Yet More Revision Headaches

I'm really not doing great with my revision on my Nanowrimo book. I've become crazy busy but I hear that is normal for this time of year so I'm really not beating myself up too badly about it. In the back of my mind, though, there is the niggling suspicion that I'm just putting it off because it is such a dreaded chore. Why is it that when you're writing you think what is going down on the paper is so wonderful and just too precious to be believed. You are just sure that if everyone had your level of brilliancy the world would be inundated with really good books. Then, you go back and read the poor thing and you wonder just who in the hell went back over your beautiful creation with a crayon and yucked it up. You read it with tears of horror in your eyes and you lay your head down on your arms and you weep for the dream of the great story that has once again eluded you. But then, and this is where I have my problem, then you have to pick yourself up and look at the poor pathetic thing objectively and ... fix it. What?! Fix it? Are you kidding me? A mercy killing would be a better fit for this miserable pile of words. What con are you trying to pull? There is no way this piece of literary crap could ever be anything worth sharing with one other soul let alone a whole world of little people who are impressionable and might actually read it. Sigh. But then someone like my really good friend in KS reads a snippet of it and thinks it has merit. My eyes narrow and I examine every word of her reply. I hear her voice in my head and I try to catch every nuance of her praise and thoughtful changes. I tear her reply to pieces looking for the words junk, trash and crap. They aren't there. She thinks it has merit. I frown. Could it be that this heap of ... something ... could maybe be decent or ... gulp ... good? Is there something there no matter how small that could become beautiful and shining and interesting? Hm. It's a thought. Darn it all, now I have to revise the thing. Sigh. Back to work.

A Happy Drive Through The Mountains

Those of you who know me well know that I have no patience with idiocy when driving a car. Having just returned from taking my geniuses to be with their dad for the holidays I must report that idiocy is unfortunately all over our roads. Hypothetically speaking, if you see what you think is ice on the road you do not, I repeat, do not slam on your brakes so you can creep across it at 5-7 mph. The people behind you who are cruising along at 70-90 mph cannot stop so quickly and you are an idiot. Check the temperature and make sure it is ice and not just water from melting ice that is shining in the bright sunshine. I swear I need new break pads due to idiocy over the weekend. Another thing, if an ambulance is coming, move to the right. I don't care if you are on an interstate, the ambulance should not have to drive around you. If you stubbornly stay in your lane even though the right lane is empty for ten miles in each direction you are an idiot. One more thing, there is no need to slow down to 12-14 mph because you are entering a tunnel whose speed limit is 55. To do so is a real hazard to anyone who is driving in excess of 80 mph behind you. The darkness in the tunnel will not swallow you whole so that you will never see the light of day again. It is not a black hole in the universe and it is not dark matter. It is simply a tunnel through a mountain and you will come out the other side if you don't act like an idiot during your travel through the tunnel. When you get close to the other end of the tunnel and see the light, don't slow down. Keep going. You are not a moth. The light will not hurt you. Heaven forbid you come out into open air and breath something other than car fumes. Don't be an idiot. Ahem ... yes well, all the above is purely hypothetical, you know. I don't personally know anyone who travels at the speeds mentioned and I would not imagine you do either. Okay, rant over, back to life as I know it.

Revision Procrastination

I have a bad case of procrastination. I have two books to revise and I'm not looking at the poor things. They are sitting on a shelf in full view which is my way of shaming myself into doing something with them. Instead, I pile things on top and in front of them so I don't have to see them. Sort of self-defeating, don't you think? I agree. I can't even say I have a great new project I'm working on so I don't have the mental stamina to work on the revisions. No, I'm just ignoring them and hoping they'll magically revise themselves so I won't have to. I hate revisions. I am so glad my kids don't read this blog because I can just hear their whiny little genius voices in my mind. "You always tell us that everything is attitude. If you just adjust your attitude, you can do anything no matter how much you may not enjoy the task." That's like nails down the chalkboard. I can't really sound so pompous, can I? Naw, surely not. Besides, when I say it I'm encouraging them to get their homework done or clean the toilet. Those are truly onerous but necessary chores. Revisions fall into a whole different category altogether. Revisions are like picking the remaining meat off a dead carcass. Too graphic? Oh, well, how about revisions are the stuff you flush down the dirty toilet? Can you tell I hate revisions? I figure I'd have read and a few pages and be thinking about plot and story line while fixing punctuation and typos by now. Why oh why do I put this stuff off? When I figure it out, I'll let you know. For now, I've got revisions to do. Ugh.

