Lilith Saintcrow

Since today I’m running around like a spastic chicken, there’s no Friday writing post. (I will instead point you at this Lammas Day post, a recent oldie but goodie about how there is no SECRET.)

I’m getting ready for Orycon and preparing the house for a weekend without me. If you’re going to be at Orycon and want to say hello, here’s my schedule. (If that doesn’t work, choose me in the drop-down box here and you’ll get to the same place.) My reading has been moved to Sunday morning in the Salem room, and I think I will bring some Jill Kismet and some of the upcoming YA and let whoever is there choose what they want to hear.

That is, of course, if anyone shows up. *cringes a little*

The big sci-fi/fantasy event at Powell’s last night was completely awesome. I got to sit between Devon Monk, who is smart and funny, and Barb Hendee, who I got to tell how much I love Leesil the half-elf assassin. Between that and a glut of Tanith Lee I didn’t already own, it was a smash occasion. (Except for the traffic getting there. Ugh.) Many thanks to everyone who came, especially Marne, Kristin, and Aimee. (You guys rock.)

All right. I’ve got forty-eight hours worth of work to fit into three hours or so. Wish me luck–and see you at Orycon!

About thirty seconds ago I was baking cookies and discussing the impending messy death of a pretty important secondary character with a teenager who stops and looks at me and says, “I think you’re one of the kindest people I know.”

“That’s all very well, dear,” I reply abstractedly, “but I’ve got to kill him. It just won’t work otherwise. Want a cookie?”

My life is so made of awesome sometimes. And tomorrow I get to send fresh cookies to my agent.

Hee. MADE OF WIN.

Mmmh, wish it was a Sunday…no, not really. But here I am, random.

* This is what my life is like this week. Picture is definitely worth a thousand words.

* I don’t know what’s up with my forum. It just died. I didn’t touch it, I didn’t do a thing with it. We’re all poking at it trying to make it respond. It just won’t. ARGH.

* There’s a signing this week, and Orycon. Stay tuned!

* When I get a bit fitter (and since I’m going to be upping the time I run pretty much weekly or every two weeks, it’s not that far away) I want to get myself a flapper dress full of fringes. Because I want to, and also because I’ve been listening to the Bangles this morning.

Look, just don’t ask. Just let me have my dream.

* The book isn’t as bad as I thought. I took a little break from it yesterday–the Selkie and I met Candy from Smart Bitches for brunch (Candy and I compared our shovelgloving muscle gains. She wins best all-around bulging, I win on the deltoids. I am apparently a specialist.) Then we ambled to Powell’s, did a blazing run through (I think that’s the shortest half-hour I’ve ever spent) and then Everyday Music. I did find the Callas Tosca, used, for $8.50. Much rejoicing was had by all. Then I came back and filled in some holes, making wordcount by the skin of my teeth.

* Last but not least…you asked for it, if you read this far. Tell me, can you…WALK LIKE AN EGYPTIAN?

You’re welcome.

Watching Wile E. Coyote cartoons while thinking about the Friday writing post is probably not good for me. I’m just sayin’.

I am now in that part of the novel–a quarter to a third through, basically–where I realize I have been wrong for 20-odd thousand words and now I know the real way everything should go. This feeling is deep and panic-laden, and it is the bane of many a good writer.

The seduction, of course, is to go back over what you’ve written and rewrite it according to the New Shiny Idea. This is all very well, but it doesn’t get one any further toward the finish line.

My solution is to just start at that point, assume that I can fix the front end of the book later, and write the rest of the story according to the New Shiny Idea. A zero draft does not have to be perfect, and it’s a lot easier to go back and tweak the initial 20K than it is to rewrite the first 20K five times and then get discouraged and toss the whole work, which usually ends up happening.

Constantly reworking the front of your novel according to the New Shiny Idea is 98% of the time an avoidance tactic dressed up as something you could conceivably think is good writing habit. It feels like you’re making progress, you end up writing 70-100K or so, but you do not have a finished work to show for it. You have an overchewed piece of steak. It is a trick to keep you from finishing, because finishing is scary.

Finishing is scary because it is only the first step in submitting, getting rejected or published, etc. It represents a whole new set of problems, chief among them is the ever-famous Internal Censor screaming you finished this and it’s still a piece of crap! Who told you that you could do this!

I can’t say it often enough. Do yourself a favor and get the whole corpse up on the table before you start operating on it, trimming and tweaking and making it pretty enough to bury. (Hey, all metaphors break down sooner or later. So sue me.) Do not worry if you get a great idea of blinding flash of light a third or a quarter or half of the way there. Incorporate that idea at the point you get it, and keep forging ahead.

Believe me, you will revise a finished work often enough to get sick of it, and enough times to fully meld that shiny idea seamlessly with the beginning.

Just don’t obsessively rework the front end of the story. Of all the avoidance behaviors new (and even experienced) writers display, this is one of the worst and most seductive because it feels like you’re doing actual work when you’re really…not.

It’s hard just to keep on keepin’ on. Believe me. I am right now trying my damndest not to go back and fiddle with a few important things that ABSOLUTELY MUST go in the front of the story–but if they ABSOLUTELY MUST, I will catch them in revision. So will my beta, and my editor, and my agent. There will be no shortage of opportunities to shoehorn. Right now, though, my job is to get this whole thing out of my head and onto the page.

Time to get back to work.

I’ve hung prisms in some of the windows (they were on sale at the craft store) and today is (so far) sunny. We’re going to have rainbows. I like the idea.

The second 20-minute run occurred today. I did not die, explode, collapse, or anything.

It was a wee bit anticlimactic.

But I still feel that glow of accomplishment, thinking that I can run for twenty whole minutes. (And a big thank you to everyone who commented encouragingly the other day!) I mean, sure I run slow. And I’m sure my face looks funny at times, because I’m thinking while I’m running, putting together plot arcs or just letting my brain take hurdles at its own pace. That sort of focused daydreaming is, I find, integral to keeping the creative engine running. I wonder, if they hooked me up to an electroencephalogram, which brain waves those would be. Probably alpha. Time does funny things while one is in that state.

I love dancing for that reason–it gets you into that timeless state. I suppose if I get my fitness level a little higher I might sign up for ballet again with the Princess. I think we’d both like that.

NaNo continues to go well. The book is taking shape, and I know there will be ugly stuff I have to trim or tweak later. But I think I’ve hit a rhythm.

Still, I’m tired today. There’s been a lot going on at Casa Saintcrow. The emergency footing is over, but I’m feeling the frustration of rebound and not being able to do more for someone in need. So maybe I’ll work on the gargoyle story instead.

But first, I’m going to just sit here for a minute and beam. Because I can run for twenty minutes.

It’s not a huge achievement, but it’s mine, and I’m gonna feel good about it.