsis good enough (for those agents that want it)? Can I figure out how to convert the damn thing to .RTF? Will I hit send and hear nothing but crickets chirping for the next two months?
Ah, well, for those that have been following from the beginning (Hi Mom! Again!), you know that I will keep pushing on. Over the past six to eight months, I've come to realize that writing is something I will do regardless of whether an agent moons over my work. But I'll get there. Hopefully before retirement age.
Cheers!
AA
Monday, October 22, 2012
Writer Therapy - How I avoid going postal
Today, the good folks at Writer Therapy are sponsoring a blog hop. The question they presented is what do I use as writer's therapy (see what they did there?) and how do I use it to maintain my writerly aspirations and not chuck the whole computer out the window?*
At first, the question seemed simple. What do I use as therapy so I can continue to press forwad and write. Then I realized there are so many reasons that I might not write. Now, I had a much more complicated question on my hand. After all, one week, I may put in nearly ninety hours at the 'real job' and have no energy or time to write. Is the therapy I need for that the same as when I have plenty of time, but am struggling on developing plot for the newest work? What about like now, when I am deep into edits of a completed work and the writing is not pounding out words, but erasing them and struggling to find better words to say the same thing?
Not so simple a question now, is it? But I've thought about it, and realized that despite the type of problem I am experiencing with my writing, there is one common theme to the therapy I use to combat it: time.
I have never been the type to have a 'go to' means of stress relief. I love massages, but can't afford a biweekly rubdown. I don't have a specific hobby unless you count planting my butt in front of a television the size of a double-wide to watch hockey games (get your act together NHL and NHLPA!) and while I used to play sports religiously, that would be counterproductive now since the aches and pains of moving this old body faster than a brisk walk would prevent me from sitting at a keyboard for more than thirty seven seconds.
But getting away from the writing in some manner always works. Thankfully, it also doesn't require removing myself too far from writing either. For instance, I can jump on Scribophile and edit someone else's work for an hour or dial up the latest Chuck Wendig or Chris F. Holm or Kevin Hearne book and read for several hours. I also love spending time with Loving Wife and the Kiddo and with my son getting heavily involved with band projects, a lot of time is being spent there!
I'm lucky. My personality is such that I don't stress much even in the most critical situations. I also have never put much undue pressure on myself (Loving Wife insists my nervous system is laced with Xanax). However, I do get obsessive about things. As I mentioned in a previous post, the bug is in me and that sometimes has me writing or editing instead of doing some of the other important things in life. All things in moderation!
So for me, the answer of what I do as Writing Therapy is simple: give it time. Sometimes its letting the work percolate for a couple of days, sometimes just getting up and raiding the refrigerator in the middle of an editing session is enough. But in all cases, time is the answer. Time lets the little blue globe of writing mana fill back up and allows the maelstrom of dust I caused in the latest flurry of edits settle back down. This may be a simple answer, but it is wholly and completely me. And I figure if I can't be honest with myself, there is no way I can be honest as a writer.
Cheers!
*Okay, the computer is a 25 lb Alienware. Maybe I can just chuck the mouse?
Today, the good folks at Writer Therapy are sponsoring a blog hop. The question they presented is what do I use as writer's therapy (see what they did there?) and how do I use it to maintain my writerly aspirations and not chuck the whole computer out the window?*
At first, the question seemed simple. What do I use as therapy so I can continue to press forwad and write. Then I realized there are so many reasons that I might not write. Now, I had a much more complicated question on my hand. After all, one week, I may put in nearly ninety hours at the 'real job' and have no energy or time to write. Is the therapy I need for that the same as when I have plenty of time, but am struggling on developing plot for the newest work? What about like now, when I am deep into edits of a completed work and the writing is not pounding out words, but erasing them and struggling to find better words to say the same thing?
Not so simple a question now, is it? But I've thought about it, and realized that despite the type of problem I am experiencing with my writing, there is one common theme to the therapy I use to combat it: time.
I have never been the type to have a 'go to' means of stress relief. I love massages, but can't afford a biweekly rubdown. I don't have a specific hobby unless you count planting my butt in front of a television the size of a double-wide to watch hockey games (get your act together NHL and NHLPA!) and while I used to play sports religiously, that would be counterproductive now since the aches and pains of moving this old body faster than a brisk walk would prevent me from sitting at a keyboard for more than thirty seven seconds.
But getting away from the writing in some manner always works. Thankfully, it also doesn't require removing myself too far from writing either. For instance, I can jump on Scribophile and edit someone else's work for an hour or dial up the latest Chuck Wendig or Chris F. Holm or Kevin Hearne book and read for several hours. I also love spending time with Loving Wife and the Kiddo and with my son getting heavily involved with band projects, a lot of time is being spent there!
