Writing–Writing Novels and Raking Leaves

My friend DaLette got hold of me at the end of October to offer me some work. She needed help clearing a massive amount of leaves from a massive yard. It was just going to be the two of us working. Two women, two rakes, and a leaf blower. And we only had two days to do it. It was all her schedule would allow.

The goal for the first day was to clear half of the front yard, the biggest chunk of the whole project. The second day, we’d do the rest of the front yard, the backyard, and the side yard.

Starting out, it looked overwhelming. DaLette started on one side of the half of the front yard with the leaf blower and I took the other side with a rake. DaLette had already been by the week before and cleared out the gardens (which were full again when we started) and I started moving those piles down to the street. I’d pile the leaves on a piece of plastic sheeting and then drag them down to the street and dump them for the city to pick up.

I cleared out the bulk of the leaves in the gardens again and raked up many of my own piles to drag down to the street while DaLette made her own piles with the leaf blower. When her piles got big enough, we switched places. She made piles on my side and I moved her piles to the street. It took six and a half hours, but we got that half of the front yard done.

The next day, we started in the backyard, piling up the leaves and moving them out of the little fenced-in area and into the front yard. From there, it was all piling it up and moving it to the street. By the time we got to the sparsely covered side yard, we were both tired and hurting, but it was the easiest part of the yard and it felt the sweetest.

It was during this epic raking exercise that I gave a lot of thought to Nanowrimo, specifically the process of it. Going in on November 1st, it looks like that yard did at the very beginning of the first day. 50,000 words is a huge task and in the beginning, it looks overwhelming.

When I was raking, I kept looking back at what I’d done to remind myself that I was getting somewhere. Word count updates are like that. It reminds me how much I’ve accomplished just in case I forget. Looking ahead, at the rest of the yard that needed to be raked and at the words that need to be written, sometimes it’s hard to remember that I am moving in the right direction.

Like climbing up a hill, eventually it gets to a point where there’s more leaf-free yard than leaf-covered yard. There are more words written than words needing to be written. And that’s when the second wind really kicks in. Sure you’re tired. You’re sore. You outright hurt.  The ideas are drying up. Your brain begs for mercy. Your fingers scream for a break. But you can see the end! It’s just right there! And you’re not going to stop until you cross that line. You’re not going to leave one leaf on the grass and you’re not leaving one word unwritten, not stopping short of that 50,000.

At the end of those two days, I’d made enough money to pay my cell bill for the month. At the end of Nanowrimo, I’ll have another manuscript first draft I might be able to revise and rewrite into something that could pay off in the future.

But, it’s not about the money (actually, the raking IS about the money, but I’m trying not to spoil a point here). It’s about the thrill of victory. It’s about the sense of accomplishment.

It’s about standing at the finishing line, looking back at the beginning, and say, “Yeah. I did that.”

Try not to feel invincible after that.

Writing–Getting Published Is Habit Forming

The first week of November, I received a contributer’s copy of an anthology I’ve got a story in (“Land of the Voting Dead” in Zombidays: Festivities of the Flesheaters). I’ve been anxiously awaiting this anthology because it was the first sale I’d made after quite a long spell of “no’s”.

Seeing one of my story in print has a funny effect on me. It makes me anxious to see another one in the same state. Getting paid for it is always nice and something I love, but seeing my story in an anthology is proof…PROOF!…that I’m really a writer and all of the doubters can suck it. Someone bought my story and put it in a book. Take that!

And then it makes me want to see another one of my stories in print.

While working the day job, the short stories fell to the wayside. The urgency behind selling my stories abated in the face of a regular paycheck. Worn down from an 8 hour workday and set in a bullheaded frame of mind that novel revisions had to be done first, I had no brain left for writing and submitting short stories. Piss poor excuses, but it was true.

But holding that anthology in my hands and seeing my name in the table of contents aroused that urge in me again. Working odd jobs to pay the bills instead of a steady one, the urgency is back. The need to have proof of being a writer is strong once again.

I’ve got two more stories that will be coming out in anthologies and while I anticipate a similar rush of euphoria when I get those contributer’s copies, right now it’s not enough. I need more stories out there to be considered. I need more stories to be sold. I need more stories to sell. I need to keep this train rolling.

