The Progress in Sketch Form

I created a blueprint for The Progress, which is a pivotal location in Fairville. Unfortunately, I can't upload .tif files to Blogger. I'll see if I can edit at home and upload it later.

Maybe now I can make some little Monopoly-sized characters so I can block out scenes properly....

It was this or The Sims....

The Thing About Pep Talks...

They only provide valuable advise if you actually use said advise.

I did not use my advise from the previous post.

I have not written anything in days.

I know this is one of those Stupid Writer Things you're not supposed to do, but my depression has been in Super Awesome Overkill Mode since last week. I'd pretty much convinced myself that this was not for me, and that I was wasting my own time and my loved ones' patience trying to be a Real Writer (as opposed to the kind who writes hundreds of short stories that are well-received, but completely unpublishable due to their fannish nature).

But I'm not going to give up. I am working on a plan to get the same kind of encouragement I got for my short stories--namely, someone reading as I go along and telling me, "You can't stop now." That's how I wrote the first novel.

Fact is, I do not have it in me to be my own pep squad. There are simply too many insecurities there, soo much self-esteem crap pulling me down and distracting me from the business of putting words on the screen.

So Fey is going to read my pages on Fairville as I write them, and bully me into writing more.

It's sad, but it's come to this. I need a keeper.

Thank god for girlfriends and chocolate. The universe would collapse without them.

Momentum: Succeeding at the Speed of Molasses

I got my biweekly pep-talk (via email) from Jenn this morning. Her timing is amazing--I'd just gotten back into that whole "Who am I to think I can do this?" mentality. My partner Fey, who is the Queen of All Patience, talked me down from quitting the new novel entirely last night. And Jennifer, out of the blue, reminded me that I have to PERSIST. How crazy is that?

Persist.

I work a full-time job and have a full-time relationship. I enjoy the occasional five hours of sleep a night, and even watch television sometimes. I try to carve out two full hours of writing a day, which doesn't seem like much, but I can get quite a lot done in a focused two hours.

Recently, however, I've been sleeping through my two hours--just so tired and depressed and hopeless. It started creeping back into my subconscious, those thoughts that success was for other people, that talent isn't enough, and that I just don't have what it takes to make my dreams come true.

Then, of course, I got the refill on my Prozac and things are starting to look up.

My book is not the Worst Piece of Crap Ever Committed to Paper.

I am not the Laziest Person in the Universe.

I am not Born to Be a Failure.

I can watch the occasional episode of Desperate Housewives or Eastwick (Damn you, ABC, for cancelling this show!) without being a total slacker.

I just need to PERSIST. Turn on the laptop. Write another thousand words. I can write a thousand words in my sleep--sometimes, they come out better that way. Send another query letter.

I just need to persist. And lighten the hell up.

These are the Days I Will Smile Upon

...when I'm a successful, published writer. I will look back over the ever-growing stack of rejections and think, that was the real world. That was trying. That was moving beyond my comfort zone and facing rejection in order to finally realize my dreams.

And I will remmeber that, despite the rejection, it was still a pretty wonderful time.

So. Next query goes out. Allons-y!

How do parents write?

Ever?

I tried to do my usual hour or two at the laundromat this week, and found myself with a nine-year-old boy attached to my aura. He was very nice, very interested in every single thing I was doing, even polite--in a nine-year-old boy sort of way.

And I couldn't concentrate enough to write a thing.

I have a whole new respect for parents who manage to have writing careers.

Why Diets Don't Work

A little concoction my partner Fey threw together last night--mini lava cake with spiced creme fraiche. Okay, so I haven't lost any weight since she started on this insane spell of cooking. I can live with that.

Fairville

I started work in earnest on Fairville last night. It was so nice to be working on a new project after so long with the first novel. At this point, that baby is in the hands of the fates (or whatever literary agent wisely chooses to pick me up.)

I have to admit, I love the first part of working on a story or novel, when everything is still nebulous. You can go anywhere, do anything, and create your reality as you go along. I was kind of surprised last night at the tone one of my scenes was taking, but pleased. I know where I'm going in my head, but I have no particular path I'm emotionally attached to. I just fully intend to enjoy the journey, trusting my ability to tell a decent story and create interesting characters. Angst does not create good fiction; it creates ulcers.