September 09, 2006

I Especially Dig It

. . . when members of my writing groups criticize my punctuation. One woman hates my semicolons, and another doesn't like my colons.

I believe they would like me to write simple, declarative sentences. Subject does verb with predicate. All rather short. And simple. Containing, perhaps, the occasional comma. And a sentence fragment for dramatic effect.

Look for me in South Florida. I'll be writing. Fishing. And hanging out in bars.

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September 08, 2006

What I Was After in this Book

. . . was a hybrid between Michael Connelly and Jane Austen, with a little Dorothy L. Sayers thrown in.

What I've produced is more like a "Scooby Do: Where Are You" script, crossed with Sleepless in Seattle.

Not the level I wanted, but who cares? All that matters is finishing.

I should make the time to wash the dishes. And blame my problems on other people. But first, maybe I'll have another nap.

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September 07, 2006

I Sweat Buckets of Blood, for Hours

. . . and here I have 1000 words. Wowie-kazowie.

Of course, it's all dialogue, which means it goes on for pages and pages. And, naturally, I'm going to get busted in writer's group for writing too much dialogue.

Even after I add the action in around the spoken words, it'll still be "ring around the collar." I've tried soaking it out, and scrubbing it out.

Yet it's enough. Enough for today.

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Pop Quiz!

If my protagonist, while driving a bit crazily—as is her wont—maneuvers around "a slowpoke Latino," is she a racist?

Please advise. Myself, I had trouble keeping a straight face when I was told that the phrase "sounds racist."

I wonder if it would be sexist to introduce a smart blonde female character.

One isn't supposed to notice anyone's physical characteristics, ya know!

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September 01, 2006

I'm Almost Ready

. . . to wade back into the crime novel. But I don't know whether it sucks tonight. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't.

Sometimes I write a chapter or scene that's so amazing, the universe nearly hums along to the breathlessly perfect melody of the prose. Then I read it aloud in one of my criticism groups. By then someone's gone into the Word file to add cliches, bad dialogue, and typographical errors.

So it all comes down to this question: Do I feel lucky?

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August 27, 2006

I Need to Engineer

. . . a prison break. Can anyone help me?

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August 24, 2006

"Um. About That Sex Scene."

"Yeah?"
"You said he was 'wet.' Didn't you mean 'hard'?"
"No, wet. Precum."
"But precum isn't sexy," another girl interjects.
"Is too! I love precum."
As usual, we all look to the gay guy. "Well, that's a lot of precum, to get her jeans wet that way." Like Solomon in his wisdom.

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August 02, 2006

Note to Self:

For the high-intensity writing workshop, it won't do to throw the characters into the scene and figure you'll do a re-write on it later. No: actionless characters who are just standing around get noticed in this crowd. Not in the good way. Enough with the cut-and-paste: only take stuff there after it's been polished to some degree.

(Aw, come on, guys: I can take it. I really can. It won't slow me down. Not to worry, though when you finally read it I hope you'll be a bit gentler than this group was.)

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July 30, 2006

"If You Start Typing, Your Unconscious Will Solve That Problem," He Tells Me.

"It's solving it now," I reply.

"Really? 'Cause it looks like you're just sitting around making yourself miserable."

"By that logic, you aren't working when you go lie down in the middle of the day."

He looks at me. "That's just more of your smart talk."

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Where Are the Servants?

They should be cutting up watermelon for me.

And revising Chapter Two.

And working out that thing in Chapter Six.

And cleaning my kitchen.

One cannot get good help these days . . .

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July 28, 2006

My Characters

. . . appear very shallow to me right now. It appears that they are showing an inordinate interest in food and sex.

I guess I should try to instill some values in them. But why do I have to do everything?

Oh. Right.

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July 27, 2006

No, Really.

It's like being in charge of making the vinaigrette when one person at dinner is into the health benefits of olive oil, and another is afraid of the calories, so she wants it to be 90% vinegar. Then the first one accuses you of trying to take the enamel off her teeth.

I'm supposed to develop my characters first, but then everyone wants the body to show up immediately. The advice is all contradictory.

Writing is too hard. I think I need to learn a real trade. I'd make a good truck driver, for instance.

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July 08, 2006

I Just Remembered the Problem.

Writing is hard. Really hard.

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July 03, 2006

Light Blogging for the Next Few Days

I'm kicking the fiction-writing into high gear, partly due to the fact that I have a novel-writing class that starts on July 12th—and partly due to my very best critic (Attila the Hub) expressing an interest in seeing the manuscript at this point. (He hasn't looked at it in three years.)

"But it sucks," I tell him. "You don't want to read it."