One Mystery Of The Universe Answered

Have you ever wondered why there are empty cartons left in the refrigerator, pantry, under the bathroom sink or really anywhere you might find a teenager using anything that comes in a container? I finally have the answer and it was provided by my 13 year old daughter. The scenario: Bugs like to take this time of year to come into the house since evidently they wish to be warm like me inside my house. My mom, lovely person that she is, sprayed my bathroom so there would be no nasty spiders or whatever there to surprise me when my eyes are only half open at 4:30 in the morning when I get up. Thank you, Mom! The bottle of spray was left in the bathroom in the corner and I thought she just was interrupted and hadn't gotten back to finishing. The bottle stayed there for, oh, a week and a half or so. This morning we were talking about bugs and Mom said we needed more bug spray. That just begged the question: Why is there an empty container marked bug spray on my bathroom floor. The answer was promptly given by my daughter who was eating breakfast at the time. The answer is: Promotional Purposes. After all these years of wondering, now I know. The teenage son leaves the empty milk jug in the refrigerator for: Promotional Purposes. The empty toothpaste tube and shampoo bottles: Promotional Purposes. All the empty hot chocolate containers, cereal boxes and coffee tins: Promotional Purposes. My only question now is: Am I being paid for any of this?

Family Update And Cry For Help

Gosh, I just noticed I have comments on my blogs. Holy cow! I missed that somehow and I apologize to those who have left comments. I am really sorry. Thanks for visiting, I appreciate it. On another note, I've cleaned up my site a bit and changed the look of it, as you can see. I've been blogging mostly about my writing lately and not about my family so much. Therefore, maybe it's time to update the family end. My mom is doing great. She finished her schooling and is jumping into the job market at the worst possible moment. People just aren't hiring here in Charlotte. She has her application in at several places and I'm hoping she hears soon because she is driving herself crazy at home alone with nothing to do all day long every day. She needs a hobby or an eharmony account. I'm not sure which one. As for the lovely little geniuses of mine, well ... what can I say. They are ... teenagers. One is doing quite well in school and the other is holding her own which is pretty good for her. Audition time has come for her to be able to stay in the school she's in. She's scrambling to get her sketch pad up to date and figure out what projects she's going to present as her 'best' work. It will be interesting to see what she comes up with. The other genius is a slacker. No really, he is. He makes really good grades but he doesn't try. Imagine what he could do if he cared. (Rolling my eyes.) Here he is with opportunities galore and he just piddles it away. (Banging my head on the desk at the waste of youth.) What the heck anyway? As for my writing, let's just say revisions have to happen in a big way for the story to hang together and I really, really hate revisions. I would pay someone to do them for me if I had the money. I also need to find someone who writes and has a kind nature to read the darn thing and give me a fresh viewpoint on it. I'm up to my eyeballs in the sludge and I am almost out of breath. So, if anyone out there is reading this and interested in reading a rough draft to help me with direction and basic story plot, please, please let me know.