Because I know when the next contributer’s copy shows up in my mail, that euphoria is only going to last so long before I realize that I’m going to need another fix.

And like any proper junkie, I need to do whatever it takes to feed my habit.

The Fiction Writing Life

I’m sure I made a post about this before for Writing Wednesday, but I think it bears repeating for a Monday Megalomania because I feel that people not acquainted with writing for a living, or at least writing for publication, don’t understand how it works.

Most people that have a job leave their house, go to a place of work, make so much money an hour, come home and get a paycheck, either weekly or bi-weekly. Obviously, some people don’t have to leave their house. Some people are on salary. But whatever the variations, the basics remain the same. These are considered legitimate jobs.

I, on the other hand, am trying to cobble together some kind of day job out of selling Rejected, selling my jewelry, working jobs with DaLette, and anything else I can do in order to make money to pay the bills and have time to write for publication, in which I would also get money to pay the bills. None of these things are considered legitimate.

Why? Because it’s not a “traditional” job. I don’t get a regular paycheck. I don’t leave the house to do it. And a lot of people underestimate the amount of work that goes into the stories I write, thinking that I’m lazy and I’m not working hard enough to earn what money I do make from writing (or any of the other gigs I work to make money, but we’re going to stick to writing for now).

Allow me to illustrate the work that goes into a short story.

I get an idea. I decide to write this idea. So I write a first draft. Then I set it aside. Depending on the impending deadlines and how I feel about the story, I might set it aside for a couple of days or I might set it aside for a couple of months. It just depends.

Then I revise the story. And then I revise it again. And if I’m lucky, I can stop there and polish it up and call it done. But it’s not uncommon for a story to go through four or five revisions before I’m satisfied with it.

So, the story is as ready as it’s going to be at this point in time. I’ve got my prose all tight, the descriptions all lush, and the grammar so polished it shines. Now I have to submit it. If I don’t have a something in mind when I write it in the first place, the story might possibly sit there for a while before I can find a suitable publication for it. If I can find a suitable publication for it. That’s a risk I run, too. It’s entirely possibly that I write something that can’t be published (or at least, published for money; I aim to get paid for my work for the most part).

But, let’s say I have something in mind and so I send my story off. And then I wait. And wait. And wait. Depending on the deadlines, the reading periods, and many other factors, I can wait for months to hear back about a story. Most of the time, the waiting ends in rejection. And then I start all over.

But, let’s say my story gets accepted. Hooray! I’m getting paid! Except I’m not getting paid until the story gets published. And I’m getting paid the semi-pro rate (I won’t go lower) of 1 cent a word. Considering most short stories typically run anywhere from 1,000 to 5,000 words, sometimes as many as 8,000, I’m not exactly raking in the big bucks. Or the immediate bucks. Depending on what the contract says, I can be waiting for a considerable period of time.

For example, my last story to get published, “Land of the Voting Dead” in Zombidays: Festivities of the Flesheaters, was accepted in April of 2010. I received my check, 53 bucks, November 5th of this year. I wrote and revised the story in December of 2009. I then added a scene to it in February of 2010 in order to meet the required word count. I revised it again. I polished it again. And then I submitted it. I easily had a week’s worth of work in that story.

And that was one of the easier ones!

At this point, if I ever get “At 3:36” published, I know the paycheck won’t match the work I’ve put into it. It wouldn’t be a far cry to say that I’ve probably have a month invested in that story spread out over a couple of years and I’m not finished with it yet. That’s a lot of work for one story.

But I only get paid on delivery and only for the final number of words on the page. I don’t get paid for all of the words I put down and then took out. Or put back in. Or changed. I don’t get paid for the rewrites or the research. Just the finished product.

Now, I’m only speaking for short story writing. That’s the only writing I’ve got experience making money from. And it really bugs me when people imply that because I’m not making a whole lot of money doing it, because I’m not getting a regular paycheck, that I’m not working.

I beg to differ.

I work seven days a week for very little.

Why?

Because it’s my job. And I love it. And one day it will pay better.

But it will never be a typical job.

People need to learn to respect that.

Writing–NaNoWriMo 2011 Project

This year for Nanowrimo, I’m once again journeying into The Outskirts and once again writing about Stanley Ivanov, ugly shirt wearing vampire.

