A new acquaintance wrote that I was “a beautiful lady with a beautiful creative talent” yesterday.

I think I will keep that compliment.

Some major rain today. Thunder and lightning, and everything that goes with it! It’s definitely spring.

I wrote the “Etiquette of Garbage Picking” essay today. And then went in search of places to submit it. Haven’t found many so far, but I’m really not good at nonfiction markets, so I’ll have to search.

I know NS is over 57k. I’m just not sure how far over.

I had a dream last night.

I was in the army, believe it or not, and taking a test somewhere on 8 Mile Rd. I needed gas in my car (although it wasn’t my car; it was a mini-van, but not one we own at the moment) and I knew there was a little gas station on 52 that had cheap gas. So I left the test early and drove down to that gas station to fill up. (Evidently I was allowed to do this because I had the time. Or something. Or maybe it was my lunch hour, which makes more sense.)

When I got to the gas station, I noticed that there were quite a few dogs milling about. And there were people at the gas station with their dogs, etc. One in particular caught my eye. It almost looked like a long-haired greyhound, but not as exotic as a saluki, and kind of a dusty grayish brown. It wore a collar but no tags, and had a length of a thin silver chain hanging from its collar.

When I went in the gas station to pay, I heard the attendant talking about how the dog had been there for a couple of days, and that it would probably get hit on the road.

So of course, I decided right then to take it home.

Now, this must not have been very far into the future, because I was still living here, and I knew Mom and Dad wouldn’t exactly be pleased if I showed up with a dog. But it felt like something I had to do, and I couldn’t just leave him there.

Did I mention he was very well trained, too? I told him to sit to wait for me as I paid for my gas, and then I got him to lie down on the backseat of the van.

And then I overheard something strange. Someone at another gas pump said something about the dog I’d decided to rescue–to the effect that he was one of sixteen, and had last been seen in the same vicinity of a particularly horrible puppy farm owner somewhere in Cambridge, MA.

I didn’t speak to these people, but ducked my head and hoped the dog’s real owner (if there was one) never showed up. Because I had bonded with this dog, big-time.

So I decided to call my supervisor (who was the same supervisor I have now, and I’m sure she’d be surprised to find herself in the army) and tell her that I was taking a hour or two off. Except my cell phone was about to die, and I didn’t want it to die in the middle of my explanation. So I decided to wait until I got home before calling her.

On my way down the road (and it wasn’t 52 anymore; it might have been Bethel-New Richmond) I came across a pack of dogs hounding a smaller dog that looked exactly like the one I had in the backseat. He became very excited when he saw her, and I just suddenly understood that she was his mate and friend-for-life.

So what could I do? I chased away the other dogs and let her join him. I mean, it was the human thing to do, no?

This was about when I woke up, but I drifted in and out of the journey home for the next thirty minutes. I never did call my supervisor.

Well, so much for the chance of rain. This weekend was warm, even hot at times, and wonderful! I spent most of it outside, of course. Enjoying the weather, and helping Dad clean the porch and the bottom of the little building. I have something to write on the etiquette of garbage picking, too, but I might actually make that an article and submit it somewhere.

NS is upwards of 55k I believe. I don’t have an actual count this morning. It’s going well.

I’m thinking about baking bread today. It’s a perfect day for it.

The new EbookReader review is up!

New pictures! Unfortunately, not many flowers are blooming yet.

The post below was started on Friday, but I forgot to finish it and post it. We were having computer problems. (That probably explains why my review is not posted on EbookReader yet, too. Yeah, that’s my excuse.)

Last night, I didn’t feed the animals until much later than usual. I like to feed in daylight, because it’s much easier to do it without the added bulk of a flashlight to worry about, but because of the computer problems (and Mom’s car problems) I didn’t get home until late.

So I’m walking outside in the dark with Dad’s big torch flashlight, and I kept hearing this weird noise. It sounded like some tiny animal racing away from me in the grass. Sort of like a “schlooooop/rustle” sound. But every time I aimed the light towards the sound, I didn’t see a thing. It was a bit spooky, actually.

I didn’t realize what the noise was until I got to Max’s spot, which is bare dirt. I have to watch out for piles o’ poop, so I aimed the light towards the ground–and saw at least four dozen huge nightcrawlers stretched out over the ground. As soon as the light hit them, they “schloooooped/rustled” back into their holes. (I will admit to a bit of glee shining the light and watching them schloop.)