Revision Time And Tweetdeck

Nano is officially over as of yesterday and I finished. I've revised one chapter of my nano book and am getting ready to start on the second. I am excited about this book and I hope it will do well for me. There is always hope even for the idiots. Hmph. I'm at work and I should be working at work instead I'm web surfing at work. I discovered tweetdeck and have been playing around with it to the detriment of almost everything else. I also discovered googlewave but it isn't working very well yet due to the early stages of development it is in. In other news, Em's face is swollen from her dental appointment a week ago. I'm thinking the swelling should have gone down by now but alas she is fat faced on one side. It is like looking at skinny Em/chunky Em. Very odd. They say she is having a bad reaction to the anesthesia and that it will slowly dissipate but in the meantime she can barely open her mouth. She may go from a size one to a size zero in the time it will take to heal. I don't think that will be a good look on her. People might think she has an eating disorder, which would be true since she can't open her mouth to eat. That's a disorder, right? But, anyhoo, I finished my novel and I'm ready to get it revised and polished and shiny and ready to send out to collect brand spanking new rejection letters. Cheers.

Nano Is Over And Thanksgiving

The story is done. Life is a little empty. I'm taking a breath and then it is a nose dive or belly flop or maybe a cannon ball into revising. I like this story. I hope it isn't such a slog to get through the first edit as my last one has been. I'm still not finished with that one and it's going on three years. Ugh! I've got to find a reader or two who can help me with it. Anyone out there who knows the English language and proper punctuation? I hear crickets. I think I'll post on the blueboards that I need help. Maybe someone there knows whether it's who or whom. On a side note, the tree is up and it is beautiful. I know, Thanksgiving hasn't come yet and I already have the tree up but what can I say? I love looking at the lit and decorated tree. Look at the lights, the beautiful lights ... Ahem, sorry, I get a little hypnotized once in a while. Enjoy your Thanksgiving. I'll be with family and maybe a wee little doggy named Bella.

Short Story And Sammy Goes Home

Here I was afraid I couldn't make the story end somewhere around 50,000 words. Instead, the story is rapidly winding down about 5,000 short. (Insert screams and hair pulling here) I'm going to have to finish writing and inject a nonsense chapter somewhere in the middle where no one will think to look for complete ridiculousness. Is that cheating? Shhh. Don't tell anyone. I've decided to put another excerpt in today. Sammy is finally ready to go home after some coaxing from me. Enjoy.

He looked at the front door and saw that the screen was still there but it was no longer sucking in fog. The sky was beginning to get lighter though it was not yet daylight. The diggers were coming up on the porch and following them was a tall young woman with thick black hair. Her skin was a deep tan color and her eyes seemed to be black. She was smiling at what the diggers were saying as she entered the house.
“This is a really beautiful house,” she said. She saw Sammy sitting on the steps. “You must be Sammy,” she said. “I’m Simone. It’s very nice to meet you.”
Sammy smiled a sleepy smile and stood up. “I guess I should show you the dream screen room unless you want to see the rest of the house first.”
“No,” she said. “Let’s go see the dream screens.” She followed Sammy to the top of the stairs. He opened the door down the little hallway and stepped back so she could go in first. She took about three steps into the room and stopped to look around. “This is amazing,” she said. “The colors are beautiful.”
Sammy and the diggers looked around and were amazed to find the terrible chaos that had been in the room before they’d left to get the new Dreamweaver had been restored to its normal order. The screens were all hanging were they should be and the shattered glass and broken frames were all repaired and looking like new.
Simone walked from screen to screen and smiled as she studied each in turn. After doing this for ten minutes or so she turned to Sammy and the diggers with a huge smile on her face. “I love this place,” she said. “Are you telling me the truth that this is where I live?”
Hannah stepped forward and nodded. “It is, Simone,” she said. “It’s your house and you are the new Dreamweaver. Sammy is the Dreamcatcher. If you have problems with a rogue dream or a player, Sammy is the one you call to straighten things out.”
Simone looked at Sammy doubtfully. Sammy shrugged. He found he didn’t really care if she believed this to be true or not. He really just wanted to go home. He hoped she would never have trouble and would never have to find out if Sammy were capable of taking care of it. Much as he liked this place he really just wanted to go home.

I'm tired and I'm sad the story is ending but I did it, well except for those last 5,000 or so words. Darn those words.

