After two and a half years, I have finished the second draft of Mrs. Shadow. I don't remember ever feeling quite like this after finishing a work - a little melancholy. I started this book before Rebecca was pregnant, before I started working at AIM. I started off with a plot that was just a metaphor for puberty, and it ended up as a book about Bad Things Happening to Nice People. I like it a lot. After Rebecca finishes helping me edit it, I think I'll start to query again.
Happier news: over the next week, I'll start writing my next book. More and more is coming to me, and I think it's going to be a much, much faster book to write. I only have three months before the baby is born, so I'd better take advantage of the quiet time while I can!
Showing posts with label mrs. shadow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mrs. shadow. Show all posts
Monday, August 8, 2011
Monday, February 1, 2010
One year later
Actually, it hasn't been quite a year since we moved. Still, I have that feeling that almost everyone has when I look back - "I can't believe so much has happened" added to "I can't believe it's been a year already."
Here's where I thought I'd be: I thought I'd be about to quit the part-time job I'd get while waiting for my first book to be printed. I thought that surely, in a year's time, I'd have an agent and a publisher. And at least another book and a half written.
Well.
In the last year, I've finished editing The Cherubim and written a third book (Shadow). I've queried a couple of dozen agents; one actually gave The Dead Rise a full read-through (and a rejection.) I'm no closer to being published than I was when we moved.
This morning, I got up and edited another ten pages of Shadow. It's the best thing I've written to date, but I feel that way about everything I write - because everything else I've written to date is pretty awful. So there's that. I'm trying to feel optimistic about Shadow because it's stronger conceptually than anything I've done so far; it's the first thing I've written where I have something true to say. But does that make a good book? It's the story, and I'm not sure how strong the story is. I have to wait until it's finished and Rebecca reads through it.
But I'm happy I'm still writing. Even though I've taken a couple of hiatuses over the past year, I still love putting words down. And it feels good to still have an outlet.
We're closing on a house in three weeks. Since February of 2009, we've lived in three apartments in three cities - I'll be glad to finally settle down for a while. And I'll keep writing, knowing that commercial success isn't just around the corner.
Here's where I thought I'd be: I thought I'd be about to quit the part-time job I'd get while waiting for my first book to be printed. I thought that surely, in a year's time, I'd have an agent and a publisher. And at least another book and a half written.
Well.
In the last year, I've finished editing The Cherubim and written a third book (Shadow). I've queried a couple of dozen agents; one actually gave The Dead Rise a full read-through (and a rejection.) I'm no closer to being published than I was when we moved.
This morning, I got up and edited another ten pages of Shadow. It's the best thing I've written to date, but I feel that way about everything I write - because everything else I've written to date is pretty awful. So there's that. I'm trying to feel optimistic about Shadow because it's stronger conceptually than anything I've done so far; it's the first thing I've written where I have something true to say. But does that make a good book? It's the story, and I'm not sure how strong the story is. I have to wait until it's finished and Rebecca reads through it.
But I'm happy I'm still writing. Even though I've taken a couple of hiatuses over the past year, I still love putting words down. And it feels good to still have an outlet.
We're closing on a house in three weeks. Since February of 2009, we've lived in three apartments in three cities - I'll be glad to finally settle down for a while. And I'll keep writing, knowing that commercial success isn't just around the corner.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
FINISHED
When I first started this blog back in February, I had a very clear mission statement. I wanted to describe the entire writing process of a book, from beginning to end. I already had one-and-a-half under my belt (along with a novella and a few short stories), and thought that this would help me refine the whole process.
And see how well it went! I complained, whined, and procrastinated. And, this morning, I finally finished the first draft of Mrs. Shadow. The complaining and the whining is the important part. Finishing was only a side effect. Seriously; I'm no closer than before to figuring out how to write. It's like falling down a hill and somehow finding that I've managed to cross a finish line on the way.
The more I write, the slower and slower I seem to get. When I moved here, I figured I might get down 3-4000 words in a good day. That may seem ridiculously optimistic; one cannot write that much and expect it to be good. And, of course, I didn't manage it; by the end, 2000 words was a good day for me. When I'm working on a first draft, I don't care about good. My first drafts are *never* good. I have to rewrite 90% of it. For some reason, that's what works best for me: it's about making a framework. I have to make the framework before I tear it down and replace it.
For instance: when I first started the book back in March, I had the basic spark - not a unique idea, but something that made the wheels in my brain turn. I couldn't *stop* thinking about it; I kept thinking of complications. I know this is vague, but that's because I don't want to spoil the book for my wife, who isn't going to get to see it for a few more months.
So I sat down with the name of the character, a really shallow idea of who she was, and a little bit about what was going to happen in the near future. And then I started writing. I know; there should probably be more preparation. But that's the point of my first draft; it IS preparation. While writing, I find out who everyone is, what they want, how they react. It's a big surprise.
The first page I started writing was a little girl's birthday party. Without thinking about the consequences, I took away her mother and gave her a very young stepmother. And then I kept going; let the characters interact however they wanted.
