A Reprise

It has been a good week.  I did a Vampyre Tarot reading last night that helped me re-focus on my own life and activities at a time when I was becoming obsessive-compulsive. The third card, in the Future position, was Eight of Skulls. This card spoke to the work I am doing for comps and gave me focus today as I worked through both the annotated bibliography and more readings.  The description of the card in Phantasmagoria  really spoke to me in how it mentioned not over-focusing on the bigger picture, but instead taking time with the details. I feel that's where I need to focus my energy with the readings for comps. Understanding the individual works.  My mind still skips ahead to the future quite a bit, while I'm doing the readings. I wonder if I should include this short story or that when I teach the literature course in the Spring. I start to imagine how I would teach it. Then, I wonder if I'll have more opportunities to teach literature courses, or any courses at...

I'm sitting in a Starbucks, like I normally am when I am writing in this journal. It is kind of funny, I was just wondering to myself, do I like living in the country, or in the city better, and would it be all the same for me in a suburb moreover? I have found actually that maybe I have changed, that maybe my preferences have changed, that being alone or being in silence too much is actually very painful for me. This is so different than it used to be. I don't know if I suck at making conversation with people or what. I like to think I am always better than I think I am. It gives me confidence. As I was sitting here a man mentioned to me that I always used to hang out at the Starbucks on Green Oaks. Wow, that brought back such memories. Do you realize how many years ago that was? At least seven. We both expressed serious regret about that place closing down. I started scenes and characterizations there that I haven't been able to finish because the characters are "t...

Today I was overwhelmed with the need to work on my story (stories?), my fantasy world. There are so many options. There are two complete novels in existence. One half-finished, which is the prequel, and then the Cassandra story I've written sporadically on this blog as a postlude story. So that was going to be a five book series. Now that I'm reading Story Structure Architect I don't know if I need to combine these stories into parallels. Now that I'm really thinking about where the core energy and interest lies, it means I'm going to have to let go of some of the things about the stories, which is really painful. I really like the extensive flashbacks and the extra characters, but these stories are so unfocused and just whatever I like is thrown in there. I have to focus myself on the energies and not get caught up in the surface appeals. I made myself sit here for an hour and work on this pretty cold after probably a year of no editing or structure study....

You aren't supposed to talk about your writing, because it can hinder your creativity, but that is really half the fun for me, to get these ideas out and play with them. The Awakening is a new version of my same story I keep re-writing. I have put some elements back into it that were there in my first version that I took out when I re-wrote it as a regular gothic romance. Now it is back to being a dark fantasy/gothic romance, but it is presently, and may always, be without a hero-focus. Originally Gisele/Gisela was an angel/savior figure toward the damned inhabitants of the castle with their animal curses. I'm doing that again, and I'm also going more toward the ambiguous about her "true love," and I'm not sure she's going to have a true love. I'm exploring Gisele deeply. I find she is deeply moved by the thought that others would want or love her. This is basically "enough" for her, and the technique I have been studying in my very favorit...

I have spent the evening perusing my favorite novel of old, searching out its secrets, looking for the ways. As I revise Winter Light I feel the urgency to shape it now. I don't know if I should shape it in subtle shades with multiple drafts, or give it a large overhaul. I guess I should change whatever it occurs to me to change at least. Looking at the novel gave me confidence though. That favorite story is not the story I want to tell at all, but I think I can tell mine as well. The romance is what was popular in the mid-1990's, with lots of lavish costume, lingerie, candlelit baths, also a subplot of smuggling and intrigue which I find so dull I can't even read the book start to finish. Romance and adventure go together like peanut butter and bananas, yum to one, yuck to the other, but I know some people like both. Hey, it's fine. If peanut butter is romance, then gothic castles are honey. That's my preferred snack. And the more I work Winter Light, ...

I am writing in spare moments, little five minutes and thirty minutes strung together on a string. I cannot get any idea of how these moments will add into something significant. I don't know if I will get anywhere, but the brightness of summer is starting to blot out my feverish mind, and I don't care. I am almost finished with The Siren, and I am revising the beginning of Winter Light. Well, I am also revising the beginning of The Siren. I am even thinking of looking for publishers again. I have realized that these five minutes and thirty minutes put together make a better story than the longer writing sessions of one or two hours, when I become dull after a while.

