Too Much

On May 31 I started writing my new novel, the young adult novel about the 17 year old lesbian.  I made a vow to write every single day, even if I didn't have time to write more than a few sentences.  I will say this for myself:  I have kept that vow and written at least a teensy bit every single day, so far.  I'm trying to develop a habit, which is a little difficult since I work varying hours and can't get into a regular routine with it.  I feel like it is important to check in with my story and my characters every day, even on days when spending quality writing time is impossible.

That first week everything went great.  I found at least an hour a day to write, sometimes more, and by the end of the week Chaper One was finished.  I am beginning to figure out what works best for me, and I love the freedom to write a little and edit a little, write a little and revise a little.  Doing NaNoWriMo I just threw myself into writing and literally never re-read or re-wrote one single word; I didn't have time.  This way I might write fewer than my NaNo goal of 1,700 words per day (ha!), but I do end up with (I hope) better words.

I love my characters so much.  It was positively joyful.

Last Monday my husband hurt his back at work.  Being who he is, he not only didn't tell me, he actively tried to hide it from me.  He went to work Tuesday and Wednesday, and even went in early on Thursday for extra work.  I finally realized something was wrong, but my reasonable suggestions (aka yelling) fell on deaf ears. 

I wish I could flip a switch and turn off my worry gene.  He didn't want to worry me, and of course, once I found out he was hurt, I worried.  He finally stayed home from work on Friday.  Saturday I had to work, and we missed a friend's birthday party.  I tried so hard to make Greg take it easy all weekend, to do everything that needed to be done. 

Last week was also horrible at work.  Several people were out, and my tiny department was extremely short-staffed.  It was hectic and stressful, and I didn't get home until late each night.  Also, I had my period, and all the stress and worry seemed to coagulate right in my poor uterus.  I was in pain and not sleeping well.

I did still manage to find at least a small amount of time, even if it was only 15 minutes, to sit down with my writing every day.  I didn't get much done, but I am cultivating my habit, so I felt like something was accomplished, and all week I was just looking forward to Sunday, my one day off, to make up for lost time.  Sunday, I was sure, I would be able to reconnect with my characters and be joyful again.

Of course, it didn't work that way.  I wrote a little, rewrote all of what I'd just written, and couldn't think what should come next.  I got stuck, which isn't too surprising, given my state of mind.  But it was such a heartbreaking disappointment.   This writing thing is tearing out my heart in ways I'd never expected.

When my sweetie's back still wasn't okay yesterday he went to the doctor, who said it is just a strain causing muscle spasms, and it's not too serious.  He's home from work today and tomorrow, hopefully after that he'll be fine.

And finally last night I was able to get home from work at a reasonable hour, and get back into my novel, really.  I see what's going to happen next, and what happens after that, and I am so looking forward to writing it.  Hopefully it'll be a little bit joyful again.

Crystal Clear

Yeah, that didn't work.  On my journey to discover who I am as a writer, I can just go ahead and eliminate writing-by-the-seat-of-my-pants, without having any idea what's next. 

After writing the littlest bit, I was so lost and directionless that I had to stop to at least try to figure out who my main character was.  I did have an idea that seemed pretty good, possibly.  I thought about it for a few days, and started to get into the idea, even though a few nagging doubts plagued me.   I never know whether to listen to nagging doubts, and am pretty bad at distinguishing which ones are valid and which are neurotic and self-defeating.  Both kinds seem equally strident, frankly.

Knowing that I can trust my husband to give me his honest opinion, I explained my character(s) and the outline of the plot.  He listened carefully, and then pointed out that this was basically the exact same plot and virtually the same characters as my novel.

Well, crap.

Still, I thought about it for a couple of days.  What does he know, anyway?  Maybe my novel was just sort of a warm-up exercise, and this was the improved version I was meant to write.  Maybe with a few well-chosen changes this would be a completely different story, and worth writing.  I imagined various scenarios and tried to let the characters speak to me.

Nope, he was right.  The more I thought about it, the more I realized it was all surface and no depth.

As I mentioned, I have two other ideas floating around, and once again I tried focusing on them.  The first, a novel about a woman who murders someone, just kind of waved at me from the back corners of my mind, but wasn't interested in coming out yet.  The second, a young adult novel about a teenage lesbian living in a small town, just jumped right out at me and started yelling.  Sweet!  Oh, the terribly detailed character sketches and outline I'm going to make...  Joy  :)

I feel really excited about this one, and details are coming to me quickly.  And, at least for now, the self-defeating neurotic voices have shut the hell up.