Almost Over And Gary Dies

The fingers are about worn to the bone from all the tapping at the keys and my hands may be permanently cramped but I can finally almost, just about, kinda, sorta see the light at the end of this very long tunnel. I have about 8,000 more words to go before I'm done with my 50,000 words for the month but I don't think the story will be finished yet. Who knows, though, everyone may just die off, end of story, happy ending. Well, perhaps not for the 8-10 year olds the story is intended for. Darn it all. I've been trying to decide what to put here as the next excerpt of my story and I'm having a hard time with it. Do I put in the catching of the Dreamstealer or the death of the Dreamweaver? Yes, I kill Gary. Sorry to the Gary fans out there. Perhaps the death scene would be best that way you're at least prepared. Here it is:

“Did you catch him,” a weak voice asked from behind Herbert. Sammy stepped to the side and saw Gary leaning against the trap. His face was white and his legs didn’t seem to want to hold him up any longer because he slowly sank to the floor. Sammy rushed over to his side and for the first time saw the blood that soaked the front of his shirt.
“Gary,” he said. “You should have let me look at you earlier. Do you think I can imagine you better?”
Gary smiled sadly. “I don’t think that works on real injuries to real people. This is different than a normal dream. We aren’t players and our wounds won’t heal.”
“No,” Sammy said fiercely. “You have to let me try. You can't just sit there and bleed to death. You have to let me try.”
Herbert had followed Sammy to Gary’s side and it was his hand that pulled Sammy away from Gary and his arms that held Sammy until his anger drained away. Sammy tried to push and shove Herbert but he just could not move him until he stopped fighting. Herbert held him for another moment until Sammy took a deep breath and calmed himself down. Slowly and carefully he stepped around Herbert and calmly walked back to Gary’s side. “How do we get out of here,” he asked.
Gary’s eyes were shut and at first Sammy thought he was dead but his eyelids fluttered then opened. “Can you talk with Horace and Hannah,” he asked in a rough whisper. Sammy nodded. “Tell them to hit the exit button on the screen. It will open a door and you’ll be able to go home.”
“You have to come too,” Sammy said. Gary gave a weak shake of his head. “Yes, you have to. I can’t leave you here with that.” He pointed over his shoulder to the cage where the Dreamstealer was still screaming in rage. “You can’t stay here.”
Gary reached out and grabbed Sammy’s arm for a brief moment before it lost strength and fell limply to the floor. “Sammy,” he said. “You must leave me. The door only opens for a short time and you must get through it. You have to take the leaf blower and get rid of the fog. You have to clean up the dream world and restore the balance. Horace and Hannah will have to get the new Dreamweaver. You have to go back and you have to leave me. This is where I belong.”
Sammy frowned. He didn't like what Gary was saying and he didn't agree but he realized he couldn't fight with him. He sighed. “What about Herbert,” Sammy asked.
“Herbert can decide for himself what he wants to do,” Gary said. He closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m tired, Sammy. I want to sleep.”
Sammy looked around and saw the mattress Gary had landed on when he’d come out of the worm. The worm was gone even though Sammy hadn’t heard it leave. Sammy looked at Gary and pictured in his mind a big soft bed where Gary could sleep. He pictured it with nice fluffy pillows and warm blankets. Gary’s lips curved up in a small smile when he felt the comfort of the bed.
“Thank you,” he whispered. He folded his hands together over his chest and his face became peaceful.

It wasn't that bad, was it? Herbert goes a little crazy after that but I'll let you find out about that later. Right now, I have to get back to the story to figure out how to end it. Believe it or not, I still really like this story. Maybe I can get this one edited before I start to hate it. Here's hoping.

