51215

Otherwise known as GOAL!!! I was a little worried there. A few days went by when I just stared at the computer and could only get a couple hundred words down. And my laptop went phooy. *sigh* It was a fairly dramatic NaNo.

And I'm not done yet. I still have three scenes I need to write for Sam, all of Mouse's stuff, whatever needs to be written to weave everything together, and the ending. So, next month will be my first MiNoWriMo. Goal is 50k again, so (to make things easy), let's say 101k by New Year's Eve. I can do it. Hoorah!

*cough*

Anywho, I did a midway count over on Facebook, so here's what I've gone through during November while writing Rememberance:

154 pieces of gum
98 cans of Diet Dew
41 pages of notebook paper
$20 to pull my files off my dead laptop
$15 on a mini past life reading
6 24oz bottles of Pepsi Max
1 pen
1 laptop hard drive
And a partridge in a fricking pear tree

40069

My laptop has died. One day I was at the library, writing away, the next, it refused to start. The hard drive fried. *sniff* Thankfully, everything was able to be saved, and my brother was sweet enough to bring his desktop into my room so I can continue writing. So yay.

Now I have to make a special trip to the library on the 30th so that I can load up all my words for NaNo's counter, though. Oh well. Could be worse.

I have also decided that I'm going to continue doing my own version of NaNo through December and January, aiming for 50k each time. I get that it will put me over 150k by February, but I figure I'll edit at least 30k out, so it'll work. I'll be calling these months MiNoWriMo (Miki Novel Writing Month). I find myself so clever at times. Tee hee.

The story's coming along quite nicely, though. Things have changed, and other's have developed in a way that I never expected. But that always happens. I just hope the creative juices keep flowing straight through to the end, including through the editing process. Here's hoping.

I'd love to be able to close with a clip from the story. It feels wrong not to. And there are so many little bits that would work so well. *sigh* Maybe next time.

15228

Whoot! Yesterday was the first day I actually not only met my daily word goal, but I surpassed it. I’m hoping I can keep that up. I know that most of what I’m drabbling on about is just crap that’ll end up getting cut, but it’s through the crap that I discover the characters and am able to get to what’s worth keeping.

I’d go on more, as it seems like I’m always so full of ideas of what to write here, even when I’ve no idea what to write for the book, but my brain is dead at the moment. So, I leave you with a tidbit:

I tried not to pout as I cast my mind around for something to shut him up. I crunched on the pretzel as I thought.

“I have a tattoo.”

That did it.

“Seriously?” he asked again, this time intrigued. I nodded. “Can I see it?”

I felt my face go scarlet.

“It’s not exactly placed for public viewing,” I mumbled.

“Now I really want to see it,” he said with a grin that should be illegal.

…

“At least tell me what it is.”

I looked up from my binder. Kyle was scribbling in his notebook, hopefully jotting down notes on what I’d just told him, but most likely trying to figure out where my tattoo might be.

“It’s a shamrock.”

He grinned at me, and I could tell he was trying to picture me with a shamrock somewhere on my body.

“I could make a joke about finding your lucky charms, but I’ll resist.”

3329

Another year, another NaNo. I’m running behind this year (wasn’t that the same tune I was singing all 2009?). I should be at 6668. So…eek! But, I’m hoping to write more when I get home. Thing is, I don’t have an office this year, somewhere I can go where there’s no TV, nothing to distract me. I need to learn how to focus myself. Or I need to start going somewhere after work where I can write for an hour or four.

Right, anywho, I’m working on the story with Sam, Mouse, Kyle, and Tommy that I’ve been brainstorming for the past year. I’ve posted a couple clips that I’ve come up with, as well as a couple pictures of actors that would look just like Tommy and Kyle, if only they were teenagers.

I’m going to keep this short, partially because if I’m going to be writing, it should be for the story, and partially because I worked all night, and it’s almost my bedtime. So here’s a clip, some more of the Sam and Kyle back and forth that I love so much:

“There’s a lot about me that would surprise you,” I told Kyle, realizing even as I spoke I sounded like a petulant child.