  I am anticipating summer and making plans. Summer is the most important time of my life. The starey sun makes my brain come alive. I love it when the weather's hot. It can never get too hot for me. I create and do things. I have visions and characters come to me. I read, I revel, and I sort of stop being work-a-day Amanda. Basically I still work, I just don't give a damn about work anymore, I am only thinking about the summer and snow cones and writing by the pond. I go outside every day and read and write. This summer I am going to re-read some older romances that were key to me in high school. I also have a great stash of new poetry and prose to read, Victorians all, mmm. I have already started on the summer story "Madelyn." I haven't decided how long it will be, don't really care. It is the summer story because sometimes stories are born out of sunlight and weeds and highway, and this is one of them. It's about one of my weedy, reedy maidens. (See ...

I have been thinking on the idea of juvenilia a great deal lately. I read some of Jane Austen's early work, and now I am reading Charlotte Bronte's. The juvenilia is inextricably linked to the great fiction. Lurking within the early works are the germs of the great works. And I am working on the idea of my own juvenilia. I am not confident that I have written anything that is not juvenilia. Already it seems like I have written more novels and stories than most successful writers. Sometimes I fear the germ has come and gone for me. But we are all different. I am willing to pose the same questions over and over again, character after character, story after story, if that is what it takes to elevate me from juvenilia to literature. When I have captured the human condition I will have written literature. When I write truth. My juvenilia is very bad. Of course I am embarrassed by it. But I think it's important to look at it to understand what I'm trying to get out of me...

And I read back over them and think about them, over and over, to understand better. The Siren is autobiographical for me in so many ways. It's about being different from everyone else, really different, so different it's like I'm a different species, like Lilith is. And it has a special significance for me in the way it began. I will never forget the night I first started this story. It was the beginning of realizing who I am. No one asked me to join a conformist Bible group, but I did. I was lonely. I wanted to meet other people like me. I thought since I was technically a Christian, there would be common ground there. However people were put off by me. I couldn't help but notice. I panicked when I saw it, and how it stung, but I persevered and kept going every week hoping sooner or later they would accept me as I was. So I went against the grain a little more and revealed more about myself, and told some of them about this novel I had written and submitted to a ...

My next story.

I have finished my first pass at Red Rose . I will stop my editing at that for the day. I am amazed that in such a short period of time I have made serious editions of Red Rose and The Awakening . It has been three weeks since I began my writing routine, and I can see now that with this kind of effort I will really produce something. My ambition hasn't stopped there. Lately I have been building on my dreams to make a Heaven on Earth. Tonight I am cooking Moroccan chicken stew in the crock pot. The preparation has proved to be kind of intense, so next time I will omit the squash, unless I can find pre-cut pieces. A Heaven on Earth is the home in my long-ago dreams. It is a place where sunlight filters through open windows, and wind blows the filmy curtains and makes the candles on the table and the mantel flicker. There are prisms hanging in the windows that throw colored light over the walls. Jars of honey and various projects of steeping and preserving are in the kitchen wind...

Today was my first day of vigilantly trying to keep my weekly schedule. Mon and Tues are writing, Wed is sewing, Thurs is Internet. It looks like weekends might be erhu, since my interest in playing is increasing. Today—when I thought of the fact that I was going to write after work, I was filled with relief and happiness. This morning I woke with the dreadful feeling again. I wondered for the first time if that feeling arises because my writing is what I am supposed to do, and something deep within me knows that, and makes me miserable till I write. Because I definitely do not have that feeling when I write daily. Today, I did not write. I edited the first twenty pages of Red Rose. After I am finished working on my stories every time, I feel like they are good. My post-apocalyptic stories, at least. I also got the idea for a new kind of romance. A post-apocalyptic like one. Setting romances in rustic scenes, like Amarillo, Route 66, Illinois, Kansas. Something deconstructed, ...