Still Writing And Mousetraps

I'm 2/3 done with my novel and not quite half way through the month. That feels great. I like the story. It's cute and quite a bit younger than what I have been writing. My problem is the ending. I'm catching the bad guy but I'm not sure what to do with him once I have him caught and then there is the whole this-story-is-now-officially-over part which just doesn't want to happen at all. Personally, I think my characters are having way to much fun in the dreamworld to come home and live in reality. I have a boy who has really great friends but he suddenly doesn't care if he ever sees them again if he can just build the world's best tree house in the most awesome trees anywhere. What is it with characters that when you put them on the page they actually think they can have lives of their own? Whatever. I'm including another excerpt just so you stay interested. Hope you enjoy.

Gary sat thinking and watching Herbert who had finally sat down in the chair he'd been jumping on. "Maybe we can build the world's biggest mousetrap," he said thoughtfully.
Sammy smiled. "We could," he said. "How would you build it if you were going to build a mousetrap to catch a Dreamstealer?"
Gary started smiling. "Do we build from the trap back or from the trigger forward," he asked.
"From the trap back," Sammy said. "We’d need a basket or something like that to drop over the Dreamstealer."
Gary nodded. "It would have to be strong so he couldn't break out of it."
"It would have to be built especially for trapping a Dreamstealer and it would have to be made of something that stopped imagination once you were inside so you couldn't imagine your way out of it."
"Right," Gary agreed. "What do we call it?"
Sammy thought of Mr. Tillden at his school in his world. He was constantly asking if they were a bunch of blank slates when they couldn't think of anything to write in their creative writing classes. "Lets call it blank slate stuff," he said.
Gary nodded. "That’s good," he said. "So the trap will be made of blank slate stuff. It has to be big enough to hold the Dreamstealer."
"I think the blank slate stuff will get bigger and smaller by itself so that it fits whatever is in it," Sammy said.
"That’s good," Gary said. "That's really good. You’ve done this before."
Sammy nodded. He pictured a big piece of paper in his mind with pencils and crayons to draw with. "Oh perfect," Gary said when they appeared on the table. He picked up a pencil and started to sketch a cage at one end.

Remember the game Mousetrap? That's what I'm envisioning. We'll see how far I get with it but for now it's a way to fill the paper. Ta.

The Birthday Is Over And Scary Sammy

The birthday went well. My son received enough gift cards to finish paying for all the games he has on reserve. He's thinking of getting a job too. Gasp! I like a boy who wants to work. He loved his surprise cake as well which can be seen along with the one his sister made on my facebook page. Sunday went by way too fast and now here we are at the start of another week. Mom has her test on Saturday to be a CNA. Hopefully she won't psyche herself out too badly. She has the knowledge and ability to pass the test she just needs to beleive in herself. I've been back at work trying to get back into the writing groove. I didn't work on it at all over the weekend and it isn't something I've been able to pick back up and just move on with. However, I have managed to add significantly to the thing and as promised, here's another small piece:

The sound came again from Sammy's right but it was answered this time and Sammy was sure the sound came from his left. It was an odd sound kind of a keening whistle. It reminded Sammy of the songs of the whales he'd heard in a documentary one time.
Sammy stopped in his tracks and Horace bumped into him.
"What the," Horace started to say but Sammy put his hand over Horace's mouth. Horace went still.
Sammy put his face close to Horace’s. "They're talking," he said.
"What," Horace whispered. "Who?"
"That noise," Sammy said. "It sounds like an animal in my world and it’s how they talk to each other."
"Do you understand it," Horace asked.
Sammy shook his head. "No," he said. "I don't understand it. I don't speak whale."
"What's whale," Horace asked.
Sammy opened his mouth to answer but realized this was the completely wrong time to have this conversation.
"Look," he said. "You’ll just have to trust me. They are talking to each other. I don’t like this. We need to get out of here quickly."
Horace nodded and grabbed Sammy’s hand. Before Sammy had a chance to think Horace was off and running. Sammy did his best to keep up but there was no time to look where they were going and he was bumping painfully into things at shin height.
The sounds were coming fast now as they called back and forth to each other.
"Duck," Horace called over his shoulder.
"What," Sammy said at about the same moment as he saw the low hanging tree branch. He dove for the ground and lost his grip on Horace's hand. Horace didn't stop quick enough and was swallowed up by the fog. Sammy was breathing hard and all he could hear was the pounding of his heart in his ears.
He took a few deep breaths to slow his heart down so he could listen to what was happening around him. He could see something tall and thick from where he lay on the ground and he thought it might be the tree whose branch he'd almost brained himself on.
He scooted as quietly as he could toward the tree and tried to make himself look as though he were a part of it.
He didn't know where Horace was but he could now hear movement around him and he just hoped it was Horace getting nearer to him and not the things that had been communicating so eerily in the fog.
Sammy sat completely still waiting for something to happen. His heart beat was starting to race again and he tried to breathe deeply to slow it down. It wasn't helping.
He noticed the fog starting to swirl and thought it likely that something was moving closer to him. He turned his head slowly and saw a shape in the fog. It seemed to dance as the tendrils swirled around the shape. He turned his head slowly in the other direction and saw another shape there. Whatever they were there was no more talking between them. They were silently approaching the tree and Sammy knew he had to act quickly or they’d find him.