"The sooner you finish it, the sooner you can get rid of it. It's a good thing, to hate your project."

Perhaps. It all depends on whether one wants to creep out from under the rock one lives under. [Insert exoskeletal reference here.]

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June 30, 2006

Well, Now They Know.

The people in Writer's Group seem quite surprised by the solution to my murder mystery, and not 100% dissatisfied, either.

I'm trying to get away from the type of chick-generated puzzle in which the crime was committed either by the sexist, or by the woman who likes to wear fur in public. Or the real estate developer: that's a subtle one.

Now all I have to do is finish this thing and then burn it send it to potential agents/publishers. Piece of cake.

I'll be 44 years old in a week and a half; I've got to get a move on.

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May 09, 2006

"How Do You Stay So Prolific, Joy?"

I work hard to make sure that 99% of what I write is complete and utter shit.

I'm also capable of whipping up a few pages of dialogue on my lunch hour if writers' group is meeting that night.

Though I shudder to take it in: our teacher always tells me I'm really good at dialogue, and should stop writing so much of it. She's harsh, I tell you.

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April 04, 2006

On Cover Letters for Literary Submissions.

My writing teacher sent an e-mail along that contained this link to an article for Poets and Writers by C. Michael Curtis. It's thoughtfully written, compassionate, and respectful of the individual writer's sensibilities—along with the massive power inequity between writers and editors. Curtis clearly has a a warm heart, and a deep love for those who produce the written word.

The intent certainly wasn't to make me consider driving off a cliff, but that was the effect, naturally.

I'm coming around to the position that the desire to write is a cancer not yet addressed by medical science. Someone should set up a fucking foundation, you know.

In the meantime, I'm going to take a nap.

(Fear not: I should get my period within a few days. Then I'll be in pain, but a good deal less cranky. The following week I'll be happy and smiling and fun again. Biology may not be destiny, but it certainly affects one's moods.

Besides, with so many options available, no sensible crime writer could ever choose a method that had the right panache. Hence, the napping alternative, which leaves one's future options open, and facilitates that happy smiling fun week that lies just over the rainbow.)

UPDATE: Okay. The package containing that stupid story everyone wants me to send out is ready. I just cranked it out as an exercise some weeks ago, and people keep telling me it's great—even Attila the Hub, who isn't given to hyperbole, likes it. After a while, one ought to trust others' judgement on these matters.

So I feel marginally better. At least I can get started on that average of 19 rejections any given story receives before it's accepted anywhere. (That long horrible one that I really hate—but keep sending 'round because I worked so hard on it—just has a few more rejections to go before I either get it published or give up on it for good.)

I'm no longer toying with suicidal thoughts; I've moved up to homicidal ones, which is my interpretation of mental health.

It's still raining. Hog Beatty called me to recommend anything from Bowie's "Berlin" period for this drizzly day. I left him a message that almost all my Bowie is on vinyl, and I still don't have a turntable. So it's Ziggy Stardust, Changes2, or silence.

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November 17, 2005

I Write About Moral Reprobates

. . . too often. I'm starting to get looks in my writer's group. People blink a lot and gently suggest that I'm starting to lose the readers' sympathies. By which they mean that I've lost theirs.

Hm. I happen to find my monsters lovable as all get out. Second only to Maurice Sendak's.

Everyone's just mad that my characters have more sex than theirs. Hey! Could there be a song in that?

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November 03, 2005

Ye Olde Crime Novel

I took the gauze out of my mouth long enough to read a few pages aloud at Writer's Group tonight. This was one of my "shocker" chapters, and people were . . . well, shocked. That might be good, but if I choose to keep that scene I have to throw in some hints that it might be coming, and consider carefully whether people will be as interested in the character if I continue along this path.

I'd like to keep it, though it definitely gives the tale an even darker turn. But I should consider nuking it. If I do that, I have to figure out how to find a substitute for the final reveal at the end, or whether that's even necessary. If I do my job right, the main plot twist might be enough.

It's been a year and a half, and none of these people has yet articulated what I long to hear: "there, there. That really sucks. You can't write. Why don't you burn this sorry excuse for a manuscript, go home, and take a hot bath? By the way—this isn't your fault. Most likely it's your mother's. Or your husband's. Or perhaps an ex-boyfriend's. Don't worry about it."

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October 21, 2005

Writer's Group Last Night.

They liked my ookey melodramatic backstory, and they think it should go back into the book.

Though I'll have to re-write it in the first person to match the rest of the material. Or, I can re-cast the other parts in third, though semi-hard-boiled American mysteries are usually in first.

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