It was the coolest thing. (Doesn’t take much to make me happy.) And so, I kept my light on all the way back to the house, and heard them vanishing back into their holes as I walked.

Of course, I probably stepped on a couple when I walked across the side yard the first time, because I didn’t use the light then. (Although I should. With five cats, you have to watch out for piles ‘o poop in the grass as well.)

So that was my moment of amusement last night.

A Writer’s Education

Quite a few times now, I’ve been “accused” of polishing chapters I submit to critique (in a nice way, of course.) This didn’t really hit me until last night on my way home from the writer’s group meeting.

I’ve always written clean first drafts. Sometimes, they’ve been too clean, and I’ve had to add descriptions and actions when I go back to revise. But lately—with CtS and SCR and NS—I haven’t done much in the way of revision. It seems like things fall in place when I write, even though I have no idea what is going on.

Last night, while driving home, I realized something that I think is important, so I thought I would share it here.

Growing up, I read just about everything I could get my hands on. In middle school, I read Shakespeare along with L.M. Montgomery, Avi, Beverly Cleary, Anne McCaffrey, and many others. I memorized bits of Romeo and Juliet and Macbeth. I was very fond of the line, “Out damned spot!”

In High School, while some of my friends were reading Fear Street, I read Duncton Wood, Watership Down, and the complete works of Charles Dickens. I read Agatha Christie’s entire body of work (I liked Hercule Poirot best.) I read every fantasy book the library owned—and some science fiction, depending on the author. I read mysteries, nonfiction about vampires, mythology, folklore, magic, King Arthur, Robin Hood, and others. I read Keats’ poems, and the complete works of both Byron and Shelley. I read Wordsworth. Robert Frost. And many others that, for the sake of not making this a list of every book I read while growing up, I will not name.

I read It when I was thirteen. In four hours. I read the entire works of Stephen King in the space of two weeks, causing the only comment from my mother about my reading habits. When I got in the car with the last of his then-current collection in my arms, she said, “Don’t you think you’ve been reading too much Stephen King?” I said, “This is the last one,” and that was the last time anyone in my family commented on my reading habits.

I read. I read more. I devoured the books in the library, and learned from what I read. I wrote poems a la Keats. I celebrated his 125th birthday (IIRC.) I practiced magic. I discovered Manly Wade Wellman, Tanith Lee, Poppy Z. Brite, and Charles DeLint.

At any given time, I had three or four or five books going at the same time. I slept with books. I read them in the bathroom (to this day, I have a bathroom book. At the moment, it’s Stolen Childhood by Wilma King, which is about the childhood of slaves.) (Vicki, you might want to borrow this one for your historical–it’s really interesting.)

And I wrote, using what I learned from the novels and nonfiction I read to craft my stories.

I didn’t pick up a “how to write” book until after I graduated High School.

Looking back, this was probably a very good thing, because it allowed me to develop my own craft and voice without having someone tell me that such-and-such or so-and-so was not the right way to go about writing. The books I read molded a young budding author, and helped form my distinct voice.

I learned how to write by reading the books that got published that intrigued me. I didn’t learn how to write by taking something some stranger said on faith and applying my ideas to a set formula or outline.

When I read the “how to write” books the library owned, I noticed one specific thing. Most of them stated that their way to write was the only “true” way, and that if you used their way, you’d end up with a blockbuster or bestseller, make a bushel full of money, and live on easy street.

I was confused. I didn’t want to live on easy street. I wanted to write good stories. I wanted to write the stories I wanted to read, since exhausting the library’s supply meant I had to buy books to read them, or utilize Inter-Library Loan. And anyway, I thought, by that time, I’d already written a dozen novels. They had a beginning, middle, and end, a story arc, action, conflict, and a resolution.

They weren’t very good, but then again, I hadn’t been writing for very long. And I knew I had a lot to learn. So I read the “how to write” books, gleaned a few good practices from them, and ignored EVERYTHING else.

And then I wrote some more. And more, and more, until I had about thirty novels under my belt.

In 1997, I got my first computer and entered the swiftly changing world of the Internet. I immediately joined a writer’s group, and got my first taste of actual critiques (some good, some bad.) I paid attention, and continued writing. Even after I left that group and joined another one, I kept paying attention, kept reading (although not as voraciously as before), and kept improving.

When I finished Second Coming, I felt that I had a publishable novel. Heart’s Desire took me four tries to get right, but I feel that it’s publishable too. The Tenth Ghost is essentially a first draft with very minor edits. So are Prince of Shadows and Lost in Shadows. And Nine Lives and Three Wishes had more grammar edits than anything. Although I will admit that NL did take me some time to figure out the right tone of voice for Misty.