Are you biting your nails yet? Will Sammy get out alive? What are the shapes in the fog? How rough is this draft! Ugh! OK, I know it really isn't great but it could be. Just wait and see, it'll get all polished up and it'll be readable, I promise. But for now, it's a work in progress.

Nano And Sixteen

Nano month has been great so far but I am so mentally tired. I've written almost 20,000 words in 5 days. I keep the thought of the revising that has to happen at bay because writing is such fun. I put a small excerpt of my writing in my last blog and I probably will again before the month's over. For those of you who don't know what's going on, go to nanowrimo.org and check it out. You can find me there at pacali or search the author list for my name. It shows my word count and if you bookmark it you can keep track of where I'm at every day. This weekend is a weekend off for me, though, so there will be no changes in the writing status. CG1 has his 16th birthday and I have a party to throw for family. He's pretty excited about it. After all, it isn't every year you turn 16. It's the first really big milestone in autonomy for anyone. He'll begin practicing parallel parking soon and after the license is gotten, he'll be begging to go to the store for me every time I turn around. That's how I was. God that seems such a long time ago. Happy Birthday Tanner.

Sammy And The Diggers

Novel writing month has started and while I cannot say I'm burning up the keyboard, I'm certainly holding my own. I'm writing about an orphan boy named Sammy who cannot sleep at night because of the sound of digging in the corner of his dorm room. Sammy is the only one of the six boys sleeping in the room to hear the noise and be bothered by it. The diggers finally break through the wall and urgently try to get Sammy to go with them. He decides he ought to because they need him so badly. The tunnel is sealed shut after he enters which means his decision is at this point irreversible. He must go forward. The diggers move through their world by worm. Think earthworm on a large, large scale. They travel in the chamber just behind the mouth which keeps them out of the way of any debris caused as the worm moves from place to place. As you can imagine, Sammy is pretty disgusted with this mode of travel and it takes some convincing to get him to enter the worm. Herbert, Hannah and Horace are the diggers who are brothers and their sister. Here is a short excerpt of my story:

Herbert walked gingerly through the teeth and onto the tongue and Hannah and Horace followed him. Sammy stood watching them but couldn’t make himself enter the mouth.
Herbert had reached the back of the mouth just where the throat would start when he turned to make sure they were all together and saw that Sammy was still standing outside. He stopped and so did the other two who had turned to look at Sammy as well.
"Come on, Sammy," Herbert said. "She won't hurt you as long as you do not hurt her. Be careful walking between the teeth and try not to kick one. She doesn’t like that. We need to have them cleaned and repaired the next time we are in the city so she is just a tiny bit sore."
"Great," Sammy mumbled to himself. "Don’t hurt her but she's sore so there isn't any way you're not going to hurt her. No pressure, Sammy."
"Just step between the teeth unless it looks red and sore," Hannah said helpfully. "It really isn’t difficult if you look where you're going."
Sammy took a deep breath and put his foot into the opening between two teeth. He could not believe he was doing this. He must have hit a tender spot because the worm rumbled and moved a little bit. Sammy quickly took another step and unfortunately landed on a red area he hadn't seen. This time there was no doubt he’d hurt the worm. She made an even louder noise which sent air blowing through her open mouth and moved her jaw which sent Sammy flying through the air to land in a heap at Herbert's feet.
Horace was laughing so hard he could barely stand. Even Hannah was laughing quietly to herself. Only Herbert looked concerned for Sammy and even his lips were twitching as he checked to make sure he was all right.

