Amber Lough

I'm Ready for Readers!

2011-07-14T17:56:00.004-04:00

At the start of August, I'll be printing off copies to hand out to my readers. If you're interested in making The Jinn Bride a better-than-ever novel, let me know. I will have two copies available for blogging friends who are serious about writing and reading.

In other news, I've since moved to a new apartment, taken up running, and am currently visiting my family in Denver (hence the reason I've been able to finish up my revisions and another reason why I have not blogged in AGES).

Love you all,

Amber

The End of Naps, and Other Things

2011-05-02T14:43:00.002-04:00

My son is awake and about to tip over a small vase, so this will be short:

We've cut out naps. It's not that my son doesn't nap anymore, but that when he does, he won't go to sleep at night. So now he's awake.

It's new, and interesting. What do I do now that I can't get work done during "nap time?" Or can I? Today we hit the grocery store. Long time coming, too. And now we're going to sit together and chill on the couch with a LeapFrog video. And then we might go outside and blow bubbles, if the rain lets up. Or we'll do laundry together. Or we'll sort out the attic.

That's something we really need to do because we're moving YET AGAIN. For those of you who know me personally, you'll remember that we moved across the country in 2007. Across town in 2008. And then to New York State in 2009. We got a break last year, thank goodness. This year we must purge, pack up, and move our stuff from one house to another. AGAIN. We're staying in the same town. Same neighborhood, even, but renting a whole house has become too expensive, so we're getting a flat. It'll be exciting. Like in Coraline. Remember how she shared a house and the guy upstairs had that rat circus? And in the basement were those ladies who were stuck in their theatrical pasts? Maybe we'll have incredibly interesting housemates who will change our lives forever. (You should say that in your best Eddie Izzard voice.)

[Note: LeapFrog's Math on the Moon is cheesy, but my son isn't moving and wide-eyed. Either it's fantastic or his brain is getting fried. What if there was some sort of subliminal message in the video aimed at getting kids to disobey their parents? Don't Eat Your Veggies. Or Poop in Your Pants.]

There is water spread all over the coffee table from that vase and I don't even feel like cleaning it up. I'm going to lie down on the couch and pretend I'm at some tropical resort and have just finished my massage and Henry is playing happily with his sister and daddy in the tide.........

Tess!

2011-04-27T22:26:00.000-04:00

Look! I'm over here today: Tess.

Easter: It's always new

2011-04-26T06:55:00.003-04:00

Easter = Spring, in many minds. And here in Syracuse, it's overdue. But it's here now! All is forgiven!

For the first time ever, Henry decorated Easter Eggs. Elizabeth had done it last year and instructed him how. Jim and I had to hover over him like hens because at any second he could knock over a jar of egg dye, or worse, try to drink the brightly colored "juice." He tried, but it didn't happen. And we got some fabulous eggs.

Then, yesterday, Jim and the kids continued their work on the Space Rocket. I was at oratorio practice and came home to find this in the middle of the living room (without the kids). I think they plan to decorate it and include more rooms.

It's more space station than rocket, but try telling a four-year old that.

And now, off to visit a farm. In the rain. Because my son is dying to go see baby chicks and bunnies.

Three New Things

2011-04-18T10:29:00.004-04:00

I'm supposed to be writing, so I'll make this as brief as I can....And I apologize for the absence of pictures.

Saturday's new thing: Wrote in my neighbor's cozy little office while she watched my kids downstairs. Also, came up with a new opening scene that introduces three antagonists (three!) much earlier in the story line.

Sunday's new thing: The family and I (and some friends) checked out the dollar theater. We saw Knomeo & Juliet, which was better than expected. Plus, it was cheap.

Today's new thing: Reading the Newspaper.

Yes. It's sad, but true. Reading the NY Times is something I've never really done. I mean, I've looked at newspapers, but read them? When I was in college and at Intelligence school, the professors and instructors always mentioned (i.e., nagged) us about reading the paper. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. It took time. It was depressing and boring, all at once. I'd rather be reading something real, like novels. But today, to keep myself from playing Backgammon on my cell phone while drinking coffee, I read a bit of the NY Times.

If I keep this up, I'll have to actually get a *gasp* subscription to the Times!

New Vessels

2011-04-15T22:03:00.003-04:00

For some ungodly reason, I felted today instead of worked on novel revisions.

I made these little guys:

And then some eggs:

And then this:

The pictures aren't that wonderful, but it's the best I could do at night with my phone camera. They were fun to make, and I found out I really enjoy making holes in vessels. I made another egg and another, smaller vessel, but I made the mistake of making them lilac. So they've been "acquired" by Elizabeth. Oh, and these were made with the wool I dyed the other day.

New, Day Two

2011-04-14T21:35:00.005-04:00

When you're out of ideas on what to do that's new, change up the bedtime routine, I always say.*

Or in this case, let the kids take lanterns to bed. With toys.

Remember when you were a kid and you'd pull out your flashlight after your parents put you to bed? You'd tip-toe to that spot your mom put the book you're reading, snitch it, and crawl back in bed. Sometimes you'd pull the sheet over your head and prop the flashlight on your shoulder so it'd be more comfortable to read until you fell asleep. Or finished the book. Or in my case, until my mom came back ten minutes later to take the book away again.

So tonight I let the kids take lanterns to bed with them. The kids needed a distraction because one was screaming on the top of her lungs for marshmallows (can't have that at bedtime, now can we?) and the other was playing cutely with his little ambulance and robot and wasn't in the least bit sleepy yet. So I did what all parents do: I came up with a diversion. Lanterns!

They fill up the bed with golden light orbs, little stages on which to play with your toys (or in my daughter's case, draw). It's bedtime magic. And we didn't even have to argue about how many books we were reading tonight. One was enough once I mentioned lanterns.

My daughter turned hers off within minutes and fell asleep. (That marshmallow tantrum really wore her out.) My son, on the other hand, played until 9:30. It was worth it, hearing his happy robot-EMT noises, even knowing that tomorrow he'll clamor for another night of lantern light.

* I don't always say that. But that made the phrase sound better.

Something New

2011-04-13T15:04:00.004-04:00

Spring has gotten into me. I want newness.

I want freshness. I don't want soggy brown leaves or crusty, dry soil.

I want to feel, be, taste alive.

From now on, I will do or try something new every day. Little things, mostly, like getting out of the other side of the bed. (Which I refused to do today, when prompted by my 4 y.o.) Or rearranging the books into a new order (for us, any sense of 'order' would be new).

Today, in preparation for becoming a felting teacher and selling kits on Etsy, I tried dyeing wool roving for the first time. (New Thing #1)

I started off with the purest, softest, still-smells-like-sheep merino.

Then I dyed 3 oz lilac and 1 oz 'golden straw.' (I use Dharma Acid Dyes.)

Here's the golden straw, just after its dye bath. It's dripping wet in the sink.

Hanging up to dry, the lilac roving. It's dripping a bit, too, and you can see where the colors saturated more heavily in some areas than in others. I prefer that, although some people want a uniform color throughout.

Dyeing wool roving is very, very different from dyeing silk. It's more delicate. I don't want the wool to felt during the dyeing process. It forces me to be present, another new thing for me. I cannot rush off, or skip steps, or let it sit and boil. I have to stand there and gently fold the wool over so that it takes the dye evenly (if that's what I want). I have to wait, patiently, for nature to take its course.

This is very hard for someone like me, who always likes to force things a bit, to suit her own timeline.

And now, I am going to work on subplots...not new, but maybe the end result will be.

Donating help to Japan

2011-03-14T13:38:00.000-04:00

Today, I went swimming and my imagination scared the wits out of me. I thought of the people run over by the tsunami (fittingly, we use the Japanese word here), and what it would have been like to be sucked into the water. That was scary enough, but then when I got out of the water, I thought of the families who are still alive, but have been without electricity, clean water, or anything else for four days now, in freezing temperatures. Not only are they devastated and in shock, but they are starving and dehydrated beyond what I want to imagine.

I took a warm shower, dried my hair, and went back to my child who was safe and happily playing with his friend. Fortunate to be in New York, even where there is snow still on the ground in March.

As some of you know, I grew up (partially) in Japan and have a strong connection with the people on the islands. None of my friends have been hurt, but one of my friends there now (Emi Yamada) works for the UN and used to work for an NGO called JEN, which provides aid in Japan and elsewhere. She said that her old HQ at JEN is scrambling around trying to find bottles of water, sanitary napkins, diapers, etc. to hand out to people but are having an awfully hard time finding anything available. Personally, I feel helpless. I want to help, but I don't have much to offer and don't have the funds to go over there and help in person. So I'm doing what I can by emailing you and hoping that at least one of you will be able to donate to JEN or the Red Cross or someone else who is helping out.

Here is a link to the donation site for JEN.

I know that here in Syracuse many people are sympathetic but still say, "Well, it's Japan. They can take care of themselves just fine. Look at how they bounced back after WWII and Kobe." It's true. They did bounce back. But they didn't do it alone. No island, no group of people, no matter their history or their religion, should have to overcome an earthquake, a tsunami, a volcanic eruption, and a pending nuclear meltdown by themselves. Japan is suffering.

Japan

2011-03-13T12:53:00.003-04:00

All I can say today is that my heart is torn apart for Japan. My thoughts are there, my heart is there, and I wish to God I could be there to help. (Not that I'd be much help. But still.) Thank goodness my personal friends are safe.

Here's a good link to see the before/after of the Tsunami: HERE

Finished.

2011-03-02T12:41:00.005-05:00

I've waited a week to write this post, just to see how my emotions would look like at this point. And they're the same, for the most part.

You see, I finished my book.

And it's a little depressing. Or disappointing. And such a wonderful relief. At any rate, when you write The End, you expect some sort of fanfare from the Angels or whoever has been watching over your shoulder. But instead, you quietly smile around the cafe you've been writing in and see that all is as it has been. The man with the stack of textbooks about Ancient Rome is still typing away at his dissertation. The scruffy man with headphones the size of dessert plates is still tapping away at his computer, and the gaggle of college undergrads, with their Clique-esque straight blonde hair, skinny jeans, and designer boots are still sipping at their lattes and talking about whatever those kinds of girls talk about. (I wouldn't know.)

No fanfare. No trumpets. Not even a kazoo. Instead, you close your laptop and smile a bit wider, to yourself. Because, really, does it matter to anyone more than it does to yourself? That book you've just finished----in all honesty, you wrote it for yourself. Not for your future fans. Not for your family. Not even for that English teacher who raised an eyebrow when you said you'd write novels one day. You wrote it Just. For. Yourself.

And so you should be the one pulling out the French Horn right in the Barnes & Noble cafe. (If you were brave and knew how to play such an instrument, which I do not.) Or you can pack up and wander the YA Fantasy shelves, spotting books written by friends/acquaintances/people you follow on twitter. And find your spot, just where this book that you've finished will fit.

Then you take a month off and do something completely different. I, for instance, got invited to participate in an art show at the local art museum. Can you believe it? Just when I finish my book and must take a month off, I am invited to sell my scarves among real artists and their wares. And I conveniently have time to make the scarves!

Also, I've been making myself a lot of chai, to deal with the chill in the house.

(Hmmm...My son isn't napping and is currently crying about something....*goes back upstairs* Well. He wanted his space rocket in his crib AND wanted to go ride on an airplane. A real one. Those aren't great for naps, and so he's crying again. Hopefully, he'll go to sleep. I've got scarves to make...)

So, back to finishing books... the world hasn't changed. It's the same as it was when the book was yet unfinished. And yet, inside myself, something's changed. Something's warmer, and more certain of itself.

There's lots more work to be done on this book, including a complete revision and some critiques to get from newer readers. Then another revision, and if I think it's as good as I can get it, I'll send it to my agent. And then....and then....the Future.

For now, I'll continue to daydream that I get whisked away by Dr. Who while I make stuff and play with my kids. And maybe try to clean the house a bit. And wish for Spring because I am really, really getting tired of having to swipe the snow off the car nearly every morning while trying to get the kids in, before 9 a.m., when all they want is to run off from me and get into the really deep snow in the middle of the yard. Or eat the gray icicles off the car (blech!).

So here's my late-Winter/Spring-better-come-soon plan:

March----make many, beautiful nuno-felted scarves that people will be desperate to buy at the Everson Museum of Art Greenhouse Art Show (there's a real name, but I've forgotten at the moment). And somehow manage this while the kids are home during their school break and hubby is in L.A. for a week-long conference, the lucky man.

April----REVISE the jinn book, which is in need of a title. (Incidentally, what do you think of The Jinn Bride???)

May----Give copies to readers, get critiques back, REVISE AGAIN. Make the book as perfect as can be. Then give to Super (and Very Patient) Agent.

June----Try not to fall completely apart. And start planning for new book (which I am so so so giddy about, you have no idea).

And finally, here's a little video of the best parts in life:

Endings

2011-02-18T09:35:00.004-05:00

What's the most important part of a book? It might be the beginning--that needs to be exciting, mysterious, and pull the reader in. Or it could be the long middle part--that's the meat, where the reader falls in love with the characters and lives their lives right beside them.

But I think it's the ending. Because, really, when you finish a book and walk away from it, what do you carry around in your head? The beginning? Sure, it was nice. Like an appetizer. But it doesn't stick. And although the middle is (hopefully) the satisfying, fulfilling part, it's the end that needs to be genius. It's the end that wraps it all up, bends the mind, and makes characters immortal.

And I'm right there, right now, in my novel. It's horrifying. I'm seriously hours away from wrapping it all up, and I've detailed out what happens at "the end," but I'm not sure. Is it the right ending? Would another Amber, in an alternate dimension, come up with a more perfect ending?

Last night I was going to finish my book, but it didn't feel right. So I gave myself half an hour to list out ten possible endings. Which turned out to be fifteen different endings. Even one listed as: Everyone dies and the bad guy wins. (How Post-Modern of me.)

And I am still not sure. But then...it needs to get written. And it's not like it's going to print tomorrow. Things can change, endings can be edited, and that "perfect resonance" I want can be worked out in the next pass.

So what does one terrified writer do?

She blogs. ;-) And then she sips at her coffee and goes back to work. (And maybe splurges on some chocolate.)

I've got 2 hours before I have to pick my son up from preschool. Let's go.......................

Memories of Japanese School

2011-02-04T11:29:00.005-05:00

* My friend Andrea Eames recently posted a memory on her blog, which got me started...

A memory from Japanese school:

(not a picture of my school; this is similar to what it looked like, though)

It’s my first day of fourth grade, in Japanese School. Mom is going to walk with me and the other girls, who I don’t know yet. Our neighbor, Yoko, is coming also, since she’s the only one we know who speaks both English and Japanese.

The walk is long.It goes across a busy street, through a neighborhood and up a steep hill. We pass bright green sakura trees on the way and I wonder what they will look like in Spring. The other girls chatter to themselves. I’m sure they’re talking and giggling about me.

I’m wearing my most Japanese-looking outfit. It’s a brown tiered skirt and a white blouse with lace collar. Very cutesy. My sister had worn a pair of khaki shorts and a florescent-pink shirt to her school, the American one, but I’m pleased I planned ahead. The other girls are wearing skirts, too. I even have my socks pulled up almost to my knees and have on Mary Janes. But it’s not quite right. My socks aren’t long enough to really reach my knees and my shoes are clunky next to theirs. Mine are generic. American.