I will submit that the reason why I write such clean first drafts—and publishable first drafts—is because of my reading background.

Now. Your question might be what you can do to remedy the situation if you didn’t grow up reading like I did. Well, my advice would be to start reading now. (You saw that coming, didn’t you?) A steady diet of Harlequins (no offense meant here–they’re fluff reading, but little else, imo.) will not make you a better writer. Only reading one author, or even only books from one publisher will not make you a better writer. Spread the joy. Try a new genre. You never know; you might actually like it.

Pay attention to how people talk, and how characters talk. Pay attention to the formation of words, and how, if you put a string of words together just a bit differently, they can come across with a totally different meaning.

The nice thing about the internet is that you can get many, many classics online for free. Free is good. However, if you want paper copies, check them out from the library! No one will think you’re strange if you decide to check out a book of poems instead of the newest John Grisham. Really. Honest.

And practice your voice. So many writers don’t take the time to develop their unique voice, and I believe very strongly that their work suffers because of it. (It’s like trying to read something through mud. You can–well, I can–tell.)

And most of all, your mileage may vary on every piece of advice I ever give, and if it doesn’t work for you, find something that does and go with it.

There. I’m done, then.

Well, on my way to work today, I hashed out the next couple of scenes in NS. It should be interesting… although I’m now not sure someone will die. (We shall see.)

Not sure of a wordcount at the moment, but I did write last night and at lunch, so I should be doing well.

Still not sure of the final count. I’m still aiming for 90k, and it looks promising, especially if things keep going the way they are going.

I like this book. Of course, I’m in the middle of it at the moment, so that’s fairly normal. We’ll see what I think of it when I’m finished and ready to submit.

I have to think about what to write next (after SCR) as well. I’m debating on The Eighth Room, the next Jacob Lane book. I should write it. I’m just not sure what happens yet. And I’m not sure I want to write two books in a row in the same world.

But if I don’t write TER, then what will I write? Decisions, decisions… hmm. It’s not like I don’t have a bunch of unfins on my harddrive, after all…

Taking a little break here to post…

I’m not finished with either essay. I haven’t even started the second one yet. It’s still percolating.

Got Ella out of a tight spot. Now she’s going to discover that vampires are sneakier than she thought. But she’s thrown her lot in with them by default, really, at least in her father’s mind. It’s like the lesser evil, I guess. She doesn’t trust her father because of the fact that he captured and tortured Robin for fifteen years, and yet her father set some doubts in her mind about the vampires’ intentions.

(Personally, I don’t think she’s really made up her mind yet whose side is the right side in this. Both sides—the vampires and the Hunters—have very good points to their respective madness.)

(Okay, I’ve been sitting here trying to think of something to compare it to, and it’s just not happening…)

It’s like… sheesh. Broad generalities, here… Militant vegans and meat eaters? Self-publishing vs. traditional publishing? Christians and Pagans? Heck, if I’m going to get into religions… Catholics vs. Baptists/Nazarenes/Hard-core Christians in general?

In truth, I think Ella will be forced to choose sides in this battle. She’s not going to be able to sit on the sidelines and watch.

(Although why everyone can’t just live together in peace, I don’t know. Maybe my mind is too open. Although, I am a Libra, which should explain everything.)

I can sympathize with both sides in this case. Ella’s father fervently believes he is right, and heck, Robin just wants to get the Hunters and Marcus off his back and live in peace. (That’s just not going to happen, though. It wouldn’t be much of a story, would it?)

Both sides have done horrible things. After all, Ella’s father tortured Robin for fifteen years. He also kept Ella in the dark. And the Hunters—the organization he belongs to—has done other things that will come to light eventually. Hahaha.

But Robin now holds an important Hunter captive, and Ella’s father is desperate for information. Ella doesn’t agree with Robin’s vow of vengeance, but she can’t really stop him, or blame him.

I mean, there are certain people I’d just love to tell off, but I don’t do it. You know? I’m too polite. Or something. I really have to be provoked to react in that way. And I’m not counting sarcasm. My sarcasm shows far too often.

It’s one hell of a set-up, especially since I’m over 50k now, and should be over half done with this monster. I’ll be very interested to see if what I’ve ‘seen’ actually comes true. It would make for an interesting ending…

Haven’t killed anyone yet. But I’m getting there. I think. (insert evil laugh here)