“Oh yeah?” he said with a smirk, obviously not believing me. “Such as?”

Oh crap.

I thought for a moment, trying to come up with something that would shut Kyle up but not embarrass me, all the while trying to ignore his increasingly smug expression.

“I have a wicked potty mouth,” I finally said.

Kyle burst into laughter.

“Seriously?” he chuckled.

“What?” I asked, pissed that I’d managed to embarrass myself despite my efforts.

“’A potty mouth’?” he asked incredulously. “If you word it like that, you so don’t have a ‘potty mouth.’” He snickered some more.

“And how should I have worded it?” I asked, glowering at him.

“I dunno, ‘I like to fucking swear?’”

“Ass,” I said, throwing a pillow at him.

“Oh, there’s the potty mouth,” he teased.

Of Fics and Potterheads

So recently I started working overnights. Being Sunday, part of my job was to piece together and put out the Sunday papers, including the Sunday New York Times. Well, one of the very first things that I noticed was that the Arts and Entertainment section was dominated by a collage of Harry Potter centric pictures. So, being the fan that I am, I of course had to pause to read the article. It was fairly interesting, focusing mainly on the immense success of the films and movies, and how fans have developed some level of ownership of the franchise through fansites and fanfic.

Now, I must admit, embarrassing as it is, that I have been reading and writing fanfic since I was sixteen. That’s nine years. I realize that since I am no longer sixteen, nor do I live in my mother’s basement, I no longer should have this habit. I firmly maintain, however, that it has only strengthened my writing habits. Any fic site worth its salt requires that submissions be edited. And after getting my first fic rejected a dozen times, I learned how to edit my own crap fairly well. It also has helped me deal with rejection (see above), and get a feel for my own style (even though I was mimicking someone else’s). And the interaction with both readers and other writers has proven to be an invaluable resource. So, while I should be ashamed (and am, to a point), I’m not stopping.

Anywho, I digress.

So I’m reading this article, and having been involved in the world of Potter fic for a number of years, about died of laughter when I read the line “surprisingly, er, friendly Harry and Draco liaisons.” I knew, right off, the type of fic he was referring to.

Now, for those of you who don’t know, fan fiction is mainly used to explore things not explored in the books. So if you’ve always wondered what Dumbledore was like as a teen, you’d either hunt down a fic that meets those needs, or write one yourself. Same goes if you, say, believe that Harry and Draco have been at each other’s throats because of suppressed sexual tension.

Dargis also mentions a fic titled “Strawberry Yields,” another slash (fic that features a same sex relationship) lemon (fic where the main focus is of a sexual nature). Of course, being me, I went to hunt this fic down. I was expecting something on some big fic site, with a few thousand (or at least a few hundred) reviews. What I found was a fic on a site I’d never heard of with no reviews. I was the first person to comment, and it’s been up for over a year.

So I have to wonder, how is it that this writer for the Times found at least two slashy, lemony stories? Lemons are not terribly popular in Potter fic. Sure, they’re out there, and probably much more abundant than the average person on the street would think. But compared to, say, Twilight (a vast majority of Twific I’ve come across is citrusy in nature), it’s a small percentage. Most Potter fic, in my experience, are missing moments, stories that follow cannon (the Potter universe as laid out by the books and information JKR has released), but seek to tell what happened that we missed. Kind of funny, if you think of it.

Oh, just for the record, I’ve no problem with either slash or lemons. In fact, one of my favorite pieces of Twific is a slashy lemon.

I found the article interesting, though, as an overly obsessed Potterhead myself. I think that it’s important that fans hold some level of ownership of the things that they love. I’m not saying that I’m going to start printing Potter shirts and selling them on the street, but fansites and fic are a great way to keep fans interested in the books and movies, even in the lull between releases, and it doesn’t cost the people who really own the story a dime. Honestly, you’d think they’d be all for it.

Forbidden words

Anyone who knows me knows that I can be foul mouthed. I tend to follow George Carlin’s view on language: there are no bad words. Bad thoughts, bad intentions, and then the words that we tend to attach to them. Our words only have the power we give them.