Yoko and mom talk as we walk. My mother asks her more questions. She thinks I will regret choosing to do this, but she doesn’t say so out loud. I know from her questions and how much more she is talking that she’s worried.

The power lines reach up and up, and they buzz. They’re as loud as the girls. Emi, one of the girls, laughs and says something and then they all giggle. I glance at them, but they aren’t looking at me. Mom and Yoko are ahead, the girls are behind me, and I’m in the middle, alone. I look up and watch as a bird lands on the power line. It flies off when we get closer.

Other children have joined our walk and now we are a parade of kids with backpacks. The first-graders have red or black patent-leather packs and yellow hats. Yoko says it’s because others will know they are young and will take care of them. I want a red patent-leather backpack, but I have my nylon Eastpak one. It’s plain, and American. Emi doesn’t have a backpack. She has a messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Her skirt even has a lacy trim. And so do her socks.

The school is a four-story cement block building with windows streaming across it. Most are open already. It’s September, and the school doesn’t have air conditioning. The air is starting to warm up, but I ignore it. My blood is already hot today.

We go through the gates and my heart thumps in my chest. I’m really doing it. I chose to come here. I am just like Indiana Jones. I will learn this language and some day, I will speak them all.

We part from the girls and go into the shoe changing area, which smells like feet and leather. We are told to take off our shoes and put on slippers. I brought my new school ones; they’re white canvas with red racing stripes on the side. The girls wear red and the boys wear green. Mine are big, bigger than the others ones I see on the shelves. Even bigger than the boys’.

The school principal bows to my mother. She bows and says her one Japanese word,

“Konichiwa.”

I’m embarrassed that my mother doesn’t know the language already. I know how to say more than that. I can say the names of the months, count to twelve (which is the same thing, really), and say hello, good evening, and good morning. That’s more than my mom.

They tell us via a combination of Yoko and an electronic translator-calculator that the children are all assembling in the gymnasium for a welcome-back orientation. Watanabe-Sensei will be my Sensei, they also say. He is a man with poofy black hair and a scowl. Then they take us out of the main school building, across the dirt-and-gravel play yard, to the gymnasium. It is filled. Every inch of the floor is covered by children, all sitting or kneeling in neat rows in order of grade and then class and then height. Someone shouts and every pair of eyes turns to look at me.

I see the girls I walked with sitting with their fourth-grade classes. They are looking at me with the same expression as everyone else. There is no sense of recognition.

One boy, probably a fourth- or fifth-grader, calls out,

“Harro!” and half a dozen other boys laugh. I smile at him, but he wasn’t really trying to speak to me. He is grinning at himself.

The principal goes to a microphone on the stage, on the other side of the gymnasium, and says something in Japanese. He speaks for what feels like forever while mom and I stand in the back corner with Yoko and the assistant principal. I try to stand still, but I can’t. I shift from foot to foot, wishing I could go and sit with my class. At least then I would be in the middle of them.

No one is looking at the principal now. They’ve all turned to look at me, and the principal had his hand out to me and bows. The whole school, all four hundred children, bow at me and say konichiwa in one loud, wobbly voice.

I bow back at them. My face is hot and I want to run away. Maybe I should have gone to the American school instead. I would have been in fifth grade. I would have been in the TAG group.

But I am here in this high-ceilinged gymnasium and everyone is looking at me.

Yoko says the principal would like me to speak to the school. I tell my mother I can’t, but she says of course I will. She walks with me to the front, up the stairs, and someone beckons for me to go to the microphone.

“What do I say?” I whisper to Yoko. She says I should introduce myself. “I don’t know how in Japanese.”

“Just say it in English. The will like to hear it,” she whispers back.

I nod and turn to the children. They are completely silent. I go to the microphone and hold on as if it might fall over. And then I say, in English, who I am. And that I’m glad to be there. Although it’s a lie. I want to be anywhere else right now.

Blizzard? Yes, please.

2011-02-01T14:20:00.003-05:00

Does the view from your window look like this?

Or this?

Or this??

Isn't it gorgeous? It's like the Snow Queen grabbed onto my roof and melted down the sides.

Speaking of which, the "Blizzard of 2011" hasn't hit here yet, but it's nice to know it's coming. Ahem. It's nice to know before it gets here, so one can prepare. But honestly, I'm excited. I LOVE the snow. Granted, I'm getting a wee bit tired of Winter, but it'll end eventually. It's not like it's some snowpocalypse (as my friend @Mike_Jung just joked about on twitter) and won't ever go away.

In Syracuse, we've had over 118" of snow so far. It's a bit much. And we're expected to get another 8-12'' tomorrow. Hopefully all at once, so I can see what a "white out" is like. As long as I and my family are comfortably inside drinking hot chocolate. (Dang. We're out of it, actually.)

End of January

2011-01-31T11:27:00.005-05:00

And it is, really. This is the fortune cookie message E got in her cookie on New Year's Eve. We have this tradition of going to Chinese restaurants for New Year's Eve. It's funny...since they have their own New Year's, later in the calendar year. Plus you get fortunes. And E's is true: it really is enjoyable to talk with her. She's bright, curious, and creative.

My other one, The H, is also fun to talk with. Here we are at our favorite store:

A view from our porch. Winter has set in for the long haul.

A few weekends ago, I went to Massachusetts for a felting class. (It was awesome.) On the way back, I ventured to the middle of the earth all by myself (and with a group of strangers) for some book research. Since nearly half of my book takes place below-ground, I couldn’t rely on my decade-old experience at Carlsbad caverns. I needed to be inside a cave and turn on my character screen, in which I try to see everything as a character in my book would see it.

It was amazing! Howe’s Caverns has an underground stream (they call it The River Styx...ha ha ha). One of the rocks has created a natural dam, building up an underground lake, and the owners of the cave let you ride on a mystical boat* and cross the river! How awesome is that?!

I was taking a picture with my cell phone, musing about how awful it would be if I dropped it in the water, when a bunny fell into the water. It flowed downstream until it got caught in some foam**. The guide climbed down and saved the bunny (and the parents). I had to take a picture because, seriously, how often do you get to see a stuffed bunny floating down an underground river?

Look at that river. Seriously. It’s cold, it’s flowing fairly quickly, and it’s coming from outside, flowing through the cavern, and then flowing back out again. If a frog or fish washes in during floods, they make their way out, because there isn’t anything living in the caverns. (Except for a fair bit of moss that grows wherever they’ve put up lights.)

I wore my valenkii from St. Petersburg; they kept me warm and provided excellent traction***. (Thank you so much, Val!!! They’re gorgeous!)

I emerged, after an hour and a half, with a mind chock full of details (textures, sensations, emotions, images, etc). It was totally worth it. Plus, now I know of a great place to spend Halloween.

The absolute best part was when the tour guide turned off all the lights. I’d never been in such complete darkness, in such a large space, with such a large group of people. (Agatha Christie would have had someone murdered and tossed into the knee-deep water during that moment.) It was perfect because the very last scene I’d written in my book had one of my characters walking deep into a tunnel, in the middle of the earth. In the dark.

Status on my book: I’m 2/3 or 3/4 of the way done (it’s hard to judge, exactly). My critique partner Emma is hoping to finish hers by mid-February, when she has February Break (a strange NY school tradition). So it’s my goal, as well. I need to keep up with her so we’ll stay on track and be able to read each others’ completed draft at the same time.

* Ok, so it was a cranky old barge.

** Seriously, what is foam doing in the middle of a cavern? The tour guide said it's chemicals and other things from outside that have run in with the water.

*** While valenkii are great for trudging through snow/slush/over slippery rocks, they tend to fall of while walking upstairs, so beware. But really, they're the best!

a mood change

2011-01-27T12:52:00.002-05:00

You can bet that if I don't post for quite a while, many things are going on. Like, the holidays, spending time with the fam, and writing. But on some days, nothing happens. Nothing is accomplished. And when I've finally gotten the kids to bed and now must face the tornado of laundry/toys/dishes/whatever-that-sticky-stuff-is, you can bet I'm not in the highest of spirits.

Today is one of those days, and I can't figure out why. The house is relatively clean (other than a few piles of laundry to be put away). One child is at school and the other is sitting quietly beside me watching Veggie Tales while I type this. (Ok, now he's playing with the plug to the computer and asking me what I'm doing. The Veggie Tales people need to beef up the enterprise.) I don't know what started this sinking feeling. The book is going well and I should be done soon. Felting is going well, although I have nothing to put on my Etsy store yet. I've been exercising, even.

So what is it? Is it Stay-at-Homeitis? Or Winter?

What I can do is forcibly change my mood. I can tell myself to suck it up and look at the bright side: we have a warm home, the snow is falling down like sifted sugar, and we're all healthy. The rest shouldn't matter.

If I make myself be happy, I will be. If I let myself feel sad, then I will be.

And if I make myself finish my book, I will. ;-)

Why Hello There

2010-12-17T13:57:00.003-05:00

I am way too frazzled to be a religious blogger right now.

And this is why:

I've been very busy and am very tired. My husband has been absent, mostly, due to finals weeks being in progress. I've had some felting orders to fill (yay) and have only one more left to do (a boxed set of monogramed ornaments...I'm rather sick of ornaments at the moment, even if they are cute). My daughter had croup last week and was sick, and now my son has a different, more wet cough going on. There's like four feet of snow outside (I'm not exaggerating...last night someone pulled into our driveway to turn around and got stuck, and we had to go out there at 11 to shovel them out). I've got some stupid sinus thing and my house looks like it puked on itself. Plus I've discovered that my son can now a), open the fridge; b), climb onto the counter and help himself to the cake sprinkles and then pour them ALL into a cup and then carry around said sprinkles and munch on them happily without me noticing for a whole five minutes; and c), pull the xmas tree lights out of the socket and put them back in to make the lights flicker. All because I was trying to clean upstairs a bit. Oh, and I've got a neighbor telling me that having my kids watch movies is rotting their brains and she won't let her son watch a movie, especially a DISNEY movie; he'll watch Hitchcock if he's going to watch ANYTHING. And I've been trying to write and wrap presents and figure out what to give teachers and try to remember that it's already past dinner time and I should start thinking about going to the grocery store to expand our pantry choices beyond ramen. Oh, and last night my daughter decided to wake up at 2 a.m. because she was hungry, and she NEEDED MOMMY to sit with her and I couldn't get her asleep until 5 a.m., after I gave her a dose of homeopathic "sleep aid." After which I felt guilty for ten minutes, until she actually went to sleep. And then I was worried she'd never wake up and it'd be my fault, but then sleep overcame me and we woke up at 9, just when we were supposed to be leaving the house for an appointment.

AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ok. Must stop so I can blow my nose.

Ciao, happy holidays, etc.

new website

2010-11-15T20:42:00.002-05:00

I am writing, really, but not exactly at NaNo speeds. Instead, I've been gearing up for a craft fair and getting myself set up online. It's a little scary setting up my website and throwing myself to the wind, but it had to be done. (www.amberlough.com) I wouldn't have even done it if my neighbor-friend hadn't gotten my domain name within an hour of me mentioning I needed help getting my shop up and running.

So I am swamped, to say the least. The next few days, we're having the windows replaced (thanks to the City of Syracuse, I might add) so I won't be allowed to be home. The kids and I will find elsewhere to hang out during the day, and I'll have to do my craft-making and writing on the fly. At least we'll be warmer this winter, and the lead risk will be lower.

And then Saturday, I'm doing my first craft fair. I am petrified no one will buy a single thing and this will all flop, but my skin has thickened since I first began sending out agent queries long ago. If I fail at this, I will be saddened and disheartened, but not dead. If I fail at ever getting a novel published, well...let's not discuss that now.

Off to bed now. Must wake up early and pick up the house/gather what I need for the day/get Eldest to preschool.

The Abbasid Caliphate

2010-10-27T21:31:00.008-04:00

Did you know the "golden age" of Baghdad was during the 9th century? It's when the Arabian Nights mostly take place. It's when Islam had pretty strong control over the region and most of North Africa and Central Asia. You might have known this. But did you know the Arabs were prolific poets? And that in the Abbasid court, they had poets just as they did in the heyday of Venice, who called out spontaneous poems of love and loyalty to their current rulers? And that wine was often freely drank, late into the night?

Yes. They were Muslim rulers, and they drank wine. And the people knew it.

But most importantly, their court poets wrote about love. And someone, somewhere down the line, felt compelled to write the poems down, and then rewrite them when the papyrus fell apart and paper became common. And so now we're left with volumes and volumes (only parts in English, sadly) of poems like this:

You pages, pour me out a potion
Pour me to drink her soft, sweet kisses
I suffer drought; its healing draught
Is drinking from her moist fresh lips.
The smiling corners of her mouth are brilliant as chamomile;
Her speech is like embroidery, a mantle with embroidery
Lodged in the core and kernel of
My heart, she is insatiable.
She said to me: 'I'll meet with you a few nights hence.'
But day and night will wear away, and nothing new will come myw ay.
She is content without me; my
Portion is sighs to gnaw a heart of steel.
~ Bashshar ibn Burd, medieval Islamic poet

Beautiful. And the images. *shiver*

This one made me chuckle:

Of all garments
God blast the veil

it hides the young

and masks the vile
to urge us on.
God blast the veil.
~ Dhu'l-Rumma (696?-735?) (I.E., a LONG ass time ago.)

And one that is anonymous:

It's true.
I have left my mistresses and wine behind
and love's delirium. and have abandoned myself to my Lord.

My pleasures were long-lasting
but now He firmly holds my hand
within His law.

Today, wine is a crime,
and you,
are against His law;
but when I remember
this and that ... and your smile,
I must leave my Lord behind for ever.

Makes you wonder what transpired in those dots, eh?

And after at least a thousands years, I can feel the anguish and love the author must have felt. And because of his words, he and I are connected. (In a weird "transcendence of time and space" sort of way, I guess.)

If only I could travel back and hear the music sung late at night, while the caliph sat behind a curtain with his women, drinking and laughing. None of the music survived the ages. The lyrics and instruments, yes, but the Arabs had no way of marking musical notes, so when the singers died, and their songs were forgotten, they disappeared. What would happen if we lost our sheets of music collected the past 500 years, and then today's musicians died. Our grandchildren wouldn't know a tenth of what had been sung or played. The world would be silent.

Promises

2010-10-13T13:45:00.003-04:00

How often to you make promises? Daily? Monthly? Never?

I rarely do because it's always so difficult for me to keep them. Once the promise is made, it's imprinted on my mind and at the forefront for a while. I end up obsessing over it. My most pressing promise at the moment? One I made to my critique partner. After our last meeting, she made me promise not to do any crafty things (i.e., felt or sew) during the daytime in lieu of writing. It's fine to do those things once the kids are in bed for the night, but not when they're at school or taking naps (which is becoming a rarity, sad to say---I'll have to change my blog title!).

So although I'd like to be making something with my hands right now to get that high I get whenever I finish a project (that happens, what, once every other year or so with writing? Never?), I am sitting down with my computer on my lap. Writing. Well, blogging, but I'm also writing. Just taking a break because I already reached 1/3 of my writing goal this morning. And the water is boiling for tea.

