On Reading and Writing...

Yesterday I finished reading Insurgent by Veronica Roth. I was left feeling both overwhelmed by the excellence of the story and depressed because I don't have that level of conflict in my story.  I have been reminding myself all day that I am not writing the same kind of story, but I still feel somehow disheartened.  It's tough to see something so good, and to then sit for hours comparing myself and my work to that something.  It'd be nice to just appreciate it for what it is and then move on.  Or, not even necessarily move on, but just not beat myself up over it.  The worlds are so different that I shouldn't even be thinking the things that I'm thinking... (oh no, I'd better add some more violence and kill a few more people or no one will keep reading!!).

Insurgent was fantastic, though.  The first book in the series, Divergent, was also pretty good.  It's just nice when a second book is as good or better than the first... the story didn't slump at all.  The character development improved, the world building was amazing and far more detailed than in the first book, and the conflict...omg the conflict.  There wasn't a moment to breathe; no peace, no safety.  It was intense from beginning to end.  The end, for me, was predictable but really great.  It's taken the story from the average dystopia to something much more shocking.  It's a direction I've not seen in YA before... and it's just sooooo good.  I hate that I have to wait a year to find out how it all ends.

But here I am, comparing my otherworldly YA speculative fiction to a dystopia.  Some of the overall themes are similar, but the story...the things that happen to the characters to drive them to the conclusion are completely different.  I worry that the basic conflicts I'll present aren't dramatic enough... especially when you take into consideration the complete lack of vampires, werewolves, angels, fairies, or any other fairy tale creatures.  No magic, either (not in the traditional sense, anyway).  I'm not even going to have a genuine love triangle...or a love-at-first-sight thing (because those totally piss me off).  I'm actually so caught up in the 'what-ifs' that I'm stuck.  Should I add a bit of violence?  It'd only make a complete mockery of the world I'm creating.  Book two will have violence..plenty of it, I'm sure.  Should I throw in a glitter-covered something-or-other as a love interest, just to get the love triangle thing going?  Maybe, rather than having my male leads be science geeks who doing things that seem like magic...I'll give them actual magic.  But wait, no...that would ruin the story, too.  :|  There IS government conflict, but the point isn't to drive the story with conspiracy theories.  That'd make a great book, and I'll probably go there someday... but not now.

I just need to stop beating myself up.  My story is different.  I can't compare myself to everything out there.  It's a GOOD thing to like books... :)  Mine included... damnit.

Why I've Been Away...

Wow, it's been a while.  The last time I wrote here, I liked the layout.  Now, not so much.  This is pretty...ugly.

Anyway...

Why have I been away?  Why have I not been writing here???  Simple.  I've been writing somewhere else.  I'm now over 30,000 words into book one of my series.  It's a process, lemme tell ya... but it feels like the right thing to do.  It's a bit sloppy right now, and totally a rough draft, but I'm getting it all out and when it's out, I'll figure out what to do with it.  I'm learning a lot about my characters by having them interact.  I'm also figuring out pieces of the story that work...and don't work.  It's a lot of fun :)

But, writing about writing isn't actually why I came here... I'm here to vent.  And I'll do it in another entry, because it'd just be messy to put it here...

Sleepy feelings

There's this feeling I only get easily when I'm over-tired.  It's like butterflies in my heart..  It's a very fluttery and good feeling, though it's so delicate that I'm sure it could easily turn to crushing heartache.  My defenses are down, so I'm more susceptible to all the stuff around me.  I'm blaming haunting music and joyful music... and tomorrow I'll be writing out the scenes I outlined tonight.  I wish I could carry the fluttery feeling into my days.  And I really hope that I can remember the feeling in the morning so that my writing will come quickly.

This morning I decided that I need to stop thinking about killing off characters.  I like closure, and the quickest way to tie up loose ends is to kill everyone... that way there won't be any what ifs.  The thing is, I don't have much reason to kill people who matter this time.  I'm still not sure about happy endings; while I understand there is a formula for things, I also think that, no matter how surreal the reality is, it's still a reality...and I need to respect that.  I know all of the endings, and they're all a bit sad.  The last will at least feel complete... but I can already picture Ivy at the end; I can see her expression and know what she's feeling...and it's bittersweet.  I want to kill her to take away THAT suffering, but I can't...because there's still hope.  The hero doesn't have to die to create a legend... not all of her, anyway.