However, much as I believe this for almost every word I’ve come across, there are two that I will not say, under any circumstances. These two words have never crossed my lips, and if I have been required to refer to them in the past (typically only if I’m sharing that someone else has spoken these forbidden words), I refer to them by their first letter only, much like a child would. They have become “the c-word” and “the n-word” to me, and even insinuating them bothers me.

So why, if I tend to follow the “words are just letters arranged on the page, neither negative nor positive” view point, why am I so against these words? Possibly because of the negative emotions behind them. They have been so strong, for so long, that I have been unable to remove the emotions from the words. Or it could be some residual influence from my mother, these were her forbidden words as well. Or maybe it’s society, I know of many people for whom these words are forbidden.

So, as a writer, I have an issue. These words are not taboo for everyone. In fact, many people use them on a daily basis, in both a negative and positive way (though, the same people don’t tend to use them as both). And by restricting my vocabulary, by saying “these are the two words I will never say or write, under any circumstances,” I am restricting myself. There have been two times, one for each word, that in the natural flow of dialogue that occurs in my head as I write (I’ve often said that I watch the characters interact, listen to them speak to each other and to me, and then write what I’ve witnessed), these words have cropped up, and I’ve ignored them.

The first was when I was writing a short story for a creative writing class. It’s a particularly violent story following the minutes before a girl is raped. A topic most would consider taboo, but I stepped outside my comfort zone, wrote even though I was disgusted—both with the character and with myself—wrote through the feeling of bugs crawling under my skin and of needing a shower, and got the story to paper. But when the male character, in a fit of temper, hits the female character and called her one of my forbidden words, I stalled. I heard it, plain as day, the way his voice rasped, almost spat the word out. I saw the way his face contorted in rage, saw his thin lips form the word, his yellowed teeth almost biting out the end. But I couldn’t do it. Here I was, writing a story about one of the worst atrocities that could happen to a woman, and I couldn’t type out a four lettered word. Instead I used “cooze,” a slang term popular in Vietnam during the conflict that meant much the same thing. I’ve considered going in and editing it, of putting in the word as I heard it, but I haven’t.

The second time was more recent, as I was brainstorming a story I was going to write for myself. Set in Georgia, either slightly before or towards the beginning of the Civil War, the main character was set to be the son of a wealthy plantation owner. His father, getting on in years, has started handing over responsibilities to his son, including management of the dozen or so slaves he will inherit with the house and the land. The son, through his interaction with the family’s slaves, falls in love with one of the girls. Not lust, as was common for the time, but honest to god love. He starts to daydream about a world where he could take this girl as his wife, where she would be the mistress of his house, where they would have and raise children together, and sit out on the porch, drinking sweet tea, as they watched them play in the summer sun. However, he realized that this would never happen, considered setting her free, hating himself for imprisoning the woman he loved, and wanting her freedom, her happiness, over his own. But he realized that this, too, was unlikely to happen. He knows that freed slaves, even in the North, still run the risk of being captured, brought back to the South, and sold back into slavery. The thought of what would happen to her if she belonged to another, and possibly a small measure of selfish longing, keeps him from letting her go.

As with most of my writing, the idea for this story grew into being around a scene that played out in my head, where one of the lower class white boys that the father hired to help manage the slaves is bullying the son’s love interest. He steps in, and the boy spits out insults and curses, one of them including one of my forbidden words. In this case, I simply never wrote the story.

I feel very strongly about these words, often wishing that they would be done away with, that they never existed. But the fact of the matter is that they do exist, and that for some people they are used as commonly as I use “ah hell.” And so I wonder, if I cannot even bring myself to type them, even if it’s once in a blue moon, and only with careful thought and consideration, does that make me noble some how, or does it hurt my writing?

Everyday craziness

So since I missed NaNo this year, I’m considering doing Script Frenzy.  I’ve written a script before, actually it was the very first full length thing that I did write. I was about 14, it was called Saving Amy, and it was destined to be a Lifetime Movie Network film. However, someone (coughmybrothercough) asked to borrow the script and subsequently misplaced it. I was not a happy Miki. Since it was 10 years ago, I think I’d be fine in trying to rewrite Saving Amy. I mean, at this point, I’m back to just having the premise in my head, since I don’t have anything written down any more (copies, people, copies!).