Fortunately, the promise came with a gift: she made me feel, once again, like my book is worth it. I'm filled with optimism and energy. Now, I just know that this story is going to be amazing. And she surprised me, too. She said, "you're almost at the end of the book already." *

Me: What? But I'm only halfway through.

Her: No, this is closer to the climax.

Me: But there's not that much written.

Her: All that stuff we said needs to go in earlier? You can write that in, in-between what you've already written.

Me: *stunned silence as I am realizing she might be right*

Her: So go write it already.

Me: *stunned silence as I am realizing the end of the road is closer than I'd thought*

Her: And no felting!

* Conversation as I remember it. There were probably more "ums" involved.

Introducing...

2010-10-06T10:50:00.006-04:00

My Etsy shop! Yay!

I spent nearly all day yesterday getting it all set up and trying my darndest to take decent pictures when it was gloomy outside. Today proved to have better weather, so I got some scarf pictures made (and ended up convincing a neighbor girl who I had only known for 30 seconds to model for me).

Yay!

And of course I'm not writing now, not while I'm so excited. Plus, I've got to go to the post office because I just made my first sale!

Fear and Longing in Syracuse

2010-10-04T13:18:00.006-04:00

I've been having up and down days. What is going on? Some days I attack my book--no, wait, fondle-- and other days, I don't want to touch it at all.

It's all based on fear, you know. That great, terrible, blinding emotion that chases us all down. Some days, I'm faster and others, well, it crawla up my back and traces its claws along my collar bone. Too close; a little too close. This morning was one of those days. I was afraid of the next scene. Not the scene, actually, but of not being able to write it well.

Which, frankly, is ridiculous. I mean, what, I can't put some words together? Someone asked Steven King how he writes and he responded, "One word at a time," or something like that. It's all a writer's got to do. They don't even have to be good (not in the first draft, or even the second).

So this morning, when fear was digging its claws into my scalp, I turned and faced it.

(Ohh, I can write fiction! You see, the truth of the matter is that I started writing, got scared, and went to something else...like working on a project for my soon-to-open Etsy store.)

One side....

And the other side....

But now the bag is at a good pausing point and I really need to get to work.

You do too, don't you? After all, procrastination is the thief of time. (Someone else, somewhere else, said that once.)

Where the Story Begins

2010-09-21T23:15:00.004-04:00

Some nights, I'm restless. I can't read. I can't watch a movie. I can't decide whether I should drink a glass of wine, or hot chocolate, or water. I can't sleep.

Tonight, with Jim on a business trip and the kids in bed on time (shocker there), my hands were suddenly empty and my legs wouldn't relax. Most people would go for a run, but I couldn't do that. I wasn't feeling it. (Plus I couldn't leave the house.)

I sat here for an hour before my brain got in touch with the rest of my body:

And so, I spent some time online and realized I'd forgotten about my blog and found myself wanting to create.

But I didn't write. No, that's hard. I thought about what I wanted to focus on in my book. I remembered what it felt like when the lining of my heart gave out five and half years ago after I realized who the love of my life was. And that I had just sent him away, claiming I didn't love him.

That desperate, chilling realization has got to be one of those moments that unites a reader with a person in a book. It's the moment your soul bleeds into the page and you suddenly are that person you've been reading about. And the character's future is your own. It's the last scene in Persuasion. The railway station scene in the movie version of North and South. Any scene in any story in which your heart beats faster and your mouth turns dry.

So I played some Turkish music and laid out some wool. And I made this*:

It's not dark. It's not even passionate. What it is, though, is soft and fluid. Like clouds. Like my face when he came back. Full of light.

* Nuno-felted scarf of alpaca, mohair, and merino on silk. It's still dripping wet. Maybe tomorrow I'll get some better pictures of it and other things I've been making lately.

The Writer Within

2010-08-20T09:48:00.004-04:00

How is your Friday? Mine is as well as can be. The kids are playing at the Y, I've got a few hours free in which to write (and am wasting? it with blogging, I suppose). But I have to get the juices flowing somehow, and this is as good as any other way.

Recently, I sent off the first fifty pages of my second draft to my agent (Laura Rennert, who I whole-heartedly admire). It's in her queue, which makes me half anxious, half excited. You see, I think it's pretty good. Am I over-confident? Right-on? Blind? I won't know till she reads it and lets me know what she thinks. My critique partner likes it, and she's honest, so maybe it is good--for a second-draft.

And now, a glimpse inside Amber's head...

The Writer: Ugh. I have to write the next scene. Or the rest of this last scene. Can't remember exactly where I left off.

The Reader: But didn't you just write two days ago?

W: Yes. So?

R: And you've already forgotten?

W: No, I haven't forgotten. I remember exactly what happened. I just don't remember what I was feeling, exactly. I mean, I know what I was feeling...but the feeling isn't active within me at this moment. And how can I write without filling myself up with the same feeling as before? It'll be false. It'll be inconsistent.

R: First; you're really weird. Second; just re-read what you wrote last time, try to get yourself into the "mood," which is silly anyway, and then re-imaging what was going on, and what will happen. Like you always do.

W: Yes, I've always done it before, that way, but what if this time, it doesn't work? I'd have more success with Sudoku. Unless I get a really hard one. Then I have to cheat.

R: You are so pathetic. Listen. You've paid good money to have this time to write. You will burn in hell if you do sudoku instead.

W: So then what do I write?

R: The next scene.

W: *whine* But I don't know what happens next.

R: Yes you do. It already happened. You're going to re-tell it. Simple as that.

W: But this part is all new. It wasn't in the first draft.

R: It already happened. Re-tell it. Stop this silly blogging and Get. To. Work.

W: I guess we know now which one of us wanted to be the Air Force Officer.

Tender Morsels

2010-08-18T09:20:00.005-04:00

Yeah, I know, I didn't blog about the conference. It was great. I meant to blog, but seriously, life got busy. And now I want to get straight to the point:

Have any of you read Tender Morsels, by Margo Lanagan?

So I got a Nook, which I adore, and this was the first book I bought to read on it. And as I began reading, I was drawn in immediately (which is good) and thrown into disgust (both good and bad). If you've read it, what did you think? There's no doubt that Ms. Lanagan knows how to write. She uses such beautiful prose, all the style which I adore....lyrical, poetic, emotional, and she gets right down to the grit of what's going on using these "powers" with words. She toys with us. She makes her characters real, and we care for them, and hate them, and all of that.

But (there had to be a "but," right?) although the story gripped me, and I cared about the characters, I never fell completely in love with any of them. And I think it's because she jumps around between them so much, switching the point-of-view rapidly, going from first-person to third and back and forth all the time. It works because she knows how to vary the characters enough that you recognize right away, most of the time, who it is you're viewing the world from. But it tore me from their hearts, and I never quite got attached. There were only a few characters I wanted to stay with, and one of the biggest deals with me for a book is that the character "stays" with me long after I've put it down. Sometimes months, and in the case of some great characters, years. By the time I was finished with this book, I was ready to be done. I was disappointed in the ending, to say the least, and that might have had something to do with it.

So I am distraught. I can't tell if I liked the book or not. There's no denying it's well-written---beautifully written, no less---but it's harsh and it's difficult to follow sometimes and, well, all the things I said above. I am thankful for having read it, of course. It's a great study on POV (maybe one of the best). It's flushed out, and the world-building is complete. The characters are whole (except the ones that aren't supposed to be).

When I finished, I felt as if I'd been having a very long, drawn-out dream that was half nightmare and half beauty.*

And maybe that's what Margo Lanagan intended. It very well might be.

If you've read it, what effect did it have on you?

* FYI, if I had read this when I was in High School, I would have worshipped it. What a difference a decade (and then some) makes.

Travelin' Shmavelin'

2010-07-28T16:29:00.004-04:00

I'm in Colorado right now, overlooking the Cherry Creek resevoir and the jagged-toothed horizon that is the Rockies. A strong, warm wind is blowing the grasses out on the preserve, bending the branches down and drying my laundry at the same time. Beautiful.

And tomorrow I will board a plane to L.A. to go to the conference. The conference. Like, SCBWI LA conference 2010. I will reconnect with my RSBs (RockSugarBeets), meet some new friends, get inspired, laugh, have some child-free fun, and maybe swim a bit. Oh, and there's a costume party. And I have a costume all planned out. (Tee hee!) I'll post pictures afterward, promise.

My second draft is moving along. I hit a little bump and am taking a few days off to process info, develop my newer characters a bit more, and refuel. I'm sure that once I get back from the conference I'll be aching, dying, thirsting to write.

And now, Amber's List of Things to Do Today:
1. Go find a carry-on suitcase that won't crush a 60-year old velvet hat.
2. Figure out which non-costume clothing to bring.
3. Remind my parents how/when the children should be put to bed.
4. Not hyperventilate
5. Go out to dinner with my sister, Hazel, who is home from Ukraine for just this week. It is likely the last time I will see her for five years, unless I can afford to fly out there sometime in the near future.
6. Try not to get drunk with my sister.*
7. Kiss my kids because I will undoubtably miss them during the five days I will be away.
8. Call my husband.
9. Relax. (Yeah, right.)
10. Get some sleep.

P.S. My critique partner's book is rockin'. Can't wait till you all read it!

* My sister does not keep secrets.

Mates

2010-07-15T22:38:00.003-04:00

I've got a new critique partner, and she's awesome. Not only is she local (like, only a mile or so away), but our daughters are friends, she's a HS English teacher, and our books are totally compatible. They're completely different, but they have the same feel. Sort of. I mean, as much as an Arabian Nights-ish fantasy and a dystopian novel can feel similarly.

I love her book. Love it. And she seems to love mine, too. *sigh of contentment.*

I do miss my old critique mates and their stories, though. I know them so well, and they've become great friends of mine. But they live in San Diego, and they meet in person and I was the far-flung member communicating by email and skype. It was hard. I did it for two years, but I really needed someone I could sit with in person and hash out ideas on a couch.

So, dear old critique mates, I miss you. And dear new critique mate, I am so fortunate to have met you (and your well-stocked YA library in your house). So happy that we are urging each other to write often, and well!

[Oh, and I've written a LOAD of good pages this week. Yay!!!!]

Flying and Wishes

2010-07-05T21:21:00.005-04:00

Aren't those deeply imbedded in jinni lore?

I am flying by on this draft. So far, on day two, I'm at 3,363 words*. And I wish I had a jinn around at the moment. I've got a big wish to make...but I'll settle for hope. Hope is free, it's attainable, and it's eternal--I hope this excitement and thrill I'm having while writing this draft is sustainable. I need it for the whole damn thing.

Now I'm off to bed.

*Not so speedy for you Robots, but for this mortal writer, it's fast. As fast as...*searches for cheesy metaphor*...a flying carpet. Or would a flying carpet be, indeed, slow? Would it fly more like an albatross, or a jet? I bet I know how my personal carpet would fly...

***** Cindy Pon is having a HUGE YA "people-of-color" book giveaway, by the way. Go check it out! I hope I win...those are all awesome books!

And now we move on...

2010-07-03T09:07:00.005-04:00

to Draft Two!*

I am thrilled to be done with the first yucky bit. It's a load of a mess, and the plot is all wrong, but a few very key elements came out of the past YEAR of writing:

I have...
1. Discovered who my main characters really are
2. Found out what the story is really about
3. Cemented the imagery, feeling, and "decor" of the novel in my mind
4. Gotten to know more about the original Arabian Nights stories
5. Grown committed, but not blind and stupid (I hope), to finishing this story
6. Set up a writing routine using a combination of babysitters, day care, Pandora music, and advanced Sudoku Avoidance Techniques

The Story Fairy came by, you see?

I think the most important element, however, is that I really know my main character and I (hope) can portray her voice well. With her voice, I can show you her story. And isn't that what we all want? A rich story told just as the character experiences it? Plot matters, of course, but not nearly as much as the character. Otherwise, it's just a blip in memory.

I want to write stories that persist, and I think if there is the truth of human experience (and large doses of romance) in it, it will.

In other news, I've been thrifting more and more lately and have gotten obsessed with 1950s full-circle day dresses. Next time I wear it, I'll take a picture of myself in my new yellow striped dress. :-)

* Ok, honestly, I didn't exactly finish the first draft. I wrote right up till the final climax. But at that point, I realized all the things listed above. And I found out what is supposed to happen. I was trying to douse the book in lots of twisted, quick-moving plot. It isn't that kind of story. I don't even like to read those kinds of books, really, so why write one? And now that I've thought through what needs to be written for draft two, I am once again in love. The soul of story has returned.

Close

2010-06-30T10:39:00.001-04:00

I am so so so close. I will report back (in a week, I hope) when I am done with the very messy, tangled mess of a first draft.

Make History!

2010-05-14T10:42:00.001-04:00

I had to step in whilst writing to add this video. It's awesome. Especially the Brontesaurus!

Finishing

2010-04-30T10:43:00.003-04:00

I have not been blogging because I've been busy...

...and I intend to finish this WIP by the end of May.

Probably won't report back in until the first draft is complete. Sorry to be so uninteresting this month!

Off to Denver

2010-03-24T14:15:00.003-04:00

I've been taking some time off of blogging and doing things online. (Still am, actually.) Just wanted to say that I'll be in Denver the next week and a half, and if anyone wants to meet up in the area, let me know!

Water Fasting is not Water Boarding

2010-03-05T14:29:00.005-05:00

I mentioned earlier that I did a water fast this past week. Yes, it's true: I drank nothing but water and ate...nothing. For 48 hours. I had intended to do it for 24, and then changed it to 72, but by the end of the 48 I was told (not-so-vaguely) by my husband that I needed to have energy the next day because I'd be watching the kids by myself.

So here's what happened:

Thursday, the night before, I ate dinner. Vegetables and some kind of protein. I can't remember what I had. Then I drank some hot chocolate.

Friday, instead of coffee, I drank water. Then later on, when my caffeine headache came on, I drank more water. And more water. I drank as much water as I could stand. By midday, my stomach was grumbling, but I knew I wasn't "starving," which doesn't happen to a person unless they've used up their fat reserves. My headache was nearly intolerable by evening. I was flat out on the couch, with my hands over my ears, trying to ignore the presence of my family. My husband was a bit annoyed. My kids were unaware of anything. I would say, on a scale of 1-10, my headache was a 10. No joke. The pain made me throw up, twice.

Saturday, my headache was at 10%. Manageable. I wanted coffee, or tea, or anything, but I couldn't have it. I was in the throws of detox, right? Well, I didn't feel like it. I didn't have the reactions I'd read about (not yet). But the hunger was manageable. I was hungry, but I was exercising my willpower. I was in charge. And I wasn't denying myself food: I had plenty of it stored on my body. Plus, I was cleansing myself of everything. So I drank water.

One of the side-effects of a water fast is lower blood pressure, which can make you faint. I already have ultra-low blood pressure and feel faint most of the time, anyway, so I blacked out several times that day. By evening, after running upstairs to get something, I almost toppled over. That was when my husband mentioned I should eat something, and get my energy and blood pressure back up so I could take care of the kids on Sunday. "Why don't you wait to try this again until after the semester is over?" he asked. I was at my weakest point then, so I agreed. I ate some fruit, drank some juice, and then later had dinner.