And even though I've decided not to kill her, and I'm certain of that... I've also decided that I'm sticking with third person limited.  I re-wrote the first chapter in first person, just to see how it felt.  There were some things that I thought were definite advantages, but when it comes down to it, I'm just tired of YA being written in first person.  And I don't want to limit the POV so much.  Sure, Ivy is interesting... but I like the idea of developing empathy in the ways that we do as people.  I read a great article earlier about how humans are feeling creatures - how we read those around us and feel with them - and how writing in third person allows us to have empathy in a way that first person does not.  First person is so much more tell than show, and I want show.  I want feel.

I'm going to read some more third person books to see the style in action.  Lately I've been reading a bunch of first person, because I read YA...blah.  I searched around for lists of third person YA speculative fiction, and some of them are really great (Cassandra Clare, for example).  I'll pick up a few of the other titles I found and go from there.  I have such an extensive reading list...and that's something that makes me VERY happy.  The last three days were spend with the Hex Hall series, and I really enjoyed the books.  They were short and fast-paced, with snarky characters (and the tall, dark, and handsome bad boy, of course).  The basics were all there, and yet, there was something original in the telling.  It was first person, but the person was interesting.  I love a good sarcastic character... laugh in the face of danger!  It wasn't deep, but there was a point in the third book that I was actually impressed by how deep it was in the heat of the moment... I wondered if it was intentional.  I wondered if the writer realized the power of the couple sentences about how the most terrible evils are those done by people who really think they're doing the right thing.

And I should sleep...before I get all political.  :)

My son turns 3 this week.  He's taking it about as well as I took turning 30...I may not have literally cried, but he certainly has.  His tears have been related to frustration...mommy must not be very smart if she keeps insisting I'm going to be 3, when I know very well that I'm 2.  I'm handling his turning 3.  Not well, but...I'll survive.  I love all the new and interesting things he's capable of these days.  I love how fast he learns, and how eager and curious he is...about everything.  It's an amazing journey.  Sometimes I miss my little baby though...new baby smell and dino talk...him ALWAYS wanting to cuddle.  I'm lucky because he's still a pretty cuddly kid.  I'm going to take full advantage of it because I know it won't last forever.

My little boy is growing up...

In other news...things have been good and bad.  Re-entering the world of the unemployed is never really desirable...but this time around it came with such a rush of creativity that I can't help but draw the conclusion that I was creatively stifled.  I was.  I think that most people are... :\  I know I'm the square peg in the area with only round holes available.  I also know that I'm at a disadvantage because I've been mostly home for so long - away from people and their germs.  I've been told that normal companies are more understanding of similar situations...they realize that people get sick when they haven't been exposed to germs for years...and I can't help but think I'll never know the whole truth in this situation.  There's not much sense in thinking about it, which is why I haven't.

Right now I'm relaxing...laying in bed, listening to Five Mile Town...and the prayer flags beating against the screen.  It's nearly time to get back to writing... but I'm easing into it tonight.  After the dreams I had last night, I think I may have to get some other stuff out before I can get on with the real story...so...here:  My dream was a bizarre combination of Cars 2 and the Hunger Games movie.  Everyone had to take pills, and the pills may or may not kill them when they're placed in front of a screen.  It was some kind of population control.. weeded out the weaker people?  I don't remember the details of why it was done.  The guard walked away after giving out the pills, and was talking with someone down the road.  The girl in front of me stepped in front of the screen...it was more of an arch that looked something like a time travel portal.  She immediately went into violent convulsions.  Her skull cracked as it hit the rocky ground, there was a lot of blood... I ran in front of the screen and tried to hold her down.  I felt her die.  Other people who were waiting around freaked out because I'd gone in front of the screen to help her.  I broke the rules; they also thought I was going to die, too.  When I didn't die, they quieted and stared.  There were big screens above us broadcasting what was happening.  I was covered in her blood.  I got up to try to find the guard...mostly because I was mad at him...but I couldn't approach him.  As soon as I walked around the corner, I saw him...and he was laughing with another guard...I felt so nauseated that I turned and walked away... and then I woke up.  I felt sick for a little while after waking up.

There.

Now that that's out, I feel a little more clear-headed.  :)  I think I can get back to what I need to be doing now.  :)

Childhood Fears

Oliver is afraid of owls.  At least, he says he is.  He talks about where owls are, and how he would rather not be in the same places.