Red Rose ends with an epilogue . It's my first epilogue and more the kind of vignette I have missed writing for A Fine and Private Place. I have made it a cycle, or I hope I have. I believe the reader will know after all that Rose, the watcher at the window, has done that of course she will follow Jude and Scarlet into the wilderness, and there the calamity will begin, culminating to crisis once more. The fullness of summer had waned and all was still in the old house as the first autumnal rust curled the edges of the surrounding trees. One figure moved in the old house. She kept the fire glowing, an inviting flicker to tired or curious passersby. A long braid hung comfortably over one shoulder as she lit each taper along the wall with a long match. She extinguished the match with a blow, leaving the smoke to curl in the near-darkness. She was perfectly still, listening. Outside of the old house, a figure made his way around the perimeter. His was a shabby form, careworn. He...

Pages: 119 Words: 60,823 Characters (no spaces): 281,843 Characters (with space): 342,848 Paragraphs: 1,349 Lines: 4,319 Welcome me back to the land of the living. Welcome me to reading, to my vignettes and projects, to catching up on Internet stuff, to photo-work, to the land of dreaming. I began in Indian summer. Here I cease in the fullness of autumn, and I verify that never has a more beautiful season has passed in this territory, never more colorful leaves or life-giving air. I bear with me a full novel not one word of which was writ thirty days previous. I cannot believe I was so deeply tempted to abandoned NaNoWriMo that I passed nearly twelve hours at one point with the attitude that my manuscript was entirely shelved. How could I? I love it. When I feel clearer, I will decide how much to polish, if I want to serialize it in Winter Light, or what. I have to admit I am tempted by Lulu. Anyway, this afternoon I am going to verify my word count and get on the Internet. I will try ...

According to my former schedule I would be done now. This does it for the work until after Thanksgiving, at least officially. I decided I would not attempt to write more until Saturday, hoping my creative reserve will replenish. However if I have the urge, I will not hold back. I will feel much better when the deed is done. I opened Cambriel last night to do a word count. It ended around page 100. How is this? At 116 I am still struggling along. I must have used larger paragraphs, but I don't see how. I had many characters, and they talked often to each other. Red Rose has been silent and very difficult. My vision came together. I can see that it did only because I put myself before the computer and did the hard thing. In truth I think it is better in many ways than Cambriel.

I reformatted my word count to do 2000 a day till the end of the month, with some days off. That is much easier. As you can see I'm almost done. I came up with a great setting today, but I'm totally blank now, so I'm glad to rest.

For the weekend...

I'm struggling pretty desperately with Red Rose right now. To make myself feel a little better, I'm recounting Cambriel . In desperation I wrote some really embarrassing stuff  that year that will never see the light of day. There is one part though that is so terrible it's amusing. One morning I remembered Lamb Chop singing that "Anything you can do, I can do better" song. It always amused me so much. So I actually worked it into a scene. “I made bread,” I reported to Shelley as I brought him food on a tray in his study. “It’s a little funny-looking, but it tastes good.” “Capital for a first effort.” He didn’t even break a smile at the swollen mound of bread. “The yeast must have survived the time.” “That would be something for you to study beneath your microscope,” I said, pouring him a measure of tea. “A particularly vigorous form of life.” I crooked a smile at him. Sh...

I did not reach my day's goal and am behind again, but I am out of danger. My story has changed a great deal in only one day. I have other things I have to do tonight and can't write any more. But it is feasible at this point that I will make my goal. I am 1750 words behind today's target.

I may not be one for writing novels anymore, more like short stories. Writing so much in such a short time is not conducive to a story with few characters and a narrow focus. Leisure time is very important. I miss writing vignettes for the Summerhouse, walking in River Legacy and crafting. I can't wait to get back to it. If I put the time in, it will happen, no matter how blocked I am. I need to follow the core force of the story, no matter how unexpected it may be or what strange place it leads. The story then flourishes, rather than becoming skewed or distended. I am really interested in the balance of power between various people. This is what the story is indicating. Also, my story is quite focused on the protection of the weak and defenseless. I have taken some writing lessons to heart. Particularly giving the protagonist some point on which the reader can feel sympathy. Also exploring the dynamic of the three possible romance situations, as defined in Story Structures. It red...