I’m caught between that and this idea my new apartment has been giving me. It seems like everything and anything that could go wrong has been here. Not that I’m complaining or anything, I’m just happy I have a place to live, and in a way I think it’s great. I mean, none of it is terribly serious, and it’s such great fodder for stories. Especially the one that’s been brewing in my head.

I’m thinking a modern day version of the Odd Couple crossed with The Money Pit. Our two main characters would be college grads, one of whom has recently been told by his well to do parents that it’s time he stands on his own two feet and starts paying his own way—right as he’s getting ready to start grad school. The other is trying to figure out what to do with his life and how to be a grown up (even though he’s been done with school for a few years).

And because I’m me, I’ve already got a visual of each character. As Jake (the guy in his late 20s who still acts like a teen), I see, rather predictably, Seth Rogen. And as Anthony, our gent in his early 20s who is trying to figure out how he is going to be able to afford living on his own and pay for grad school at the same time, we have Robert Pattison. Course, I’m not thinking the suave and debonair Pattison from the cover of GQ, or even the Edward Cullen or Tyler Hawkins versions. Hell, I’m not even thinking Diggory. I am thinking of Daniel Gale. Geeky, awkward, bumbling, not obviously attractive, thick glasses, prudish, and extremely quiet and reserved.

Honestly, either of these roles could be played by just about anyone, but those were just the two people who came to mind as I’ve been brainstorming.

So whether I chose to rewrite Saving Amy, or start in on this as yet unnamed endeavor, it should be an interesting April.

Taking that first step

So I went out New Years Eve, like so many did.  And I had a little too much to drink, like so many did.  So I took a taxi home, like I hope so many did.  But my taxi driver was special.  He used to be an editor in NYC.

Granted, he edited technical instruction manuals, which is a far cry from editing fiction, but he knew enough about the trade to offer me some advice, which, although I was very drunk, I took happily.  He told me to write a summary of my novel, even if I’m stuck or haven’t written anything yet, and start sending that out to publishers. 

I’d read a lot of “this is how you publish your book” articles that gave this same advice over the years, but it just seemed not the thing for me.  I mean, what sense does that make, trying to get someone to buy something that’s not even finished yet. That be like saying, “Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, the house will be right here, where this foundation is poured.  The kitchen will be about…here—just imagine a stove right here—and if you look about 12 feet up, right around this area here, that is where the master bedroom will be.  Now, how about that down payment?”  Just sounds stupid. 

But, and this could be the alcohol interfering with my judgment, this man made sense.  I’m going to keep trying to work on my novel anyway, and so long as I’m doing that, I might as well throw the idea out there into the universe.  Who knows, I might get some one who wants a fresh name, likes my idea, and wants to send me a thousand dollars to finish it.  *coughwishfulthinkingcough*

Even if I get a rejection letter for every ten I send out (and jack shit for the other nine), that’s something.  I don’t know what’s in these letters, if they just tell you your idea is crap or if they give you some “we would be more likely to purchase your novel if you did x, y, and z” advice, but I’m open to either.

Not that I want rejection letters.  Honestly, I’d rather get several, “Your idea is amazing, Miss. D.  We predict it will be a best seller, and want to offer you a disgustingly large advance,” letters, but I know that’s highly unlikely.  I mean, didn’t Stephanie Meyer get something like 50 rejection letters for Twilight?  Betcha those guys got their asses kicked.

So, that’s my plan for this year.  I need to come up with a summary, compile a list of publishers and agents that take unsolicited submissions, and get my stamps out.

I think, though, that I’ll send out summaries for Remberance instead of Revelations.  There’s just so much more research I have to do for Revelations, and I don’t want to put it out there until that’s done.  True, I have research that needs to be done for Remberance, like what life was like for a teen in the 50s, what music was popular, common slang, etc.  But, I figure between Google and a few long conversations with my grandparents (who, while not teens in the 50s, were young adults), I will be well on my way.