By Sunday, I felt more like myself. But I no longer needed coffee in the morning. (I'd also lost several pounds, but that wasn't really a big goal of mine, and it was mostly water-weight, so it doesn't truly count.)

It wasn't until Tuesday that I was able to write again. I felt foggy, tired, and drugged. And yet...free.

The most annoying aspect of fasting is boredom. How often do we eat when we're bored, or because we're bored? How often are our social meetings arranged around food? This was one of the things I was trying to overcome. I want to be conscious of the food I put in my mouth. I want to be conscious of all that I do to my body, all that I experience.

The other reason I did this was to experiment. In my work-in-progress, I have a main character that is avoiding all food. How better to describe what she goes through than to experience it myself?

Now I am decaffeinated. It's strange. After a year of drinking coffee every day, now I have water first-thing in the morning. It's not as enjoyable, by far, but I'm ok with it. For now. As my family knows, I change my routine like the earth sheds seasons.

Manuscript Marathon

2010-03-03T09:27:00.003-05:00

My friend Laini Taylor blogged yesterday, saying she intends to finish the first draft of her manuscript by the end of March. It's a great idea and a great goal. An important goal. One I need to take on as my own. So, now that's it's out in the open, I must really work towards it, right? I've got a lot left to write to get this WIP completed, and so far, I haven't written a thing this month. (I did a Water Fast over the weekend which left me unable to do anything...More on that some other time.)

There are other things going on this month, too: First, my husband's Spring Break, when we will be driving down to Maryland to visit friends. Then I'll be taking the kids to Denver at the end of the month to visit my parents. (Flying solo with kids. What joy!) Somehow, I must work around or through these breaks to get the thing done.

Awards

2010-02-24T20:33:00.004-05:00

I just won a blog award (above) from Valerie Storey! For this particular award, the requirements are that I share 7 pieces of info about myself and then choose 7 blogs I feel deserve the award too*.

I was born in Columbia, Missouri, which isn't interesting at all, so as a kid, I'd tell people I was born "in Columbia." (And they believed me.)
My bachelor's degree is from St. Louis University, and I majored in both Russian and International Relations.
I am still waiting for the day when my degree applies to my own life.
I spent over two years in a Japanese elementary school as their first foreign student. I read many Nancy Drew books the first six months because my teacher promptly sat me by the window and forgot about me. My next teacher was the one who taught me Japanese.
I can fold tiny, tiny origami cranes. When I was by that window, I used to test myself to see how small I could get them.
I absolutely love rugby and wish I could erase American football and replace it with the better game.
I do not know how to relax unless I am reading or watching a movie. I cannot sit still unless my brain is wholly engaged, and I have a horrible time turning my mind off when it's time for bed.

Okay, enough about me. Now to hand out my awards:

Jacqui Robbins, for always providing deep thoughts and a laugh.
Andrea Eames, for being the best-dressed writer on Earth.
Christina Farley, who recently compared writing to kimchi. And I agree. (And I love kimchi.)
Vijaya Bodach, who may not know she won because she has given up blogs for Lent! (And I'm sure her writing will improve because of it.)
Jonathan Arntson, a new blogger friend of mine, who is in need of YET ANOTHER award, naturally.
Shannon O'Donnell, who is in the same boat as me: writing with little ones running about. Oh, and she seems to know everything that's going on in the kidlit world.
Christine Danek, another new blogger friend, who I just know that if we sat down for coffee together, and managed to keep the kids from running off and wreaking havoc on the world, would be kindred spirits in no time. (This is the second time she gets this award. She must be cool.)

* Doing the requirements for the awards sucks up so much time, I swear it's a design by an evil jinn trying to disrupt the productivity of blogging writers.

Quilt Block

2010-02-22T13:56:00.005-05:00

I haven't written any prose since Friday. I wish I could get time during the weekend, but it's "family time." But I did make something yesterday! See?

It's a quilt block. :-) It's about 15'' square. My husband and I took a quilting class yesterday*, and this is what I made. I tried to be as precise as I could, but I go through projects quickly and always make mistakes. (I really should wear a seam-ripper around my neck whilst sewing.) Jim has always wanted to make quilts and I wanted to learn how to be more precise in my sewing. He was the only man there, naturally, but no one seemed to mind. In much the way it is with children's writers gatherings, when a man is about, the women are thrilled to have some diversity. He is hoping to make some sort of mathematical quilt, with fractals, I think**.

Things I learned about quilting that can be applied to writing:

1. Get an idea for the scope of the project first.

2. Don't get discouraged about how much time it might take--do one block at a time.

3. If you are precise every step of the way, the pieces will fit together much better. (This pleases my critical side.)

4. If you rush, you'll probably make a mess that won't fit together. (A bit like NaNoWriMo was for me, really.)

5. Enjoy it.

* What a date, eh?

** Did I mention I married a mathematical freak of nature? Well, I did. Math freaks are hot.

Writing By

2010-02-17T12:49:00.002-05:00

My pages aren't exactly flying by, but time is, and I'm doing my best to make the most of it. It's been a rough week.

Now, have you ever heard that a writer writes best under pressure? Or that she must find her muse in order to write her best?

It's all hogwash. And it's all true. Here's a not-so-secret secret: you write your best when you have set aside the time to write and stick to it. But you also write your best when you've tapped into your muse and are calling upon legions of creative ideas. And guess what? You can do both at the same time. (Even if you're writing on a laptop in the dance studio, while your daughter is twirling away.) (Not that I've done that.)

I've noticed something lately. The writing outcome of the days in which I feel engrossed with my story and the days in which I am merely pounding out the words are not that different. I write like I write, no matter the mood or the excitement of doing so. Why is this? I think it's because I've been writing and writing and writing for several years and have found my "ME" in my prose. I've found the little invisible thread that leads me from staring at a blank page to putting somewhat-decent words onto it. It's a novel idea (ha ha) that I can sit down and write and expect the same outcome in quality no matter my mood.

This is not to say that when I'm feeling depressed I can write every time. Or that when I'm tired, or busy, or lost in thought about a novel I've just read, I can jot down more of my story. Not always. It only happens when I commit to writing a scene or a specific number of words. And many times, I just don't commit to it and end up finding something, anything, else to do.

(It's what happened the past few days, actually.)

So, to recap:

A writer can expect the outcome in quality to be the same whether she is in "the mood" to write or not, as long as she sets aside the time for it and commits to the doing of it.

Snowflake Pro

2010-02-09T16:11:00.004-05:00

Earlier this week I was googling for help with novel plotting because I was stuck. I wanted some way to organize everything, keep my characters lined up, and figure out what the core of my novel really was. I knew, sort of, what I wanted, but it was all nebulous. Which is why I kept writing and re-writing the first 50 pages. I was pretty happy with what I've written this past month (about a hundred pages), but I still didn't know if it was good enough. I didn't know if it made sense, or if the plot was too cliche, or too confusing, or too....crappy. Plus, I was stuck.

Well, while I was googling, I came across a site describing the Snowflake Method. I read it, liked it, and then discovered that the man who came up with is also a physicist (awesome!) and a computer software developer, not to mention a novelist. So I took a look at his program he had for sale, and after the initial sticker shock, ordered it. (He offers a 50% discount if you buy his Novel Writing for Dummies book.) Yes, it was expensive. Yes, my husband looked at me like that when I told him. But but but! It seems to be working! I have organized my novel already! I have written a one-liner that gets right to the core of my novel. I have written a short synopsis that makes describing the novel to random strangers much easier (have you ever had the deer in the headlights look when someone asks you what your novel is about??). I have expanded that into a page-long synopsis detailing the novel. I have figured out the point of each character (what he/she wants, what is their downfall, what is their saving grace, what they are like) and then described the story from each point of view (which was amazingly helpful and I wish I'd thought of it sooner). I am just about to expand my page-long synopsis into a four-page synopsis. Next, I will outline each scene.

You could do all of this without the software, of course, but it's just so cool. Used in conjunction with Scrivener, I will be banging this thing out in no time, and when I'm done, it'll make sense.

By the way, I was able to see Tamora Pierce speak at a fundraiser in my neighborhood this weekend, and she was fabulous. There were only about twenty people there, including Bruce Coville, who is always nice each time I see him. (I run into him in public places here! It's like living in Hollywood, except that it's Syracuse and he's not an actor!) Tamora Pierce spoke about how, like a buckaneer, she pillages the great works of the ancients, the ideas that have been passed down, and all she sees around her to build her worlds and stories. She is an awesome, talented writer!

Bruce Coville made my day because at first he didn't recognize me (we've only met twice before, so I wasn't expecting him to recognize me anyway) and then he said he thought I was one of the high school students. (Gasp! Squee!) I'm sure he was just being nice, but it sure made me feel great for the rest of the day. And the next day. And today. :-)

Having these two brilliant authors for neighbors is wonderful. I hope I'll be able to tell them I've sold a book the next time I see them!

I love my monster child, I do

2010-02-03T07:39:00.003-05:00

Here's a video taken in my home at approximately 4:25 a.m. this morning. For your viewing pleasure:

It's now a quarter to eight, and she is STILL AWAKE and thrilled than she can now write her numbers. I couldn't be less thrilled at the moment. Really.

My husband left just after the video to go to school/work. I was thrilled about that, too.

Henry got back to sleep about 20 minutes later, after some crying. I slept a little bit, but she woke up me in 15-minute increments telling me various things, like: she wanted to play a computer game ("No!"), or that she wasn't tired ("Well, I am!"), or that she wanted me to go downstairs with her ("Go by yourself!") or that downstairs was scary ("Then stay in your room!"). (See a pattern?)

Now it's time to get us all dressed and take her to preschool. I have a feeling she might take a nap today. (That will shock her teacher.)

Please don't tell me your little, adorable, kind children sleep in until 8 every morning, or that you have to wake them up to go to school. It just might push me over the edge.

Busy Busy

2010-02-01T20:26:00.002-05:00

Can I just say that this past week was full of, well, stuff? Both kids were sick, as was I, and when my 3 year old is home from school, the schedule comes to a grinding halt. So, forgive me for not finishing up the last post! I never did assign any awards to anyone...and I'm not going to. Not now, not a week later. That would just be lame. So, here's a special award: anyone who reads this post between now and 12 p.m. EST on February 2nd gets a Gold Star sticker. Let me know, and I will mail you one. ;-)

Good news for last week was that I wrote a particularly difficult scene. I actually wrote it three times until I got it "good enough" to press on. And then I had to write the next scene, which was just as difficult. It wasn't as pivotal, but deciding what was going to happen, exactly, took some time. I have come into a sort of rhythm, lately. When I'm stuck, I write out a description of the scene, including the participants, the weather, the mood, and the events. As I do this, the scene comes more-or-less to life in my head, and when I open up Scrivener to write it all down, it comes out gushing (or at least in a steady flow).

Then the weekend happened, in which I got zero time to write. Truly. Unless I sacrificed one of my 6 hours of sleep, I was not going to get free time.

Well, this post was rather long*. You get two stars for making it this far!

Now, tell me, what's the book you're currently reading? I'm reading Sara's Key, sort of. It's actually so sad, that I have to balance it out with a Nancy Drew novel. I am not sure I can finish this book.

* I just deleted three paragraphs that were too personal. Muahaha.

An Award! gasp

2010-01-25T14:45:00.003-05:00

I just received a blog award!

Valerie at I Should Be Writing gave me the Over The Top Award!

Rules: Answer the following questions with Single Word answers then pass this along to 5 other bloggers. Make sure you let them know about it though.

Your Cell Phone? texy
Your Hair? medium
Your Mother? Dramatic
Your Father? Engineer
Your Favourite Food? Thai
Your Dream Last Night? terrifying
Your Favourite Drink? Tea
Your Dream/Goal? February!
What Room Are You In? living
Your Hobby? Felting
Your Fear? Failure
Where Do You See Yourself In Six Years? Home
Where Were You Last Night? Couch
Something That You Aren't? begrudging
Muffins? mmm
Wish List Item? time!
Where Did You Grow Up? internationally
Last Thing You Did? sew
What Are You Wearing? scarf
Your TV? Off
Your Pets? dead
Friends? always
Your Life? creative
Your Mood? rushed
Missing Someone? no
Vehicle? practical
Something You Aren't Wearing? tiara
Your Favourite Store? Bookstore
Your Favourite Colour? blue
When Was The Last Time You Laughed? today
Last Time You Cried? recently
Your Best Friend? somewhere
One Place You Go To Over And Over Again? dreamland
Facebook? forgotten
Favourite Place To Eat? table

5 Blogs I'm Giving The Over The Top Award To:

...I will do this later. My battery is about to die b/c hubby took my adapter to work!

Another scarf

2010-01-22T15:25:00.003-05:00

I did a wee bit of writing today, but not much. I didn't sleep well last night, and had a hard time focusing. I did, however, make another scarf. This one is still wet, and hanging in the sunlight to dry.

I used two different types of roving for this one, just to test it out. The teal is 70/30 merino/silk, and the purplish is 100% merino. The yarn is wool-covered nylon.

I tried to make it gauzy, but it was only that way in a few places. Next time, I need to space out the roving a bit further.

Felting

2010-01-21T16:22:00.005-05:00

Bear with me here, as Henry is up and I'm distracting him from my computer by letting him play with my camera (probably a bad move).

To celebrate writing 3,000 words this morning (and 15K so far this month!), I spent his naptime working on art projects. There is a bit of history to this...for Christmas this past year, I received a wet-felted purse from my sister, who's friend made it in Ukraine (my sister lives and works in Ukraine). I fell in LOVE with both it an the art form, and immersed myself into researching the craft. I ordered wool roving (unspun carded wool, not yarn) and some kits. Then I began.

Here is the purse I received:

My first project was a basic 2D rectangle...with which I have no idea what to do. But here it is.

Then I branched out (hah hah) into making "bamboo" and coiled rope:

And then, my first artfelted 3D object, a bowl:

Mittens, of which I learned a valuable lesson (don't let them shrink too small for a 3 y.o.):

And then, for myself, a scarf of merino wool (I'm wearing right now):
See the thinness of it? There is negative space, sort of like rough lace or lattice. I absolutely love this scarf. I had fun with the leftovers, too (the spirals).

And then, because I told her I would, I made Elizabeth a scarf. This is what I did today during Henry's nap, while listening to Little Women. I'm quite proud of it. It's incredibly soft, thin, and nearly transparent. And yet it's super strong, too. It's merino wool, as well, with a bit of yarn thrown in for decoration. I think that next time I make something like this, I'll leave out less wool and let more of the yarn peep through. It only peeped through at one end, as seen in the second picture.

I love wool. I love sheep. I love getting my hands working with fibers and having a tactile creative experience--something I do not get while writing. I truly believe a writer needs other creative outlets, such as music, painting, or dancing, to build other channels through which to reach his or her muse.

(Henry is now in his high chair, snacking on cheerios. The camera was a bad idea, after all, and I had to save it. Hmm... He's watching Teletubbies for the first time and seems to like it.)

Now, I need to order more merino wool. The stuff I have left is too stiff for scarves, and I'm a bit afraid of making a purse just yet. Artfelting is much easier than wetfelting, and requires less energy and time. It also makes just beautiful, soft items.

Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll get good enough at this and set up an Etsy or Artfire site.

But not until my book is finished. I have a deadline: Feb 28th. That is when my child care funds run dry.

Beware of Illustrators

2010-01-20T20:35:00.001-05:00

You must watch this video from Candy Gourlay's blog. It is the cutest! This boy is definitely going to be published some day. He's way ahead of where most of us were at age nine (well, at least me).

Character Pics

2010-01-15T09:27:00.004-05:00

Do you find real photos of what you imagine your characters to look like? I do. It helps tremendously in making me feel like these people are real.

Most of you know I'm writing a book about a jinn. Her name is Nashwa, and in my mind, she looks like this:

Isn't she beautiful? In real life, this woman really is named Nashwa. She's an actress. The Nashwa of my novel is 17 and grew up in an underworld cavern next to the Lake of Fire.

Nashwa's life changes when she is assigned to this human:

That's Kamal, son of the Qaliph of Baghdad. (Ok, in reality, this photo is of Ahmed, "Mr. Bahrain.") Iblis, Jinn Lord of the Underworld, has decided that Kamal will help him in his war against humanity...with Nashwa's help.

Of course, Nashwa has some issues with Iblis' commands when she meets Kamal.

Hopefully, I'll be done with this soon. Gah! Finding time has been harder than usual lately. My son has been sick and I had a wisdom tooth pulled, but I am finally getting back to it.

In other news, Jim and I finished watching BBC Drama's North and South last night. Swoon. It was incredible. Now I really want to read the book. Right now, though, I'm reading Ice.

Happy Writing!

Where have I been?!

2010-01-11T14:11:00.005-05:00

It's January 11th. So much has happened since I last blogged. It is actually overwhelming.

First, I sold a book.

No. JUST KIDDING. Sheesh, you'd think I'd wait to post something like that?

I did, however, pass into another decade. I am now out of my twenties and am...relieved. My twenties were harsh. I did a lot, made many, many mistakes. I found true love, went to Iraq, married my love in an awesome Buddhist temple in Japan, had two babies, and wrote my first novel. By the end of my twenties, I'd seen and done enough to give the other play-date moms plenty to gossip about.

And now that I'm thirty, I am ready. I am looking forward to a decade of accomplishments. I hope.

For starters, I hope to finish this awesome jinni book. But what should it be called? I think JINN is just a boring title. Any ideas? Maybe when I'm done and ready to send it to my most awesome agent, I'll have a mini contest and let one of my readers (the two of you) pick/suggest the perfect title. :-) What do you think?

Today my daughter went back to preschool, which means my days will be more productive. At least my son takes naps during which I can write. (Or blog. Today, I got totally distracted by Suzanne Young's THE NAUGHTY LIST---my first-ever ARC! It is so strawberry smoothie!)

Ok. Enough! Must get to work...

Rudolph Vlog

2009-12-16T13:10:00.000-05:00

Projects and Pictures

2009-12-10T12:27:00.005-05:00

Yesterday during my writing time, my mind wandered. It didn't want to work on the jinni book. It wasn't being lazy (I did ask myself if that's what was wrong). The problem was that I had a new idea. A wonderful, exciting story that popped up during a nap last week and hasn't left me alone. I decided I would outline it for a short story and then get back to my novel, but that didn't happen. Before I knew it, I had a two-and-a-half page synopsis and a character description---for a short story. Clearly, this was developing into something more. A novella? I did a quick google search for YA short stories and novellas. Nada. I mean, there have been some published, but the chanced of me getting something of that length published is even less than me getting a novel published (and we know how hard that is).

Just as I opened up another document to start writing prose, though, Henry woke up from his nap an hour early. So it had to wait until after the kids were in bed and the house was picked up. My husband comes home late most night nowadays because he has finals next week (last night, he crawled into bed after 3 a.m.!), so I was all alone and ready to write. But first, I called my dad.

Why? I have no idea. Well, besides the fact that he had called earlier when the kids were in the bath and I can barely manage keeping them from drowning each other with two hands, so I ignored the ring. Also, I had just watched Glee for the first time ever (OMG I loved it) and my mind was still buzzing and not ready to sit down and focus.

So. My dad. I nonchalantly told him my new story idea and for the first time ever he offered up ideas and asked me questions and was interested. While we were brainstorming plot, story arc, theme, and the final resonance the book should have (it suddenly became a novel), I remembered, all of a sudden, that my dad was a fabulous story teller. He used to put us to bed while mom cleaned up and he would tell us the most wonderful, imaginative stories ever. The stories would continue on for months, some even years, until he moved on to another theme/idea. He's not a writer, but he is a story teller. I've always been jealous of his ability to tell a story verbally. He used the right phrasing, tone, and withholds certain elements until just the right time. When I tell a story, my mind hops around too much and I confuse everyone.

He is also that annoying guy in the movie theater who calls out what's going to happen next, before it happens. He's rarely pleased with the plot of a story...he likes the ones he cannot predict.

And I think there's a relationship here. If you are the kind of person who can come up with plots that are intriguing, fresh, and well, work, then you are probably the person who can see through other plots that aren't as well-done or are predictable and stale.

Plotting is my biggest problem. Which is probably why I'm nearly always fine with a book when I read it, and I rarely critique the plot. Although...I'm starting to "get it." Maybe it's all the practice I've been doing. Maybe it's the plotting books I've been studying. Maybe it's the sheer volume of books I've read, accumulating knowledge.

Now the conundrum: do I continue on with this mess of a novel (the jinni one) or start planning and writing this new idea, the one that is Super Interesting Right Now??

Tell me what you think.

And, finally, a picture:

Ah, Self-Publication

2009-12-07T23:34:00.004-05:00

Some writers want their books to be self-published because they can control the publishing process. Or maybe they only want a few books out that they can hand out to friends and family.

But there are others out there that are publishing books with, apparently, the sole reason being to give me a good, hard laugh.

Anyone want to read this 96-page picture book?

I want to be nice. I am sure that if I met Aunt Grace in person, I would find her lovely. And I would certainly read the book if she handed it to me. But I must say that I cannot spend $30 on a picture book about a groundhog searching for enlightenment. Even if Aunt Grace has the best author description EVER. Um, not in this economy, at any rate.

What are your thoughts? Am I being mean? Snarky? I mean, heck, a published book is a published book, right? At least Aunt Grace is published. I, on the other hand, am not. (Yet.) So which of us is the greater fool?

The Reason for Warning Labels

2009-11-24T09:33:00.003-05:00

I had the night of misery last night. But it's ok, because I survived! And so did my daughter! Let me tell you all about it...

Both kiddies were asleep before 8 p.m., and I had already written 1700 words, so I celebrated by scouring crafting blogs and sites looking for something to make for my relatives that I will now be visiting for Christmas (yay me). I should have gone to sleep, instead. I should have known that something was amiss. No parent gets THAT lucky by 8 p.m. (At least, not me, ever.)

12:30 a.m.: I wake to screaming, terrified baby. I rush in to his room, comfort him, and take him downstairs to warm up his bottle. *Baby screams as if I am a monster* I change his diaper. *Baby continues screaming and I wonder if I AM a monster* He drinks his milk. The bottle empties and he wants more. *SCREAM SCREAM SCREAM*

12:40 a.m.: My 3 year old, on the other side of the room that is divided by a curtain, wakes up, crying for me. I tell her I'll get to her when the baby gets back to sleep. *Girl cries* *Boy cries* I rush downstairs and make another bottle, wishing I still breastfed (it was easier).

12:45 a.m.: Son is finishing bottle the second time. Daughter is whining (and she's a pro). I plop baby into crib, he gets angry, but I go to daughter b/c I can't stand the whining (and she knows it).

*SCREAM SCREAM SCREAM*

1 a.m.: Husband comes to rescue. He puts baby back to sleep, after much crying and fussing.

1:10 a.m.: Daughter decides she doesn't want to go to sleep and her nose is stuffy. I administer children's nasal decongestant, even though the bottle says not to use on children under the age of four*. So I give her half the dose, just in case.

1:20 a.m.: Daughter wants me to read to her. I do. Then I tell her I'm going to sleep. She has to go potty.

1:25 a.m.: I convince daughter to come to our bed, to make sure she doesn't wake up the baby with her chattering.

1:30 a.m.: Husband returns to bed, victorious in his parenting skillz.

1:35 a.m.: Husband kicks daughter out of bed because she is squirming and kicking and won't shut up. She goes to her own bed, turns on her reading light, and reads. I pass out.

1:50 a.m.: She is at my side, whining about how she's "not happy with Luke** because he pushes me." (He pushed her, accidentally, two months ago.) I tell her to go back to bed.

2:15 a.m.: "Mommy, I'm really not happy with Luke." "What, is he here?" I go with her to her bed, lie down in it, and fall asleep.

2:17 a.m.: Daughter doesn't want me to sleep in her bed, after all. She wants me to leave. I flee.

3:00 a.m.: "Mommy, I told you I'm not happy with Luke." "WHAT? WHY? GO. TO. BED." She insists on me finding her a pad of paper and a pen. She wants to write about her feelings and how Luke annoys her. I want think about how I'll blog later about how she annoys me. I stagger to her room, find an old coloring book, and place it on her lap. She wants a book underneath for support. She wants to sit at this exact spot on the edge of her bed. I find a purple ballpoint and shove it in her hand. I somehow manage to find my bed.

4:00 a.m.: "Mommy, I can't go to sleep. I need to read. Can you get me a book? MOMMY!!!!!!!!" I go in there, shove several books on her lap, give her more paper to write on (she has scribbled lines and lines of cursive gibberish all over what I had given her an hour earlier). I return to bed and feel like I will faint.

7:00 a.m.: Husband wakes me up. I moan.

* Apparently, Children's Sudafed is concerned that parents of children under the age of four will sue them for the #1 Side Effect: A Wired Child in the Witching Hour.

** Luke is not his real name. I am concerned that his parents will sue me if I use it. Not that they even know I have a blog.

And now, the girl-child is at preschool. The boy-child-baby is at the YMCA childcare for a few hours. I am at Panera and am now ready to work on my jinn book. Even though I may pass out in public and drool on my keyboard.

Poetry Friday: Khalil Gibran

2009-11-20T12:31:00.003-05:00

For several years now, I've had a little book with a worn cover. It's The Prophet, by Khalil Gibran. I've never read it. It usually sits in a row with other tiny, pocket-sized books. (Although at the moment, I think it's in a box with most of my books.) Yesterday, however, I decided to google Khalil Gibran's poetry and I came across an astounding poem (well, quite a few, actually). This one has a lot to do with the feeling of my WIP, so I wanted to post it here for you to get a taste. Khalil was a master, mind you. I'm not putting myself in his camp, but I'd sure like to be there some day!

The Song of the Soul

In the depth of my soul there is

A wordless song - a song that lives

In the seed of my heart.

It refuses to melt with ink on

Parchment; it engulfs my affection

In a transparent cloak and flows,

But not upon my lips.

How can I sigh it? I fear it may

Mingle with earthly ether;

To whom shall I sing it? It dwells

In the house of my soul, in fear of

Harsh ears.

When I look into my inner eyes

I see the shadow of its shadow;

When I touch my fingertips

I feel its vibrations.

The deeds of my hands heed its

Presence as a lake must reflect

The glittering stars; my tears

Reveal it, as bright drops of dew

Reveal the secret of a withering rose.

It is a song composed by contemplation,

And published by silence,

And shunned by clamor,

And folded by truth,

And repeated by dreams,

And understood by love,

And hidden by awakening,

And sung by the soul.

It is the song of love;

What Cain or Esau could sing it?

It is more fragrant than jasmine;

What voice could enslave it?

It is heartbound, as a virgin’s secret;

What string could quiver it?

Who dares unite the roar of the sea

And the singing of the nightingale?

Who dares compare the shrieking tempest

To the sigh of an infant?

Who dares speak aloud the words

Intended for the heart to speak?

What human dares sing in voice

The song of God?

Khalil Gibran

I think I might go find that little book this weekend and start reading it.

In Which I Brag About My Daughter

2009-11-13T10:30:00.004-05:00

First, I want to mention that I am at Panera. It is rare that I ever get away, sans kiddos. Elizabeth is usually at preschool during this hour, but Henry is always with me. But not today!!! I snuck him in to the Y for their 3-hour drop off program. It only costs $12. This is way cheaper than a babysitter (babysitters run $10/hour*).

So I am at this moment taking a writing break. I pounded out some good (sorta) dialogue and noticed something: I don't have a single chapter break yet. I don't even know where I would put one. Is this bad, or a sign that I've got a page-turner? We will eventually find out, I suppose.

Yesterday on our way home from preschool, Elizabeth asked, out of the blue,

"Mom, you sometimes work, right?"

"Yes," I said. "Do you know what my work is?"

"Writing?"

I beamed. She knows. She understands.

"When I grow bigger can I read your books?"

I beamed brighter.

"Of course."

"But I can't read yet."

"You will soon." She doesn't know all of her letters yet, but she's working on it. She wants so much to read and write. (She has filled adult-sized journals with squiggly lines that look like a cross between 19th c. English penmanship and Hebrew.)

Then, after Henry was asleep, Elizabeth wanted to sit on my lap and be with me. I wanted to fix something on my computer. Or maybe I was reading some news story. I can't remember---it was after 7 p.m. and my brain is fried by then. Anyway, I asked her if she wanted to have me read the first part of my story, and she said "yes!" So I did. We only lasted half the page, but I read it slower, more storytelling-like, and...it was wonderful! (Not the writing...the reading of my own story to my daughter.)

I am getting jittery from thinking about the day when, I hope, Elizabeth goes to the bookshelf and pulls off a copy of one of my novels and then curls up on the couch with it. Or maybe I'm jittery from the coffee.

*Why didn't I make this much babysitting?!

Negative Talk and Positive Dreams

2009-11-12T10:00:00.004-05:00

Last night I had a dream in which I gave up writing my jinni book and began writing about a depressed teenager. I can't remember now what it was that made me fall in love with the new story, but I wrote about fifteen pages of it in my sleep. (Too bad I can't count it for my NaNo stats.)

I do know, however, what made me fall out of love with my jinni book. It's hard. It's starting to feel like meaningless "fluff." I am grasping at straws, trying to figure out what should happen next. I have no idea how I'm going to fill out the next 40k words---in 2.5 weeks!

I spent most of Tuesday writing, which made me

feel accomplished and, well, optimistic. I must have out-written myself, because yesterday I think I might have written 200 words. It was as if my writing brain ran a half-marathon on Tuesday and couldn't get out of bed yesterday. And not only could it not get out of bed, but it bemoaned the future and everything it had written the day before. "It's silly," my writing brain said. "No one will take you seriously if they read this." The day drudged on with me unable to get through an "exciting, adventurous" scene. I wanted depth, and meaning, and where are depth and meaning in a fight with a sea monster?*

Images of well-known editors flashed across my mind, all of them smoking long cigarettes and shaking their heads at my frivolous jinni book.

By then, I despised my little book. And I yearned, desperately, for a reincarnation of my first novel, ROHANA. I wanted to fix that one. I had figured out the plot problems. ROHANA is a deep, meaningful book** and has "literary merit." As I finally slipped off to sleep, I realized that fixing ROHANA is a daydream because it's just easier to revise than to actually write a first draft.