And the stepmother ended up being one of the most important people in the book. That's the reason I have to come up with a framework - I had no idea. I thought that certain people would die; certain others would disappear. I was completely wrong about most of it.
There were times I had no idea what would happen. Those were the worst; I had to force myself to sit at that keyboard and type a thousand words of what I can only assume is pure drivel. Enough to get me to the next exciting point.
In any case - the book is finished, and it's awful. No one's going to read it. But there's good potential; there's a decent book waiting to be carved out. I'm putting it aside for a couple of months and taking a break. Rebecca and I are going to be celebrating anniversary / birthdays in the next two or three weeks; once that's all over, I'll get back to revising The Cherubim, and - eventually - Mrs. Shadow.
And see how well it went! I complained, whined, and procrastinated. And, this morning, I finally finished the first draft of Mrs. Shadow. The complaining and the whining is the important part. Finishing was only a side effect. Seriously; I'm no closer than before to figuring out how to write. It's like falling down a hill and somehow finding that I've managed to cross a finish line on the way.
The more I write, the slower and slower I seem to get. When I moved here, I figured I might get down 3-4000 words in a good day. That may seem ridiculously optimistic; one cannot write that much and expect it to be good. And, of course, I didn't manage it; by the end, 2000 words was a good day for me. When I'm working on a first draft, I don't care about good. My first drafts are *never* good. I have to rewrite 90% of it. For some reason, that's what works best for me: it's about making a framework. I have to make the framework before I tear it down and replace it.
For instance: when I first started the book back in March, I had the basic spark - not a unique idea, but something that made the wheels in my brain turn. I couldn't *stop* thinking about it; I kept thinking of complications. I know this is vague, but that's because I don't want to spoil the book for my wife, who isn't going to get to see it for a few more months.
So I sat down with the name of the character, a really shallow idea of who she was, and a little bit about what was going to happen in the near future. And then I started writing. I know; there should probably be more preparation. But that's the point of my first draft; it IS preparation. While writing, I find out who everyone is, what they want, how they react. It's a big surprise.
The first page I started writing was a little girl's birthday party. Without thinking about the consequences, I took away her mother and gave her a very young stepmother. And then I kept going; let the characters interact however they wanted.
And the stepmother ended up being one of the most important people in the book. That's the reason I have to come up with a framework - I had no idea. I thought that certain people would die; certain others would disappear. I was completely wrong about most of it.
There were times I had no idea what would happen. Those were the worst; I had to force myself to sit at that keyboard and type a thousand words of what I can only assume is pure drivel. Enough to get me to the next exciting point.
In any case - the book is finished, and it's awful. No one's going to read it. But there's good potential; there's a decent book waiting to be carved out. I'm putting it aside for a couple of months and taking a break. Rebecca and I are going to be celebrating anniversary / birthdays in the next two or three weeks; once that's all over, I'll get back to revising The Cherubim, and - eventually - Mrs. Shadow.
Friday, April 17, 2009
On Nothing
I ran into a bit of near writer's block late last week / early this week. Truth be told, I'm not writing nearly as fluidly as I did back when I had a job. Back then, it was an escape from a really dull career. Not that I disliked my job, but there's only so much repetition one can do before his brain starts to go in strange directions.
Here, though, I can do whatever I want whenever I want. Sure, I have a schedule. But a couple of weeks ago, I realized that I didn't have to set the alarm at 7. Or go for a walk after breakfast. Or, you know, actually write once I got on the computer. No one's tracking my internet usage.
That changed on Monday, when I went for a job interview. At first, I was really enthusiastic, full of zip and pep. Only... everyone was so dull and miserable. When I told them that I was the kind of guy who liked a 40 hour workweek without overtime because I wanted to get home to my wife, I got a weird look. "Well, here, most people work until 7 or 8 at night, and they come in on the weekend. Not every week. Just when it's necessary."
I got home and emailed the recruiter, apologizing, but explaining that the job just didn't feel like a good fit. It wasn't the overtime. It wasn't the company. It was the people there; they seemed like they were just sleepwalking through the day, just trying their hardest to get through life.
That killed the writer's block. Realizing that I can either get some writing done or sleepwalk through the day.
Here, though, I can do whatever I want whenever I want. Sure, I have a schedule. But a couple of weeks ago, I realized that I didn't have to set the alarm at 7. Or go for a walk after breakfast. Or, you know, actually write once I got on the computer. No one's tracking my internet usage.
That changed on Monday, when I went for a job interview. At first, I was really enthusiastic, full of zip and pep. Only... everyone was so dull and miserable. When I told them that I was the kind of guy who liked a 40 hour workweek without overtime because I wanted to get home to my wife, I got a weird look. "Well, here, most people work until 7 or 8 at night, and they come in on the weekend. Not every week. Just when it's necessary."
I got home and emailed the recruiter, apologizing, but explaining that the job just didn't feel like a good fit. It wasn't the overtime. It wasn't the company. It was the people there; they seemed like they were just sleepwalking through the day, just trying their hardest to get through life.
That killed the writer's block. Realizing that I can either get some writing done or sleepwalk through the day.
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