The novel is called American Vampires and it revolves around the possible existence of three, well, American vampires and what should be done with them. Stanley, his girlfriend Neda Kovar, and arch rival Nathan Vacek are sent to Mesa, Arizona by elder vampire Andrei Carp to track them down and deal with them. Unfortunately, two “hunters”, brothers Zeb and Zeke Heller, have been sent to Mesa to deal with the vampires, too.

Hilarity, bickering, violence, and blood-drinking ensue.

My goal for this novel remains the same as in previous Nanos. I aim for at least 2,000 words a day, 2,000 words to a chapter, with a target of a 60,000 word finished product with 30 chapters (it makes the math so easy). I’ve already got about a 4,000 word cushion in just this first week. I’m hoping that by doing an extra chapter or two on the weekends, I’ll be done before Thanksgiving again this year.

One thing I’ve deviated from this year is my outline. In previous years, I’ve had the outline done and ready to go for Nano. This year, I only had it about half done. So at some point, I’m going to have to outline the last half of my novel. I’m thinking that since I tend to leave the outline a little bit during the actual writing of the story, it might help in later drafts if the second half of the novel goes off of what was written.

It was planned this way, it just kind of happened due to laziness and apathy. I spent plenty of days in October in “I don’t feel like it” mode and ended up working on other things instead. I hope it doesn’t end up costing me.

Some days have been easier than others. I think yesterday stands as an accurate prediction of what this novel is going to be like. My plan was to do at least 3,000 words to add on to my little cushion. It took me over three hours to milk 2,000 words out. It was like trying to get juice from a turnip, just painful and pointless. I went out to dinner with some friends, came home, made some hot chocolate, and then managed another 2,000 words in an hour with no pain at all.

I’m just hoping for more of the latter than the former.

That’s About a Year

About a year ago I started this blog with only a vague idea of what the point of it was going to be.  Over the course of that year, my original idea has evolved, but I think the blog has become better for it and I hope it continues to evolve. That’s how things keep from getting stale.

I’m rather impressed with myself that I didn’t abandon it. There have been more times than I’d like to count that I didn’t feel like making a post. I didn’t have anything to write about, nothing I wanted to say. But I scrapped some words together and slapped it on the blog and called it a post. And it didn’t turn out too bad. It’s another shot in the arm for my self-esteem and my discipline. I can pull it together, even when I don’t feel like it.

The place isn’t been overrun by traffic, but I never expected it to be. Five hits a day and I’m happy. That’s five more hits than I’d ever thought I’d get.  I figured that outside of a few friends reading occasionally, this place would pretty much be a left alone thing.

But the bits and pieces have added up and in the first year, this blog has logged over 2,000 views. So for the people who have read my blog posts, thanks. I really appreciate it. You give me the warm fuzzies.

For the record, my five most popular posts:

-Friday Funtimes–Rerun Junkie: Starsky and Hutch

-Friday Funtimes–Rerun Junkie: Hawaii 5-0

-Friday Funtimes–Rerun Junkie: The Monkees

-Writing Wednesday–Deadlines: Breaking Them

-Friday Funtimes–Video: We’re From Chicago! Yeah!

Don’t think I don’t notice the pattern.

The top five search terms:

-the monkees

-kiki writes wordpress

-the monkeys

-starsky and hutch

-pickle wraps

Five weirdest search terms:

-“hostel” “stalls didn’t have”

-deranged vietnam vet sniper hooks

-huge titties weightless environment

-new hawaii 5-0 homoerotic

-pregnant firefox mascot

The sad thing is that I know what post each of those searches are probably linked to. It’s amazing the kind of things people look for on the internet, but if they end up here and like what they read, I guess I can’t be too judgmental now can I?

(Yeah, I probably will be.)

So overall, I’m pretty happy with how my first year of blogging has gone. In many ways it’s been a lot better than I thought it’d be and I’m thrilled with that.

Now to keep it up and continue to get better during the next year.

Rerun Junkie–Barney Miller

That opening baseline. That opening shot of the New York skyline. That eclectic bunch filling a rundown squad room. Do you know what I’m talking about? Even if you don’t, you’ll be humming it soon enough.