So what would that make me? A Reviser? Surely not a writer.

Writers finish their work. They tackle the gooey hodgepodge of words they have strung together and pad it out with more gooey words. They brave the possibility that someone might see the mess and exclaim that their true destiny is... joining a circus. They finish their manuscripts because if they don't, it will keep poking them in the head, begging to be fleshed out. Nashwa, my main character, would be both insulted and aggravated if I gave up on her. She would slip into my dreams and force me to face her. (And she's a soul stealer and wise in the art of jinn magic, so I would have a hard time putting her back in a corner.)

From now on (or at least for the next two hours), I will put my pride aside and write crap. When the crap dries, I will pull out my Revision Dremel and grind it down into something more presentable. Then I will add more crap, grind it back down...ad infinitum. (Well, not forever, hopefully.)

Nashwa, as I see her

One other thing: I will not look at published authors' websites today and worry that I am not successful because a) I was not 17 when I wrote my first novel, b) I don't have a beautiful writing cottage with a magic window, and c) I don't have thousands/hundreds/a couple of snarky followers.

* A wise woman told me today that even "fluff" books have meaning---if it makes a child fall in love with reading, then it has meaning.

**Or so I like to think. I mean, it's my first book-baby, after all.

Philosophy

2009-11-11T22:26:00.001-05:00

Philosophy
Originally uploaded by Nad

John Green and the Nerdfighters posted a link to this picture on Twitter and it made me laugh over and over. (I'm still laughing.)

Write it for me

2009-11-04T10:36:00.001-05:00

Someone needs to write a YA novel on this, because I want to read it and don't have time to write it myself: Who Killed Jane Doe?

NaNoWriMo

2009-10-31T13:52:00.003-04:00

I just signed up for NaNoWriMo. Dude, I must be crazy. November is always the month of insanity for me, so why add to it?

On Thursday, I am flying to Washington for the Western Washington SCBWI's Writing Retreat program (wheeeeeeee!) and will be tired, busy, brain-drained, and happy when I come home. How will I write 2k words a day in my NaNo novel? I have no earthly idea. My goal this month is to try.

November is also Henry's birth month, so his first birthday is coming up.

And Thanksgiving.

And Jim's final long stretch before the end of the semester, which means lots more studying, grading, and homework which will keep him away.

But if I write (even pure unadulterated crap) at any moment I get, then it should benefit my writing career. Right?

Oh. I am focusing on improving my plotting abilities this month, too, and characterization.

And I am sort of cheating. I know, we're not supposed to cheat. And we shouldn't admit to it publicly on our blogs, but I feel like I have to. I won't include any prose I've already written, but I am going to re-write the first portion of one of my novels. So it's an edge. I know my characters, have sketched them out (and printed off "photos"), and am working on plot. I am hoping that NaNo will get my first draft in gear.

December can be all about rewriting and perfection.

Super Secret WIP

2009-10-21T12:28:00.005-04:00

Jacqui Robbins gave me a great idea yesterday to keep myself writing every day, even if I don't feel like working on my "out in the open" projects. I tried her suggestions (demands, really) and discovered that my internal editor was penned in. She didn't feel like chirping up because it would have been a waste of her time. After all, this is a novel no one will ever see.

Brilliant, really.

I'll keep you posted on word count, just because I like to brag, but you won't have a clue what it's all about. Tee hee.

In other words, I just discovered a musician that apparently everyone had already heard about but I had not, having been in a daze the past few years. I am in love. With Regina Spektor. She comes very, very close to Tori Amos. If I weren't so nostalgic about Tori....(who, by the way, singlehandedly supported me through high school).

Oh! Oh! Oh! I cannot forget: I won. I won the jody call contest at Sara Lewis Holmes' site. And I get a prize! (A signed copy of OPERATION YES! delivered by a person in uniform.)

Novel Wordles!

2009-10-16T11:39:00.005-04:00

This is a wordle of ROHANA, my first novel. Isn't it beautiful? You can see which words I overused, but you can also see what's at the heart of the novel. Matioro is the primary antagonist and Rohana is the main character.

Here's one of my current YA Work-in-Progress:

And here's one from my MG WIP:

Can you tell I've had too much coffee and sugar this morning??

Wordle

OPERATION YES contest!

2009-10-16T10:51:00.003-04:00

OPERATION YES! Author Sara Lewis Holmes is having a jody-call contest until midnight tonight! Enter or be...chicken.

Here's my entry, for you all to read and snicker at:

I don’t know but I’ve been told
green eggs and ham all smell like mold
I do not like them so I say
Now let me be and run away!

I do not like them here or there
I do not like them, so beware
Green eggs and ham are strange to me
The color’s off and they’re slimy!

Green eggs (and ham!)
Green eggs (and ham!)
Don’t make me eat them
Uncle Sam!

You serve them in the dining hall
To eat, be strong, and grow real tall
Ok, one taste--just go away
Don’t come again another day

Say! (Hey!) Say! (Hey!)
Green eggs and ham are on my tray
And in my mouth and down the hatch
These eggs and ham are quite a catch!

Yum! (Yum!) Yum (Yum!) Green eggs and ham
Please give me more, chef Uncle Sam!

New Color

2009-10-15T15:50:00.001-04:00

I will probably increase the contrast, but for now, I'm happy. I love raspberry.

LIPS TOUCH: THREE TIMES is a NBA Finalist!!!

2009-10-15T10:40:00.003-04:00

The National Book Award committee has chosen a brilliant, amazing, beautiful book as one of its Young People's Literature finalists.

Laini has a talent for turning the English language into something that has passed through markets in Morocco, simmered in Indian chai, and braved the icy drafts of the Russian steppes. The stories in LIPS TOUCH don't all take place there, but as you read, you know that the words have come together after traveling every alley, every leaf, and every cooking pot in the world.

Jim Di Bartolo, the illustrator, has an equally amazing gift. His drawings are real, and yet ethereal. At the very least, they're gorgeous. And the colors! Wow! To see a book put together like this is a prize, and I truly hope it wins the award.

Now, go read it!

(I started reading it last night, coincidentally, so was pleased to hear the news. Goblin Fruit, the first story in LIPS TOUCH, haunted my dreams all night, and I woke up hungering for apricot toast.)

Contest for ICE!

2009-10-09T15:18:00.000-04:00

The next hit book by Sarah Beth Durst, author of Into the Wild

This book is based in modern times, up in Alaska and the arctic. Cassie lives with her father and their team at a research station in the middle of the ice-desert. Cassie's grandmother often told Cassie the story of how her mother was promised to the Polar bear king by her father the North Wind, but then she fell in love with a human man and the Polar Bear King(love him!) agreed to protect her from the North Wind's wrath, on the condition that their first-born daughter be his wife. But North Wind found her anyway blew her to the edge of the earth to be with the trolls.

Now it's Cassie's 18th birthday, and the Polar Bear King has come for her.

Enna Isilee ranted and raved about the awesomeness of this book over at her blog, and now she's offering anyone an opportunity to own it.

This giveaway is awesome and easy, head here to enter the drawing and to get more information (open to US residents only).

Secret Middle-Grade Novel

2009-10-08T12:36:00.004-04:00

Shhhh. Don't tell anyone else, but I've got a secret crush. And my YA jinn novel is not going to like it. I started a new book today, and it's going really well---already at 2200 words. It's a middle-grade novel, and it might be the biggest waste of time ever. Or not.

But it's oh so fun!

P.S. I wanted to add that my mom just read it and said it's hysterical. Phew! As we all know, our mothers are the best, unbiased critics out there.

Nerves of Jello

2009-10-05T13:47:00.003-04:00

I just sent out my first portion of my work-in-progress to my agent and am now all shaky. What if she doesn't like it?

AGGHHHHHHHHHH.

Ok. Back to writing. Hey, you---get back to your projects, too. Shoo!

Books by Friends and Mini Sewing Projects

2009-09-30T14:46:00.004-04:00

Look at what came in the mail today!

Lips Touch, by Laini Taylor and illustrated by Jim Di Bartolo; Silksinger, also by Laini Taylor and illustrated by Jim Di Bartolo; and Operation: YES, by Sara Lewis Holmes.

I have been eagerly awaiting for these books. Laini and Sara are my friends, so of course I wanted to support them, but I really just wanted the books because I know they are going to be awesome reads! I got a chance to read Silksinger in an earlier rendition and add comments to it (Laini surprised me by sending it to me---I have no idea if my comments were helpful or not, but I hope so). I can't wait to see what is the same and what has changed! Sara's book is going to be thoughtful and funny, and guess what? She agreed to do an interview on this very humble blog! (So I have to read it, like, NOW.)

Yay for getting friends' books in the mail!

I was in such a good mood that even though I only got three hours of sleep last night due to sleepless children, and had an early morning appointment that required me to bring both kids along and get their blood tested, resulting in much dramatic wailing, I finished a sewing project! (How's that for a caffeinated sentence?) I took a look at my beautiful new machine,

And thought, I should get out that ridiculously adorable flannel and make some baby washcloths!

Since we use cloth diapers, we also use cloth wipes, and these will come in handy. Plus, they're super cute and I made them.

Now, I should go take a nap while the baby is napping, but I've had too much coffee. I will most likely collapse in the midst of the bedtime routine, likely folded over a picture book or two. Elizabeth will have to prod me out of her bed and tuck herself in, all alone. Poor child. Guess she shouldn't have woken me up at 4 a.m.

M.T. Anderson

2009-09-29T13:23:00.003-04:00

I am going to write my darndest to catch up to him. He is the writer I most want to emulate.

(Reading The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing: Traiter to the Nation, Vol 2., Kingdom on the Waves and LOVING it. Mr. Anderson is a verifiable genius.)

The only downside to reading his books is that they tend to run long, run deep, and keep me from writing whilst I'm reading them.

Tissues

2009-09-25T13:00:00.003-04:00

If you handed a box of tissues to a chimpanzee, would she start pulling the tissues out? Would a parrot try it too? Or is this a uniquely human (specifically a wee human) trait?

Henry, my ten-month old walking/climbing/giggling son.

Other projects

2009-09-24T10:49:00.003-04:00

I just finished my first 50 pages in my work-in-progress! Yay! 11,000 words. Phew. I have written it in first-person present-tense, third-person omniscient, and finally settled on my usual: first-person near-past-tense. I've twisted the plot around and around. I've threaded, unravelled, and re-threaded the words. And now I can say I'm on my way. I have a sense of who my characters are and where they are going.

To celebrate, I got a new sewing machine (THIS ONE!) and finally made Elizabeth a dress-and-backpack combo. She had picked out the pattern and fabric a month ago, and I finally did it. Apparently, I can sew! It wasn't me, it was my old, unworking sewing machine that was the problem before.

Taking pictures (or "catching Elizabeth on film") is nearly as difficult as sewing, by the way. (It also helps to have the camera on the right setting, apparently.) Here ya go:

And...

So did I succeed? And guess who peed?

2009-09-10T20:39:00.005-04:00

The house is clean. The kids are in bed. Dinner was cooked and was delicious. Peace and Quiet are now here to spend the evening with me.

During Henry's awake times, when I could not do much around the house, we played outside in the back yard. A family of deer visit us often, and I was happy to see this time that one of the babies no longer limps. (Unless it's a different set of deer.)

This is our tiny garden, by the way. We've got broccoli, cauliflower, kale, and tomatoes. We have no idea if we'll get anything before it frosts. Henry thinks that's fine, and says that the dirt it quiet edible.

Henry thought the deer were awesome, as is apparent in his wide grin.

Our yard is terraced. The top level is where the garden and the fence are, and then there's the middle level, which is where we have our compost pile, and then the bottom level, which is a beautiful, serene garden beneath a sequoia and a walnut tree. The deer like to nibble the soft grass and lounge there. (The deer seem really tiny in this picture.)

And in case you've never seen this...

Yes, mama deer always pees before meandering back into the woods. Guess that's like saying, "Hey, other deer, this is my spot."

Plans

2009-09-10T09:54:00.004-04:00

Considering my house has sneezed in every room and corner possible, the book is long from being even half-done, the baby is not napping (or apparently close), I have a lot to accomplish today. So the plan is to do it. All of it. Every nook and cranny must be organized and cleaned. Every cheerio picked up off the floor (yes, the house sneezed that badly). All the diapers washed and hung out in the sun to dry. The pictures finally hung on the walls. The pile of papers stacked and shoved to the side for Jim to sift through (I refuse). The clothes washed, dried, and--gasp--put away neatly in their drawers.

Then, when the house is comfortable and unsickly, I will be able to breathe calmly and write.

If Henry allows it. He is, after all, the Demanding One now that his big sister is at preschool all day.

If only he'd take a NAP! Shhh. Go to sleep, baby, go to sleep. You're so very, very tired.

BALLAD!!!

2009-09-08T13:23:00.001-04:00

This is a teaser from Maggie Stiefvater's BALLAD, a novel involving homicidal faeries and kissing that's coming out October 1st.

He turned towards me. For a long moment, he stood facing me. I was held, anchored to the ground – not by his music, which still called and pushed against the music already in my head and said grow rise follow – but by his strangeness. By his fingers, spread over the ground, holding something into the earth, by his shoulders, squared in a way that spoke of strength and unknowability, and most of all, by the great, thorny antlers that grew from his head, spanning the sky like branches.

Then he was gone, and I missed his going in the instant that the sun fell off the edge of the hill, abandoning the world to twilight.

Buy it here. Enter the contest at Maggie's blog here.

OPERATION YES!

2009-09-01T11:58:00.002-04:00

me
Originally uploaded by ambotchka

In honor of OPERATION YES, by Sara Holmes, here's a photo of me way "back in the day." No, I don't really smoke, but we were having fun and taking pictures and generally feeling very cavalier, and this is what happens in such moments.

[I was deployed to both CAMP VICTORY and CAMP SLAYER, Iraq, from July 2004 to March 2005.]

Tinkerbell

2009-08-26T21:59:00.003-04:00

And on a lighter note, here's my cutie:

It's a double-brag because I created the child and my mother created the outfit. We took this picture on her 3rd birthday, which was earlier this month.

Gosh, I can't believe my baby is three! And Jim and I have been married for four years now. Wow. (Incidentally, Elizabeth was born the day before our first anniversary. It was not the way I had imagined spending that day, but it wasn't too bad. Just a little exhausted and in a little bit of pain. Definitely felt lightning-struck, though.)

City of Thieves

2009-08-26T19:50:00.005-04:00

I just finished reading a fantastic novel about the siege of Leningrad (St. Petersburg). How many of you know that during WWII, Leningrad was under siege for 900 days? Can you imagine? People were so hungry that they boiled the glue from book bindings down and made "Library Candy." I knew about the siege, I even visited the memorial in St. Petersburg when I was there in 2001, but I didn't understand, not fully, what had happened. It had been so black-and-white before. I knew the facts, two-dimensionally imagined the horrors and tragedies that transpired, but I didn't feel it. It wasn't until I read this book that I died a little inside. The book, City of Thieves, by David Benioff, is dark, humorous, and beautiful (not to mention horrific and tense).