I'm lucky. My personality is such that I don't stress much even in the most critical situations. I also have never put much undue pressure on myself (Loving Wife insists my nervous system is laced with Xanax). However, I do get obsessive about things. As I mentioned in a previous post, the bug is in me and that sometimes has me writing or editing instead of doing some of the other important things in life. All things in moderation!
So for me, the answer of what I do as Writing Therapy is simple: give it time. Sometimes its letting the work percolate for a couple of days, sometimes just getting up and raiding the refrigerator in the middle of an editing session is enough. But in all cases, time is the answer. Time lets the little blue globe of writing mana fill back up and allows the maelstrom of dust I caused in the latest flurry of edits settle back down. This may be a simple answer, but it is wholly and completely me. And I figure if I can't be honest with myself, there is no way I can be honest as a writer.
Cheers!
*Okay, the computer is a 25 lb Alienware. Maybe I can just chuck the mouse?
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Blessing in Disguise or How I Caught the Bug
Several months ago, around the time I started this blog, I was recovering from a concussion. I was out of work for two full months. I have spent a small fortune's worth of electronic ink describing my fun with the feds that happened by my hospital while I was out on leave. And, quite frankly, concussions suck donkey balls.
But was that knock on the noggin a proverbial blessing in disguise?
I have been a pharmacist for sixteen and half years. Before that was three years of year round pharamcy school. The year before I went into pharmacy school, I worked at Disneyland nearly full-time. Before that was five years of undergrad where I worked full time during the summers in between semesters. So, you have to go back to the summer of my high school graduation, before I started college, to find anything close to two straight months of doing nothing.
What did I get out of that two months off with a constant (literal) headache and a pending (figurative) headache from the feds? I got two months to sit in front of a computer and write. When I sat down during that time, I was on chapter seventeen of this manuscript. A manuscript that saw me dabble with it on and off for the better part of four years (at least one file is listed as 2007!). But in that two months, I wrote THIRTY FIVE more chapters. I doubled my output of five years in eight weeks. Why? Because I had the time. Because I wasn't distracted.
Because I caught the bug.
Work is hard. Getting up and going to the hospital every day, dealing with rules, regulations and employees can be a grind. I like being a pharmacist. I am very good at what I do. But its a 45+ hour a week job on the good weeks (and a blackberry hardwired into my lower spinal column for constant contact). It is draining. I think all of us have felt that at some point or another. But since that two months, I come home and I can't stay away from the computer and Word and editing that next chapter. It should feel like more work. After all, if you are an author, writing IS your job. But it doesn't. It doesn't feel like work at all. It feels like I have to do it. I have to get through that next chapter. I have to finish the editing. I can't let it sit. I'm OCD with this writing thing.
Like I said...a bug, or maybe a disease. But for once, I am glad I got sick. Because writing, even with its own frustrations, makes me happy. It almost makes it worth the concussion.
But was that knock on the noggin a proverbial blessing in disguise?
I have been a pharmacist for sixteen and half years. Before that was three years of year round pharamcy school. The year before I went into pharmacy school, I worked at Disneyland nearly full-time. Before that was five years of undergrad where I worked full time during the summers in between semesters. So, you have to go back to the summer of my high school graduation, before I started college, to find anything close to two straight months of doing nothing.
What did I get out of that two months off with a constant (literal) headache and a pending (figurative) headache from the feds? I got two months to sit in front of a computer and write. When I sat down during that time, I was on chapter seventeen of this manuscript. A manuscript that saw me dabble with it on and off for the better part of four years (at least one file is listed as 2007!). But in that two months, I wrote THIRTY FIVE more chapters. I doubled my output of five years in eight weeks. Why? Because I had the time. Because I wasn't distracted.
Because I caught the bug.
Work is hard. Getting up and going to the hospital every day, dealing with rules, regulations and employees can be a grind. I like being a pharmacist. I am very good at what I do. But its a 45+ hour a week job on the good weeks (and a blackberry hardwired into my lower spinal column for constant contact). It is draining. I think all of us have felt that at some point or another. But since that two months, I come home and I can't stay away from the computer and Word and editing that next chapter. It should feel like more work. After all, if you are an author, writing IS your job. But it doesn't. It doesn't feel like work at all. It feels like I have to do it. I have to get through that next chapter. I have to finish the editing. I can't let it sit. I'm OCD with this writing thing.