Barney Miller is a 70’s classic, running from 1974 to 1982, that took place in the detective’s squad room of the 12th precinct in New York City. Cops cite the show as one of the most realistic cop shows to be on TV. It showed the funny, ridiculous side of crime. While other cop shows dealt with the more serious crime like murders and drug rings, Barney Miller and company dealt with blind shoplifters, philosophical bums, and purse snatching stockbrokers. And they did it all while dealing with staff shortages, budget cuts, and a poorly working toilet.

Though they occasionally tackled heavier subjects (racism, homicide, rape), the show mostly centered on the detectives getting by and dealing with a host of criminals and victims just as varied and interesting as they were.

The original cast consisted of Barney Miller (Hal Linden), Stan “Wojo” Wojciehowicz (Max Gail), Phil Fish (Abe Vigoda), and Chano Amaguale (Gregory Sierra). Ron Harris (Ron Glass) and Nick Yemana (Jack Soo) were officially added as regulars by the second season. In the beginning, Barney’s wife Liz (Barbara Barrie) played a bigger role, but by the second season had diminished.

In the beginning…

The cast changed over the seasons. Gregory Sierra and Abe Vigoda both left for other series, which led to Steve Landesburg as Arthur Dietrich and Ron Carey as the long suffering Officer Carl Levitt joining the show. James Gregory also joined as Inspector Frank Luger. Jack Soo passed away in 1979 and was never replaced.

…at the end.

The integration of the new characters was pretty smooth. It felt like what would happen at a real precinct. People get transferred or retire and new people move in. Personalities didn’t have to be replaced. This kind of show called for individuality. And it allowed for growth.

Barney was the wise leader, gifted with compassion and a desire to do the right thing. Wojo started off as kind of a thick-skulled muscle head, but over the seasons revealed a big heart and actually showed some growth. Harris was a styled intellectual with a gift for writing and a love for the stock market. Dietrich was also an intellectual, but he was more of a walking encyclopedia with a wit so dry it could be used for kindling. Chano was a street smart guy that never failed to go out on a limb to get his job done. Nick hated filing, made terrible coffee, and had a love for gambling. Fish may have acted like life was the pits, but he dreaded enforced retirement and even kidney stones couldn’t keep him off the job. Inspector Luger was always going on about the good ol’ days, but he always had his detectives’ backs. Officer Levitt longed to be a detective and was enthusiastic about his job, but was often overlooked (he felt because he was short).

The great part about the show was that the guest stars were as much fun as the detectives and many of the actors were on several times as different characters. Peggy Pope, Oliver Clark, Don Calfa, Florence Halop, Sal Viscuso, Doris Roberts, Michael Tucci, A. Martinez, Phil Leeds, and Christopher Lloyd were all on multiple times.

They also had some great recurring characters. Jack DeLeon and Ray Stewart as Marty and Mr. Driscoll are two of my favorites (and two of the few gay characters on at the time). They also had Florence Stanley as Fish’s wife Bernice, Stanley Brock as Bruno Bender, George Murdock as Lt. Ben Scanlon, and Jack Somack as the often robbed Mr. Cotterman.

So many of the episodes are fan favorites, such as “Hash” in which Wojo brings in brownies made by his girlfriend and the detectives eat them not knowing that they’re laced with pot, and “Werewolf” in which Kenneth Tigar brilliantly plays Stefan Kopeckne who believes he’s, well, a werewolf (he comes back in an episode in a later season as the same character, this time believing he’s possessed by a demon). All of the episodes are quotable. My personal favorites (that I watch over and over again online) are “Smog Alert”, “Rain”, “Hair”, “Group Home”, and “Bus Stop”. And of course, “Jack Soo, a Retrospective” is a touching, out of character episode reflecting on Jack Soo and the character of Nick Yemana after Jack Soo passed away from cancer. When they raise their coffee mugs to him in the end, it’s a guaranteed tear jerker.

Also, the last scene of the series is probably one of the best done in television. No gimmicks, no tricks, just turning off the light and closing the door.

The female cops were few and far between (Linda Lavin, June Gable, and Mari Gorman all did time at the 12th), but that never bothered me much. I’d rather have an all male cast than a woman shoehorned in just because they think they have to have a woman in there. Those cases never end well. (For the record, I didn’t care much for Linda Lavin’s Detective Janice Wentworth, but I did like June Gable’s Detective Maria Battista and Mari Gorman’s Officer Rosslyn Licori.) And not all of the serious material was handled well (“Rape” is an incredibly awkward and uncomfortable episode, even more so now because of just how differently things are handled and viewed now as opposed to how they were then).