Remember, it's a very rough draft and there is much to be corrected before it is anywhere close to finished. Of the 50,000 words I am signed up to write this month, I have 5,500 written. I still have some little ways to go as you can see. Well, I hope you enjoyed the excerpt. I will try to check in occasionally and add a new piece every now and again.

Mr. Hillyer And Blueboards

Here's the deal. I have been writing and writing and writing most of my life. I went to a teeny tiny school for the last of my elementary years and then what we at that time called junior high. There was a teacher at that school, Mr. Hillyer, who saved every Friday for creative writing. We listened to cool and hip music and wrote stories for an hour. He'd give us lists of items or a story beginning or several names or something and we were to create a story around it. He'd read them, critique them and pass them back to us. I LOVED this class and Mr. Hillyer will forever have a place on my best teacher shelf because of it. So, fast forward to today, I've been writing ever since and now have one complete manuscript, several half finished ones and have signed up to write one in the month of November. All this on my own with no help or organization or buddy system. I am alone, or so I thought. One day, cruising the web because I was tired of my whining sniveling self, I ran across what is affectionately called the Blueboards by its members. It is a writers'/illustrators' heaven. I joined and have been talking and learning from a whole community of people just like me. See, I'm not completely crazy. There are others out there with my same disease. It has given me a thirst for writing that had been gone for a long time. So, I just want to say, thank you Mr. Hillyer for starting it all and thank you to everyone on the blueboards who are facilitators of my writing illness. Hopefully, I'll learn enough to write something worthy of publication.

Critiques and Merit

I've been editing my manuscript like crazy. I joined the blue boards which is a writers' and illustrators' haven and have gotten motivated beyond belief. I started a new work but put it on hold when I found a place on the boards where people were asking for critique partners. I've answered the call of a couple of them and have been kindly turned down because I didn't act fast enough. One of the writers, however, offered to read a couple of chapters for me and send me a quick critique. You can probably just picture me pouncing upon that offer. I went after it like a rabid dog goes after fresh meat. There was even drool and foam to be had. A bath was in order afterwards due to the amounts of drool slung onto my clothes and the poor computer may never be the same after its drool bath. But I digress. I very calmly copied the first two chapters of my lovely little story and pasted them in a new file. I attached the file to the email and sent them away to be perused by foreign eyes. A few days later, I have the answer and the critique. Someone, finally, who understands writing for children and the whole writing process has read the poor little story and says it has merit. OMG!!!! It lives. There were some really good suggestions that I need to go back to the beginning and follow up on. These will probably change how I view the whole rest of the story but for now, I'm trying to get all the typos and punctuation done, which is almost at the end. I'm also almost half way through editing for story flow and then I will begin again and do some really technical work like point of view and tense but I won't bore you with that. I am so excited. I don't think this work is really sellable but hey, it has merit. Woohoo.