It is everything I want my first novel, Rohana, to be like. It is the first novel I have read since I began writing Rohana that showed me exactly what I wanted to achieve, exactly how I wanted to affect my readers. In my book, Rohana, the main character, witnesses horror to a degree most of us cannot even imagine, just as the people of Leningrad (and, well, most of Europe) experienced during WWII.

I lay in bed last night, trying to fall asleep, trying to banish the image of the last scene I had just read--and yet, I didn't want to forget it. The scene was so brutal, so inhuman, that I wanted to see it and feel it just as the main character, Lev, did. I wanted to be there for him, to help him get through it. Does that make any sense? Lev (and the other characters) became real enough for me that I wanted to absorb as much of the horror as I could so that he could be protected.

I want my readers to feel that way about Rohana. I want them to care for her and see both the brutality and the beauty of humanity through her eyes. I want my readers to want to see more, and yet want to put blinders on her so that she won't see more.

One thing about David Benioff's writing that I'd like everyone to experience is the lyricism, the poetry. The descriptions truly put you there, then.

Rohana needs a massive amount of revision to get it even close to City of Thieves.

(BTW, this is easily my favorite book of the year.)

New York, How I Love Thee

2009-08-20T21:21:00.003-04:00

Yes, it's true. I love New York. I love Syracuse. The streets are lines with greenery, flowers abound, the neighbors are kind and interesting, and we have a large porch that I can sit on and write late into the evening (with a massing number of mosquitos).

We are not yet unpacked, but things are getting situated. Jim is nearly ready to start school, and Elizabeth is excited about starting preschool. Henry is just excited to be alive (plus, he's taking steps now, and believes he should be walking already). I am settling down and getting ready to start writing FOR REAL. I've got to finish this first draft or else!

Tonight was my first night back at work. I made myself some coffee, escaped to the front porch with my laptop, a bowl of mint ice cream, and a notebook, and sketched out plot ideas. I couldn't get right back into the story at first, since it had been ages since I'd taken a peek, but I was able to wrap my mind about it a little. No actual writing was completed tonight, but I'm getting ready to jump back into that soon. SOON.

I'm also thinking about applying for Syracuse University's MFA in Creative Writing program for next year. If I got accepted, I think it includes a TA position, which would mean a small stipend and a waiving of tuition, so it'd be like making a tiny salary while getting my MFA. Better than working at Starbucks to help out with our bills, right? Mostly, I just might learn a little bit more about writing. Maybe. But I'm a little apprehensive---what if they're too high-brow? What if they're too literary? My writing style is a bit literary, but it's not snooty (I hope). I do, afterall, want to get gasp! published.

Ok. The mosquitos are taking over the porch. I must retreat now or find myself a blood donor.

Moving

2009-07-29T16:18:00.002-04:00

Wow, this one-a-day blog has turned out to be more of a once-a-month post-it. Sorry about that. If you knew what my life was like, you'd understand.

But just to say quickly, we're moving in two days to New York. (Not the city; to Syracuse.) The packers are here, the house is boxed up, and I am severely sleep deprived.

I shall post new pictures when I take them, once we're unpacked and settled. Maybe I'll even start posting again...

Long Time

2009-06-24T20:28:00.004-04:00

I haven't been blogging in a very long time because we've been traveling and I've had some post-partum depression. Things are improving, however, which is good. I'll post some cute pics of our trip to Disney World later...

I was going to write up a lengthy post, but I wanted you to watch this video so you can hear the woman crying out for help, in Iran, and then I've got to get off the computer. Human brutality makes me sick to my stomach--no matter what side is being injusticed.

Zombie Cakes, Resurrected

2009-05-11T19:20:00.004-04:00

I hosted a friend's baby shower this past weekend, and I decided to show off my novice baking skills by baking her a cake from scratch. After spending way too much time deciding on what to bake, exactly, I found two recipes that seemed perfect for my giant cupcake pan--a white cake and nearly-professional buttercream icing.

So, at 7 p.m., I began baking.

I made two of these tops because, as it turns out, "non-stick" pans aren't truly non-stick. Having a crumbled cake did give me a chance to taste the goods before presentation, so it wasn't all bad. Jim said I could served the broken bits as "Baby Vomit," on par for the theme. (He was immediately banished from the kitchen for that comment.)

While the second top was baking, I started frosting the bottom half, trying to keep it together since it had broken when removed from the pan.

Then, on a whim, I decided to layer it with strawberries. I made the sauce, slathered it on the bottom half of the cake, and then watched in horror as it bled down the sides. I was nearly frantic. How does one present a bloody mushroom cake to a pregnant woman?

Quickly, I tossed on the almost-cool top and iced it with a color I had just mixed together.

As you can see, it was dreadful. At this point, I wondered how much it would cost to convince the baker to make a cake the morning of the party...but I kept at it, icing it more, making a new batch of icing, getting the piping done, and then I resurrected the zombie cake:

It looked like a circus tent, and less like a mushroom, which made me happy. Plus, I had some cute little cupcakes. I put it in the fridge, went to bed (it was 1 a.m. at this point), and dreamed of bleeding cakes. (Totally unsuitable for baby showers, btw.) When I was awakened by Monster Child #1 at 5:30 a.m., I ran downstairs and fully expected the cake to have fallen apart, or the strawberries to have leaked the bottom, but it was perfectly fine. And tasty, too. It was just too cute and I was so proud of myself.

Next time, though, I'm making a cake with just regular circular pans. None of this giant cupcake with strawberry layer mess. And I'm going to make it chocolate.

San Diego and Hostess Cupcakes

2009-05-05T20:25:00.004-04:00

I just went to San Diego so I could see my friend do this:

And eat some of this:

And here I am, with some of my critique group friends:

That's Kirsten, me holding a wiggly and bald-spotted Henry, Cindy, and Eveie

I am such a jet-setter. Gosh. ;-)

Seriously, though, I did just get back from a weekend San Diego in which I brought along baby Henry to my friend and critique group partner Cindy Pon's first-ever book launch. Her first novel, SILVER PHOENIX, came out a week ago--hurry, go buy it--read it--and join me in waiting for the sequel and the inevitable blockbuster soon to follow.

The flight out was a little bit of a pain considering I had a baby on my lap and was squished in the middle seat, but my neighbors were all wonderful. My first neighbor was a woman on her way home from Iraq. Thank God. She helped me out quite a lot in entertaining Henry.

My friend Kirsten, an absolutely fantastic novelist who will soon be getting a great agent, I am sure, played the Perfect Hostess for both Henry and me. She had all the baby gear, which made things super easy. Also, she brought me a tray of tea, milk, honey, and fresh strawberries to munch and sip while I got dressed on Saturday morning, plus she took care of the baby at the same time. I am forever spoiled. And now I will feel subpar if I don't treat my future guests as wonderfully as she did! I felt like a princess all weekend.

One of the unexpected* benefits of going out to San Diego was being there in person for a critique group meeting. I've been away for a year and a half, and it's been hard. Email critiques just aren't as good, you know? And I don't do critiques as thoroughly and as well as when I am going to be there for the actual meeting. Anyway, remember the 20+ pages I wrote last weekend? Well, they read them all and gave me awesome guidance. Plus they made me feel good, like the pages aren't half bad and were totally readable, even if it's a first draft and had lots of holes. They set me on my way and now I've got FOCUS. *sigh* I lurve my critique group.

I felt like I was hanging out with someone famous on Sunday when Kirsten, her husband, her adorable and smart kid, and I and Henry went to La Jolla to hang out with Cindy and her two adorable and smart kids. We had lunch and then played in the sand on the beach**. It was a gorgeous San Diego day that I will surely be missing when I'm holed up in my home come The Long Winter in Syracuse.

The flight home was easy because Henry slept the whole time (Was that my One Good Flight?). I picked up my first adult novel in years and years, The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, and read half of it. So far, I'm loving it.

Now I must dash off-line and clean my home. I love my husband***. He took care of Elizabeth all weekend, and the house was pretty clean when I got home, but after a day of Exhausted Mommyhood, it's messy already.

* Ok, so it wasn't unexpected. I totally knew they'd help me out. They always do.
** Henry didn't play so much as ate the sand.
*** Did I mention he went to get me a Hostess Cupcake because I was craving one? He, who made lettuce, steamed broccoli, raw carrots, and sweet potatoes for dinner? (Seriously, that's what we ate. And it was surprisingly filling. Except for leaving me with a craving for gooey, chocolate-y, cream-filled cupcake.)

Oh, and those pics? I lifted them from Cindy's blog.

The T-Rex Biting at my Heels

2009-04-26T13:20:00.004-04:00

The weekend is nearly over, and I haven't made it to fifty pages. That T-Rex is catching up to me...

HOWEVER, I'd like to add that I'm no Sit-n-Take-It Cavewoman. I am proud of what I've accomplished this weekend, and eventually, that T-Rex will lag behind, gasping in the dust, and find some other poor soul to chase after. I, on the other hand, will finish this book because I am one bad-ass cavewoman.

Me (in theory)

If I end up at only 25 pages, I'll be ok with that because if I hadn't set out to write 50, I might not have ended up with any at all. (And so far, this is turning out to be a darned good first draft.)

Fifty-Page Sprint

2009-04-25T09:48:00.003-04:00

I am about to start my fifty-page sprint. Wish me luck. I hope I can out-run that T-Rex.

I'm at Panera, and I just rode my Vespa here, since the weather was nice and I didn't have a kiddo with me. It's been so long since I rode the Vespa that Jim called out after me---"Will you be ok?!" Apparently, it's like riding a bike, so after the first twenty feet or so, I was able to zip around confidently. Ahhhhhh.

Ok. So. Really. Back to work!

Had to add: Came here without a pen. Borrowed one from a lady (she gave it to me)...it says "Harley-Davidson." Ironic or what?

Silver Phoenix Video

2009-04-22T18:16:00.005-04:00

My friend Cindy Pon, who is in my critique group from San Diego (unfortunately, I participate long-distance), has a lovely book coming out next Tuesday called SILVER PHOENIX: Beyond the Kingdom of Xia.

I'd tell you a bit about it, but her video does a much better job than I ever could. So, without further ado, here it is:

Nice music, too, no?

And to show my family's enthusiasm for Cindy's book, here's E just before bedtime:

She's holding a tiny dragon, too. I did my best to get a smile. Mostly, she would just bat her eyes at the camera or sulk, so I was lucky to get what I got.

My YA Pre-schooler

2009-04-21T20:43:00.002-04:00

Yesterday, I took E and H to the library. After running amok in the children's section, E made her way to the Young Adult section and nestled in, right away.

She's nearly through with potty training now, so she's move on. No more Mo Willems, I guess. Now she's reading...what book is that in the pic? SHELF LIFE, by Robert Corbet. I've never read it, but she really really wanted to check it out*. And she had to check it out by herself. (Of course.)

My little girl is growing up so fast! She hasn't had an accident in two days (she's in pull-ups at night time, though). So no more poopy awards for us, I hope. At least, not for two years or so.

On a completely unrelated topic, we have figured out where we'll be moving to this summer: Syracuse, NY. Anyone from Syracuse? We'll be going up in June to find a place to live, and then actually moving there at the start of August. (Sadly, no SCBWI LA for me this year.) My husband will be starting his PhD program in Physics, which will take FIVE YEARS. Yes, FIVE years. We'll be poor grad students for FIVE YEARS. (No, really, I'm fine.) So, for FIVE YEARS, we'll be living off of his TA pay, unless I get another job or somehow learn to write more books at a faster pace. Ones that sell would be nice, too. (I'm trying to be patient. I really am.) So, long snowy winters, here we come.

And on yet another unrelated topic, I'm doing something rather exciting this weekend: I'm locking myself in the guest room and writing fifty pages. I'm calling it my "50-page sprint." I told my husband he's responsible for both kids all weekend long, with the exception of feedings and night-time. Hopefully, it'll work out, he won't knock down the door, and I'll end up late Sunday night with fifty reasonably well-written first-draft pages. I'm a reviser and not a sprinter, so this is like taking a person who does long, casual, perfect-form runs and placing them in front of a ravenous T-Rex on the edge of the Grand Canyon.** Hmm. That's an idea. I shall print off a pic of a T-Rex and tape it to the wall.

* We did not check it out. Instead, I hid it and we got KNUFFLE BUNNY TOO, by Mo Willems. And we love it!!

** Not that my books are "perfect" in any way.

My First Blog Award

2009-04-16T22:02:00.002-04:00

My electronic friend (now, he's not merely made of electronic gadgets or anything) Paul, who blogs at the Murphblog, created an award for my last post about E's potty training days.

Now, I am red in the face. I'm honored, of course, to have won anything (as usual). Thank you, Paul! You made me feel, for a day, as if I'm actually funny. Usually this blog gets no action. (Ok, so that sounded bad.)

A story of my life

2009-04-15T19:17:00.001-04:00

The Girl Who Cried, "Poop!"*

Once there was a little girl who was learning how to use the potty. She was doing very well, and had even made it through half a day without any accidents, when her mommy did a very mean thing: she put her in her room to take a nap. She wasn't allowed to get out of bed.

While her mommy was feeding her baby brother and trying to put him down for a nap, she called out, "Mommy, I pooped!" Mommy ran into the room to see what had happened, but there was no poop. And the little girl shook her head when offered a chance to go to the toilet.

Five minutes later, she called out, "Mommy, I want to poop!"

And Mommy ran into the room, leaving a wailing baby behind. But sadly, no poop.

This went on for two more times, although one time she just called out, "Mommy, I want to go to the potty."

Mommy grew angry. The baby wasn't sleeping at all. In fact, he was crying and showing the world what Mommy was really feeling.

Once again, the little girl called out, "I'm poopy! Mom! Poop!"

But this time, Mommy ignored her. Instead, Mommy twittered angrily about her annoyances of the day. Mommy fumed. Mommy wanted a nap.

Forty-five minutes later, the little girl banged on her bedroom door. "Mommy, I want out! Let me out!" Mommy, feeling guilty by now, complied.

And then she shreeked.

Poop was smeared on the walls. Poop was smeared on the carpet. And poop was wiped on the blankets.

"I said I pooped," the little girl said, smiling and fluttering her eyes.

* This is mildly gross, but if you made it to here, you probably read it already anyway and therefore this disclaimer is a waste of pixels.

A title and a new MC

2009-04-12T00:25:00.003-04:00

I have focused on nothing but my WIP the past few days and tonight, one character pulled the flying carpet out from under my feet. In fact, she decided that I wasn't going to write the book in close-third. Instead, it's all about her and how she has completely messed up. And she wants me to write it in first person. (I actually feel relieved.)

She also gave me a blessing: a working title. Something I never truly had before. (No, not gonna tell you.)

Because I'm re-starting (for the third time? fourth time?), I have to put myself into First Draft Bootcamp and get some words on the page. I've penned in a date on the calendar in which I will do nothing for a whole weekend but write the first draft (at least 50 pages of it) and nurse the baby (because, well, no one else can do it). Jim has graciously, albeit reluctantly, agreed to the plan.

This is still the re-telling of the Arabian Nights tale, but with my own little narrative twist.

And that's all I'm going to say about it. For now.

Wheeeeee!!!!!!!