But the shortcomings are easily overlooked (particularly if you just skip “Rape” all together, which hurts me to say it since Joyce Jameson is in it and I love her). Despite the 70’s suits and references, there’s a timeless quality to the stories and the jokes. Granted, you probably couldn’t take a bomb into a New York police department so easily today (it happened at least four times during the show that I can remember off of the top of my head), but we can relate to the budget cuts and the layoffs and trying to do right even if it is against the rules.

Not to mention the desire for a cup of coffee and a decent toilet.

 

Where I Watch It

Writing–November Projects

I know what you’re thinking. It’s November. Why don’t you just call this post Nanowrimo 2011? Because while Nano will be a huge part of my existence for this month, I do have a few little things that I’d like to be doing on the side.

There are two contests I want to enter (should I scrape up the entry fees). One is a short-short contest and I’ve already got a story finished and ready to revise that I’d like to submit. The other is a memoir/personal essay contest. I’ve never done anything like it before, but I’ve got a few ideas that I think will work and I’d like to give it a shot. I’ve been thinking about doing memoir stuff for a while now and I think this might be a good leaping off point.

Even if I’m not able to enter the contests, I’ll still have some valuable material at the ready for when another opportunity presents itself.

Of course, this is all dependent on how well Nano goes. I’ve done 2,000 words a day with a goal of 60,000 words total for the past couple of years. Let’s hope the trend continues.

And at the end of the day, I have a few words to spare.

Costume Crazy!

Halloween is a great holiday. Aside from the candy and the month long flow of horror movies and the radio playing “Monster Mash”, “Werewolves of London”, and “Thriller”, dressing up is truly my favorite part. Even though I’m usually only dressing  up to pass out candy to the trick-or-treaters, I take it seriously.

I have a philosophy on Halloween costumes (any costume really). I believe that a majority of it should be assembled from individual pieces and that as little of it as possible should be bought. In other words, the slutty version of whatever costumes don’t cut it for me. Buying the entire costume already put together is no fun. Buying every separate piece of the costume and putting it together yourself is more fun. Spending absolutely no money on a costume and pulling everything together from stuff you already own is the best.

For me, Halloween is a challenge. I like to see what I can come up with stuff I already own and I try to spend as little money as possible doing it. This isn’t half-assing it, either. I’ve come up with some really good costumes that have gotten me plenty of compliments.

I like to dress up as my own thing, a twist on something typical. Last year I dressed up as the perfect housewife. I put on a shirt and skirt and my flats. I did up my hair and make-up. I wore pearls. And then I wore the bloody apron my roommate made for me for Christmas (it says “Killer Cook” on it and with blood splatters and bloody hand prints; I love it) and smeared my face and hands with some fake blood (I always have some on hand) and carried around a really nasty looking butcher knife. It didn’t cost me a thing to do that year.

The one costume I did that I felt got me the best reaction was when I dressed up as a beauty queen. For less than twenty bucks, I scored a silver paint pen, some black fabric, and a cheap tiara. I put on a red and black dress, high heels, did up my hair and make-up. I then smeared my lipstick and mascara and disheveled my hair, the tiara looking like it’d been almost pulled out and put hastily black. With the fabric and paint pen I made a sash that said “beauty queen”.

While passing out candy, two little girls came to the door. One of them asked me what I was and I told her I was a beauty queen. As they walked away, one girl leaned to the other and said, “Beauty queens aren’t supposed to be scary”. To this day, I don’t know that I’ve gotten a better compliment on a costume.

Occasionally, I’ll go as actual characters. A couple of years ago, for the cost of a cheap wig and a bracelet, I went as Madeline Westen from Burn Notice. After creator Matt Nix retweeted a picture of my costume, my mentions flooded with compliments.

This year I’m going as Hetty Lange from NCIS: LA. Eight bucks for a wig is all I spent. I think this will be another good one.

Little money doesn’t mean little effort.