Naked Guitars And Spanish

I've decided to take the plunge and try to write a novel in November at the NaNoWriMo site online. It will be interesting to see if I can do it. I wrote one in three weeks about two years ago but that was before I realized how bad I was at writing. Believe me, when you start editing what you've written you become quite amazed at your inability to write anything worth reading. I was telling the Mom that in revising my manuscript I found out I had people getting out of a chair two to five times that they had only sat down in once. If you don't think that's a neat trick, well, just try it sometime. You'll see it isn't so easy as it sounds. Speaking of neat tricks, CG1 learned one last Wednesday. He now has the wonderful ability of stringing his guitar. The poor thing was stringless for about two days. I imagine that's about the same as running around naked for a human. Poor thing. It's a wonder it didn't catch cold. However, you'll all be glad to know it is in good health and making good sounds now that it is restrung. Hooray for music lessons and awesome teachers. Speaking of teachers, CG1 is being taught Spanish this year. It is most interesting to listen to his progress. He comes home from school, I come home from work and we look at each other and say hello. I ask how school was and I get the response, "It's school, Mom." as if that adequately answers my question. Then, at some random time in the evening I'll be having a conversation with some other member of the family and the boy will walk by and spout something in another language that I cannot understand. I vaguely recognize it as Spanish but because he mumbles so badly I cannot hear what he is actually saying. English mumbling can at least be deciphered. Spanish mumbling is much more scary. The last time I spoke Spanish, I was in high school and I wasn't very good at it then. I've digressed somewhat in my language skills since then and I do not trust the boy not to be telling me off in his Spanish undertone. I look at it this way, he may not tell me how school is going but if he can inject Spanish into everyday speech, he must be learning something, right? Just agree. It makes me feel better.

Boo Hoo And More Sobbing

I am in a writing slump. I've written two kids books and cannot get anyone to take a serious look at them. I just LOVE the rejection letters. They always sound so upbeat about telling you your work sucks. OK. I know my work sucks. I've got dozens of letters to prove it. How do I make it better? That is what I really want to know. That and how do I continue to look at the poor bedraggled thing and still love it myself? Oh for a writing miracle. I see successful people out there who write really funny interesting words and create the most fabulous worlds. I know I can do that as well but I cannot seem to get anyone else to believe in me enough to read beyond my first name. Maybe I'm going about it all wrong. I have done my research and I only send to people who say they are accepting work in my particular genre. Still, it is the perfectly formed 'this is crap' letter I get back. I bow to the expertise and will retire the piece. I still think it's a great story but no one else seems to. Now I'm at loose ends. What to write? I start a million times and always the paper crumples, the delete button is hit. I've lost my confidence that there is a good story in the brain somewhere. Ideas I have, stories elude me. Now what? I read websites from authors that decide one day to quit their job and presto they're a published author. What the hell? I work my butt off and no one even looks my way. I conclude I am not a good writer. And yet ... I don't truly believe that. I know I can write. I know I can tell a good story. I've been doing it all my life. So, why won't anyone listen? Maybe I haven't put the words together the way the reader wants to see them. Maybe I need someone to take a chance and read my work. Tell me where to make it better and give me a hint on how. I'm lost and looking for direction. Isn't there anyone out there who knows how to write that can give me pointers? Let me know, I'll be waiting.

Isn't Harry Potter Worth It?

Made contact with a friend I haven't seen in a while. Harry Potter is always a good conversation starter. She and I are both fans of the little dude and are eagerly awaiting his newest movie installment. July seems a long way away right now. I'm trying to talk my friend, and yes I do have a few even though I have no followers, into coming down here for the midnight showing. At the release of the last movie, I went alone at midnight and the scene was most interesting. People were dressed in character. The Snapes were boo-ed, the Dracos were surrounded by friends to keep from being stoned. There were capes, pointy hats, and wands galore. It was theater. My friend would think it a real hoot. I realize that 200.00 for a plane ticket or an 18 hour drive to go to a midnight showing my seem a little extreme to some but really, are you a fan or are you a mouse? (or should that be fouse?) I've seen the trailers and I think she should make the effort. I think it would be worth it. Besides, once we saw it in the regular theater, we'd go to the IMAX downtown and see it again on the REALLY big screen. What more could you ask for in a four day weekend getaway? So come on, friend, jump in with both feet and make the trip. You know you want to. If all else fails, try disapparating.