Like I said...a bug, or maybe a disease. But for once, I am glad I got sick. Because writing, even with its own frustrations, makes me happy. It almost makes it worth the concussion.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Green Eggs and Coffee
I've tried to drink coffee, oh yes I have,
But I never drink coffee, which makes my wife sad.
I've tried lattes and mochas, sweetened and creamed.
I've tried it as ice cream and ways in between.
I'm old and I'm ornery and set in my ways
I wont drink your coffee, not now, not these days
Take it from here, this so vile brew
It won't touch my lips, it's not mine, but for you
My course has stayed steady, with nary a wobble,
Of coffee I've none, not even a snobble.
'Tis bitter and black and made none the better
By sugar or cream or even cold weather.
But today a thought, quite unexpected I guess
A request from my mouth gave quite some distress.
A small coffee, I said, to the Krispy Kreme girl,
Why not, thought my head, let's give it a whirl.
I received the dark brew, all steaming and hot,
Fresh smelly and strange and straight from the pot.
I toddled myself to the small narrow counter
And added some cream and some sugary powder.
"What are you doing?" I asked of my daring new head
We don't like this coffee, not ever you said!
But in went the sugar, followed by cream
Cooling the coffee, reducing the steam
I skedaddled myself straight back to the car
to make sense of my morning, a strange one by far.
Too hot for the lips, I set it aside
And wondered aloud as I finished my ride
What would the wife say, when soon she found out
I ordered a coffee, quite hot and most stout?
Finally it cooled and I was able to drink
of this popular liquid, this communal link
That connected so many, and if you were lucky
You could get one for nine bucks at the local Starbuckys
Wonder of wonders, the brew was still bitter,
But with cream and some sugar, I found I could sip her
This tiny carafe of watered down beans
that would hurt like the dickens, if spilled on my jeans.
I can't say, for sure, that coffee's my thing,
nor praises can I give, nor certainly sing
But I admit, for a day, my head has decided
That coffees not bad, and should not be blighted.
So I nod to the wife and beg her forgiveness,
As I sip on my soda and return to my business
Of dismissing the black brew I recently drank
as decidedly grody and bitter and rank
But perhaps, in a moment, of weakness I'm sure
I would fall prey to the odor, the tangible lure
Of sharing a coffee, her favorite drink
And not secrectly pour it straight down the sink.
But I will not enjoy it, that evil black brew!
(except maybe with cream, and a sugar or two.)
But I never drink coffee, which makes my wife sad.
I've tried lattes and mochas, sweetened and creamed.
I've tried it as ice cream and ways in between.
I'm old and I'm ornery and set in my ways
I wont drink your coffee, not now, not these days
Take it from here, this so vile brew
It won't touch my lips, it's not mine, but for you
My course has stayed steady, with nary a wobble,
Of coffee I've none, not even a snobble.
'Tis bitter and black and made none the better
By sugar or cream or even cold weather.
But today a thought, quite unexpected I guess
A request from my mouth gave quite some distress.
A small coffee, I said, to the Krispy Kreme girl,
Why not, thought my head, let's give it a whirl.
I received the dark brew, all steaming and hot,
Fresh smelly and strange and straight from the pot.
I toddled myself to the small narrow counter
And added some cream and some sugary powder.
"What are you doing?" I asked of my daring new head
We don't like this coffee, not ever you said!
But in went the sugar, followed by cream
Cooling the coffee, reducing the steam
I skedaddled myself straight back to the car
to make sense of my morning, a strange one by far.
Too hot for the lips, I set it aside
And wondered aloud as I finished my ride
What would the wife say, when soon she found out
I ordered a coffee, quite hot and most stout?
Finally it cooled and I was able to drink
of this popular liquid, this communal link
That connected so many, and if you were lucky
You could get one for nine bucks at the local Starbuckys
Wonder of wonders, the brew was still bitter,
But with cream and some sugar, I found I could sip her
This tiny carafe of watered down beans
that would hurt like the dickens, if spilled on my jeans.
I can't say, for sure, that coffee's my thing,
nor praises can I give, nor certainly sing
But I admit, for a day, my head has decided
That coffees not bad, and should not be blighted.
So I nod to the wife and beg her forgiveness,
As I sip on my soda and return to my business
Of dismissing the black brew I recently drank
as decidedly grody and bitter and rank
But perhaps, in a moment, of weakness I'm sure
I would fall prey to the odor, the tangible lure
Of sharing a coffee, her favorite drink
And not secrectly pour it straight down the sink.
But I will not enjoy it, that evil black brew!
(except maybe with cream, and a sugar or two.)
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