Poetry Friday

2009-04-10T10:52:00.002-04:00

This week, I bring you an ancient Arabian poem:

On Fatalism

Not always wealth, not always force
A splendid destiny commands;
The lordly vulture gnaws the corpse
That rots upon yon barren sands.

Nor want, nor weakness still conspires
To bind us to a sordid state;
The fly that with a touch expires
Sips honey from the royal plate.

---The Holy Imam Shafay

I like this one because it's not about love, or spring, or beauty, but about life and death. The circle of life, really.

Elijah of Buxton

2009-04-06T15:53:00.005-04:00

Want to read a book that makes you cry a little and laugh a lot*? Christopher Paul Curtis's book, Elijah of Buxton is the perfect book. It is also the best example of a character-driven novel I can think of. It's also a wonderful example of "voice." The plot is good, don't get me wrong, but I could listen to Elijah talk about anything for another two hundred pages, if Mr. Curtis would have let me. I loved Elijah. I wanted to step right into the book Thursday Next style and meet him.

Elijah is growing up in the Canadian community of freed and runaway slaves just prior to the U.S. Civil War. He is the first free child born in the community and has a story about that and nearly everything that has happened to his town, his neighbors, and himself. He is also greatly afraid of snakes, but he will tell you all about that right off the bat.

This book isn't all laughs, though. On its deeper level, it's about freedom and slavery, good people who risk their lives and those who risk others' lives for their own.

I promise you when you crack open the book, you won't be able to put it down. And you'll want to step into the book and shake hands with Elijah. This is historical fiction at its very best. Oh yeah, and it won the Newbery Honor in 2008.

* Warning: Do not read at the gym while on the tred-mill or you will laugh yourself right off of it and land on your fanny.

Poetry Friday--with a Guest Poet!

2009-04-03T11:08:00.004-04:00

For Poetry Friday and National Poetry Month, I am pleased to introduce you all to Courtney Hartnett! Courtney is a poet I met during a teen writing workshop I taught last August. Her first book of poetry, Eleanor's Angel, is due out April 15th from Wild Leaf Press.

I was fortunate to read some of Courtney's prose as well as her poetry and I can say she's got quite the talent. Her poems are full of voice and bring you right into moment.

Courtney grew up in the rural Northern Neck of Virginia. Her life in the country has inspired her to write since childhood. She has won awards through the international level for speaking and writing, including a national honorable mention in the 2008 Library of Congress Letters About Literature competition and first place in the 2008 United Nations Pilgrimage for Youth International Speech Contest. In her spare time, Courtney enjoys horseback riding, running with friends, painting, playing guitar, mandolin, and fiddle, and raising chickens.

Without further ado, here is an interview with Courtney:

Amber: What inspires you as a writer?

Courtney: I think one of the key aspects of the “writer personality” is that you can find inspiration in anything – as long as you’re looking. I’ve been inspired by passengers on buses and flowers in fields. I enjoy writing about animals, especially horses, who I think are really the most poetic of all.

Amber: I agree with you on horses. I'm having to study them right now for my new book. Who was your first inspiration as far as writing poetry?

Courtney: The first poem I remember writing was when I was about seven. It was about a sled dog who was pulling a crate of medicine to children who were snowbound in Nome, Alaska. I was really fascinated with sled dogs when I was little; I read Gary Paulsen books about them and watched Balto. It was really ironic that the poem rhymed, because now all I write is free verse.

Amber: I have a hard time with rhyming, as well. How does your poetry describe you?

Courtney: I think my poetry parallels my personality – I’m somewhat quiet, and I notice a lot. My poems are like that; they aren’t in-your-face, loud writing, but they’re perceptive. I like to write about little things we pass over in our day-to-day lives – the things we’d think about if we only had more time.

Amber: What do you hope the reader walks away with after reading your first book of poetry?

Courtney: I hope, most of all, that everyone who reads Eleanor’s Angel will keep reading poetry. Most contemporary people dismiss poetry as too esoteric and utterly academic to be a relaxing read. The book’s style is easier to read and relies primarily on rhythm and imagery – not obscure language, bizarre syntax, and barely perceptible allusions. I don’t want my readers to have to dig for a deeper meaning. I want the meaning to be right there, in front of them, so they can truly understand it, absorb it, and make it their own.

Amber: I write with loads of imagery, as well. It brings beauty and truth to the story/poem, I like to think. Your poems are like mine, except, well, much better! What are your strengths and weaknesses as a poet, if any?

Courtney: I think my greatest strength as a writer is my imagery. When Claudia Emerson judged my poems in a contest, she told me that my poems have strong, believable imagery. I also feel that my work has rhythm to it, which poetry really needs. My greatest weakness are my cop-out endings. You don’t see a lot of them in the book because I find them and edit them, but all too often, I can’t think of a good last line and I’m about to get off the bus or switch classes or go do something else, and I scribble down whatever comes to mind. Rushed endings really kill a poem’s momentum and leave a bitter aftertaste. I’m trying my best to stop writing them.

Amber: I think most writers, no matter whether it's poetry or prose, have that problem. You get to the end and you want to be done. Did you find any unusual hurdles in the publishing business since you aren't exactly an aged poet?

Courtney: To be honest, publishing a first book, especially poetry, is difficult whether you’re young or old. I worried that my publisher might have second thoughts when she realized I was 17, but all we had to do was add my mom as a co-signer on the contract because I won’t be 18 til July. Most of all, I try to put my best foot forward with all my poetry submissions. There’s a stereotype of the teen poet; most people think of the kid dressed in black who sits in her room and writes sing-song-y love poetry and morose, badly written breakup songs. I do my best to be sure people realize I’m not that stereotype.

Amber: I am guilty of having been that kind of teenage poet, except for dressing in black. My poems are too depressing, and I wasn't even "depressed." Your poems are true-to-life, like perfect snapshots of moments in time. Ok, now, the most important question of all: What's your favorite ice cream flavor?

Courtney: My favorite ice cream is coconut-chocolate-almond. I tried it once at an ice cream shop in Tappahannock, and it was absolutely delicious! It tastes like an Almond Joy bar as an ice cream cone. I also am a fan of pistachio ice cream; I thought it would taste odd, but it was really quite good.

Amber: My God-o'-Desserts, that sounds awesome. Thank you for visiting my blog, Courtney. I don't think people will read your poems and think, "that was written by a teenager." People will read your poems and realize they're just going to be reading your poems for many years to come. Besides, poets are Old Souls.

Ok, everyone, here’s the publishing info on the book: The publisher is Wild Leaf Press, a small poetry/short fiction press in New Haven, CT. The book can be pre-ordered by visiting the WLP site and clicking “forthcoming.” Please visit the Wild Leaf Press website and check out Courtney's poems! (I'd post one here, but I think it'd be better if you went to the website and looked around, so go! I'm sending you on a mini scavenger hunt for choice words!)

Silver

2009-03-26T00:55:00.003-04:00

Our dog, Silver, died yesterday.

She was a beautiful, happy dog and had always been so gentle with the kids. The day before she died, she was perfectly fine, and on Sunday, she got to run around outside with the other dogs.

She died suddenly of a hidden tumor that filled her heart with fluid, which caused the rest of her body to shut down over the course of the day. By early afternoon, she died, in Jim's arms at the vet office. It was very sad and very shocking.

Poetry Friday

2009-03-20T11:34:00.002-04:00

My first poetry friday post:

The Cicada

Pure of heart and therefore hungry,
All night long you have sung in vain –
Oh, this final broken indrawn breath
Among the green indifferent trees!
Yes, I have gone like a piece of driftwood,
I have let my garden fill with weeds....
I bless you for your true advice
To live as pure a life as yours.

by Li Shangyin, in the 9th Century

(discovered this in today's research)

Writing, out and about

2009-03-20T09:18:00.003-04:00

I'm at Panera and on my new macbook! This is so much fun. Both kids are in daycare, which was just too easy. I mean, dropping E off at preschool isn't difficult, but I'd never dropped H off before. He seemed happy enough and the ladies were assuring. They didn't complain about the breast milk bottles (which I'd heard people say daycare providers do sometimes) and they were just happy they got a kid whose name they could pronounce. (What other names do they get?? I'm sure there aren't a lot of Aleksandrs around. Aren't all the boys named Jack?) I'm going back in exactly three hours to pick him up, but then I'm leaving E there and having hubby pick her up when he gets off work. (It's so she doesn't miss nap time there.)

So. Now I am here, ready to work. I best get off. Oh, here's a pic of me, right now:

Slow Progress

2009-03-15T21:03:00.004-04:00

There's a bit of Arabian horse racing in my work-in-progress, so I've been doing some research and doing the usual... You know, pretending to be a young Arabian prince.

So now I have to study charts, like this:

And I have to imagine myself here, dressed like this:

(Yes, I have to imagine myself a young man atop a fringed horse.)

It's nice to know that my year and a half in Bahrain and my seven months in Baghdad will come in handy. At least in Bahrain, I rode horses for six months, and they were Arabian at that. (My favorite was Clyde, a brown gelding. Cleopatra, an old mare, stepped on my foot on purpose, so she will be immortalized in my book.) In Baghdad, I only rode helicopters, which wouldn't be in my book. But wait...hmm...

Other things to research:
1. mythological creatures from the Arabian Nights
2. 9th century oceanic travel
3. 9th century music
4. how to Twitter for gold and rainbows*

*Ok, not really. There's my one attempt at celebrating St. Patty's Day. But did you notice, oh Twitter fans, how Twitter seems to deliver anything you desire? It's like a...oh, that thing in Star Trek that generates any food item you wish.

Your Feel-Good Movie of the Day

2009-03-11T21:10:00.002-04:00

I just saw this video and have to show it to you. It just made me happy and certainly shows you that the world can be united, at least for a little dancing.

Ms. Hale is Quite Smart

2009-03-10T18:34:00.001-04:00

I'm too tired to think of anything intelligent or witty to say. In fact, I'm going to bed before 7. But since you're here, you must not be that tired...so I shall redirect you to Shannon Hale's most recent post.

She makes a good point.

Writing in the Darkness of Morning

2009-03-03T14:05:00.004-05:00

Catchy title, no? Wish I could come up with titles like that for my books!

Last night, just after the kids were asleep, I moaned and groaned about how I haven't had any time to write lately. Hubby said, "why not write now?" and I complained that I was too tired. Then he said, "well, if you go to bed now and wake up at 4:30, you'll have eight hours of sleep." I agreed, but only with his math.

Then I checked my email, got lost for a bit in facebook, and then decided I should be determined and write this book. Even if it means I need to wake up at 4:30 in the morning. (I had just read Laini Taylor's blog about determination and writing.)

It took a while to fall asleep, and I was up at least three times with the baby (but just barely...I don't think I wake up all the way). Then, just before the alarm went off, I woke up. When it started beeping, I pushed hubby out of the bed (baby was on the other side of me and I was NOT going to risk waking him up), made myself some tea and a bottle just in case my husband needed to feed the baby. By a quarter-to-five, I was at my desk.

Did I get much written? Well, no, but I did scan through my last written chapter and kept my internet time limited to information directly related to my book. Today was practice.

But I will get it done. There's something beautiful and sacred about writing in the last shards of shadows.

Drive-by Readings

2009-02-26T21:32:00.006-05:00

How many of you have broken the rules of safe driving a few times? Talking on your cell phone, eating or drinking, texting, reading email, or reading a novel??*

Can you see this guy? He is the most interesting person I have ever seen in southern Maryland. First, I noticed his wild, crazy hairstyle. So very Einstein-in-a-Windtunnel. Then I saw that he was reading a novel. See that? Propped up on the steering wheel? Awesome. And scary. (Sorry about the photo quality. I took it with my phone after I finally caught up to him.)

He also had a nice assortment of furry animal-print hats in the back window. I would love to know who he is and what's on his reading list.

(˙ƃuıppıʞ ʇsnɾ) ¡ǝʌoɯ ǝɥʇ uo sǝɹnʇɔıd ǝʞɐʇ uɐɔ ı--ɟɟo pıɐd ʎןןɐuıɟ ʎɹɐʇıןıɯ ǝɥʇ uı ǝɯıʇ ʎɯ ǝʞıן sʞooן

* I have, I must admit, done all of these things. And now I must add taking a picture with my cell phone to the list. I promise to be more careful in the future...

Yes! Almost 2,000 words!

2009-02-23T22:13:00.004-05:00

Although my daughter did not nap*, I managed to sneak away to ancient Arabia for a few hours. I sipped orange-mint tea and found out that my MC is going to have an annoying but adorable friend tag along for a bit... Fun!

*She does not nap because she thinks she's grown up, hence the photo:

Any Writing Today?

2009-02-23T13:43:00.002-05:00

Sadly, I didn't write this weekend. It's only party my fault, though, since kiddo #1 was running a high fever and I had to take her to the ER. (She has bronchitis and is as defiantly-not-napping as usual today.)

I thought I might get some quiet time today in which to write, so while the sick one was eating lunch and the baby was playing on a blanket, I cleaned house and set up a perfect writing spot away from my computer. Then, after lunch, I put #1 in bed, nursed #2 to sleep (and then had to transfer him to the swing), and ate my own lunch. Since then, I have been running in and out of #1's room and placing her gently back into her bed. Grrrr.

What's a mom to do?

If she does nap, the baby will undoubtably awaken at that precise moment.

So now, in order to write tonight, I'll have to skip my yoga class, which I had been looking forward to.

Please tell me, if you are a writing parent, that these days get better. Don't tell me they will continue for ever. I just can't handle that.

*sigh* I need a video monitor.

Amber Lough

I'm Ready for Readers!

The End of Naps, and Other Things

Tess!

Easter: It's always new

Three New Things

New Vessels

New, Day Two

Something New

Donating help to Japan

Japan

Finished.

Endings

Memories of Japanese School

Blizzard? Yes, please.

End of January

a mood change

Why Hello There

new website

The Abbasid Caliphate

Promises

Introducing...

Fear and Longing in Syracuse

Where the Story Begins

The Writer Within

Tender Morsels

Travelin' Shmavelin'

Mates

Flying and Wishes

And now we move on...

Close

Make History!

Finishing

Off to Denver

Water Fasting is not Water Boarding

Manuscript Marathon

Awards

Quilt Block

Writing By

Snowflake Pro

I love my monster child, I do

Busy Busy

An Award! *gasp*

Another scarf

Felting

Beware of Illustrators

Character Pics

Where have I been?!

Rudolph Vlog

Projects and Pictures

Ah, Self-Publication

The Reason for Warning Labels

Poetry Friday: Khalil Gibran

In Which I Brag About My Daughter

Negative Talk and Positive Dreams

Philosophy

Write it for me

NaNoWriMo

Super Secret WIP

Novel Wordles!

OPERATION YES contest!

New Color

LIPS TOUCH: THREE TIMES is a NBA Finalist!!!

Contest for ICE!

Secret Middle-Grade Novel

Nerves of Jello

Books by Friends and Mini Sewing Projects

M.T. Anderson

Tissues

Other projects

So did I succeed? And guess who peed?

Plans

BALLAD!!!

OPERATION YES!

Tinkerbell

City of Thieves

New York, How I Love Thee

Moving

Long Time

Zombie Cakes, Resurrected

An Award! gasp