I'm not afraid of owls, but I do have complicated emotions when it comes to the dark, coyotes, and bugs.  Just a few minutes ago, I was relaxing in bed.  I guess I was trying to watch Seinfeld, but it's hard to do with a pack of coyotes outside the window.  An ambulance broke things up for a few minutes, but once whatever the fuss at the other end of the street was dealt with, the yipping and howling rose up again.  And then I remembered my first real fears.

When I was little, 3 or 4 years old, we lived out in the country.  In the summer, we'd sleep with windows open and screen doors letting the night breeze fill the house.  We also had dimmer switches in a few rooms - my bedroom being one.  I was terrified of the dark, and slept with the light dimmed about half way.  Moths and what I assume to have been all forms of winged monsters gathered on the ceiling of my room, right above my bed.  If I slept (or tried to sleep) on my back, I would see the bugs.  That didn't work for me.

I tried sleeping on my stomach, but my bed was right under the one window I had...overlooking the front yard.  On a clear night when the moon was full, it was a massacre.  The coyotes would gather to eat our cats. They'd roam the lawn in silence.  It was chilling.

So those were my choices: the bugs on the ceiling, or the coyotes on the lawn.  I vividly remember many a night hiding under my sheet, swatting at things that I thought were crawling on me, doing everything I could to keep my eyes closed.  After all, when you're a kid, the dangers are less real if you keep your eyes closed.  Sometimes I'd cry.  Sometimes I was too scared to sleep, and instead, I passed out from exhaustion.

I'm the grown-up now, and I protect my little one from the owls... he says, "there's nothing to be scared of" as he walks down the dark hall to go to bed.  He talks about the ghosts and the owls and the bats.  He's a tough kid, but I wonder if he'd tell me if something really scared him.  I never told my parents about the bugs or the coyotes.

Storyteller

I came here with the intention of writing something much more meaningful...and instead I wrote the previous entry...a work-related rant.  Boo.

The other day I was asked a very simple question, and yet... it's changed something in me.  "How's the book coming?"  A person I hardly know at all is aware that I'm writing something.  I felt a bit of fear...pride, too, but there was some fear.  I've admitted to myself and to others that I am writing.  There's an expectation out there... and apparently it's no longer just my own.

There was a bit of unexpected good fortune in my writing class - those students who are working on a longer piece are able to submit the first chapter in place of a short story.  I had so hoped to be able to use this class as a method of fleshing things out.  I want more feedback.  I want some insight... the first book is still my stumbling point.  If only I could start with book two...I already know that world.  Creating a whole world is difficult...much more difficult that I'd imagined.  A small-scale world is one thing...a town, a house, a park... this is a whole world, its universe...the feel, the look, the people... it's every little thing that makes it real.  I can see it so clearly, and I know a few of the people who live there, but I don't know the world; I don't know the rules.

Oddly, despite the lack of a world for my characters to toil in, I am feeling confident.

My biggest fear with the class is that I have to tell my class how the story ends.  I've given details to 3 people...but haven't told them the most important thing about the story.  If I'm not even able to tell people I trust, how can I tell all these strangers??  It's too close to me.  If I believed in souls, this'd be a part of mine.

Anyway... I'm trying to avoid getting Oliver's current illness... The effort is entirely futile, but it's best that I sleep now anyway.  Monday morning always comes too soon.

Worker Bee.

I've learned some things in the last six months that I could have gone a lifetime without knowing.  In fact, I wish I didn't know...

I wish I didn't know that one stinky person is able to make an 8000 square-foot building smell so bad it makes your eyes water.  A few stinky people at once is probably someone's hell.  It's pretty close to that for me.  I have a low threshold for such things.  How do you tell someone that they're making you feel an almost uncontrollable urge to dry-heave over a trash can?

A while back we got a book about crafting with cat hair.  I'm serious.  Felted cat hair finger puppets.  It's pretty fantastic.  But, after checking in books for...all this time...I've decided that we need a Crafting with Patron Hair book.

I'm also genuinely appalled by the things that people seem to think library books are used for... a library book is not a plate or a coaster, yet they so often come back with bits of food stuck inside the pages and the tell-tale coffee cup-sized circle of dried liquid on the cover.  I would really like to NEVER again have to ask myself, or anyone else, "Is this chocolate or...?"  I'd be so happy if I never again found a piece of toilet paper being used as a bookmark.  At least I haven't yet had the thrill of picking a condom out of a book.

It's upsetting.

What little tolerance I had for people is quickly fading.  I do have my moments of being genuinely friendly, but it's tough.  I like the books far more than I like the people.