Writing–The Nightmare of “At 3:36”

Last week I wrote about how some stories seem to come to me as if by magic. That first draft comes so easily and requires very little revision to create a final project.

And then there are stories that are the bane of my very existence, the ones that I struggle with and can never seem to get them right no matter how much I mess with them.

All of my stories get revised. Whenever one of my short stories gets rejected, I always review it to see if there’s anything I can do to make it better. I admit that some stories get more than a little tweak after a rejection. Both “Erin Go Bragh” and “Elevator” (both published in my Rejection book) ended up getting significant rewrites more than once after being rejected. “Such a Pretty Face” required some serious work to get right.

But “At 3:36” is a story of a different beast.

It started off simply enough. I got an image of a scene in my  head, a woman looking out the window, watching as the world stops spinning for forty-five minutes at the same time over several days. I wrote it out, explored that scene, and came up with the first draft. The sticking point was that I didn’t want to explain why the world was stopping. It was just happening and the point of the story wasn’t that the world kept stopping and needed to be fixed (this isn’t a SyFy movie, after all), but how my main character reacted and dealt with this event.

But I couldn’t get it right.

No matter how I cut the story or rewrote it or change it (keeping two basic things intact: the world stopping its spin and the main character’s reaction to it), I couldn’t get the story to work. I couldn’t get it to feel right.

I go a lot by how a story feels. If I feel like I’ve told the story I want to tell and created the effect I wanted to create, then I’m satisfied and I can work on polishing and revising that story to make it the best it can be. I never got to that point with “At 3:36” and it was pretty disappointing.

The other day I was in the shower, letting my mind wonder over things I needed to work on, stories that needed to be told, money that needed to be made, the typical things that run rampant in my brain during my morning showers. It was during these mental gymnastics that the possible solution to my “At 3:36” story woes came to me. I think I’ve finally figured out how to fix this story once and for all.

I won’t know for sure until I actually do it, which won’t be until December due to Nanowrimo, but for the first time, I’m excited about this story.

Considering that I hated it as soon as I was done with the first draft, that’s a big improvement.

Like Mother, Like Daughter…Scary!

Whenever someone tells me (or someone else) that I’m acting just like my mother, it’s typically not meant as a compliment. What they mean is that I’m acting in such a way that they don’t approve of and attribute my behavior to something genetically inherited from my mother.

However, I am like my mother in some ways, good and bad.

For example (and for Halloween), my mom and I both love horror.

The last time I was at her house, AMC was showing all four of the Alien movies and Mom and I watched the end of Alien and most of Aliens. She loves the SyFy channel on the weekends for movies, no matter how bad they might be. The People Under the Stairs was on Saturday morning and I immediately thought of Mom. She watched that movie a couple of times a week when I was a kid.

She took me and my friend to see Se7en. She rented me Rosemary’s Baby and brought home Dracula from the library for me when I was sick.

Mom is the reason I know who Stephen King is. She read all of his books. I can specifically remember her reading Salem’s Lot. I remember the cover of the book. I remember reading the dusk jacket.

I have yet to read it, though.

When I was finally allowed to check out an adult book at the library at the tender age of 11, Mom didn’t bat an eyelash when I came back with Jaws.

I can’t say that my mom is the reason why I like horror (as I said in my post about why I write horror, I’m not sure exactly WHY I like it or write it), but my mom was definitely a horror enabler. She liked it, realized I liked it, and encouraged me to explore it.

Of course, we don’t always agree on our horror likes. Mom liked Scream enough to make me watch it (during Thanksgiving dinner, naturally). I hated it. I enjoy Vincent Price more than Mom does.

It doesn’t matter, though. The point is that it’s a bonding point for us. Our relationship hasn’t always been the greatest, as happens sometimes with mothers and daughters. Sometimes it’s easier for me to focus on the differences and disagreements. They’re easier to see. It’s easy to forget when we get along or agree. The lack of conflict seems to diminish the recall on the memory.

But even as I picked my brain for more memories of the Mom-horror connection, I was shocked at the warmth that bubbled up behind them. It’s kind of odd that I’d get sentimental and gooey watching a guy run around in a gimp suit while he shoots through the walls because one of his cellar children escaped into them because it reminds me of my mom, but there you go.

My mother and I have an interesting, if not unique, relationship.

You can tell by the ways I take after her.