Martha.net

The First Law of Writing is write.

It’s a phrase that is scattered about the internet, on blogs, top 10 lists, textbooks and writing courses. Everyone seems to agree: you learn to be a better writer by writing.

This always made perfect sense to me, since writing (in theory) is the same as any other skill. I learned how to customize model horses by just picking up a brush and going at it. I learned how to program in various computer languages by sitting down and using it to code cheap Zork-clones. I’ve always learn by doing, but I’ve been writing for an awfully long time…

When I started the daily snippits, the idea was that they would to help enhance my Muses’ ability to latch onto random tangents. The perfect defense against Writer’s Block! (In theory.)

There’s a groove out there that I’m trying to find. One where the Muses flit about like overly caffeinated kittens, hunting PlotBunnies over the wide and fruited plains. … Or, less dramatically: the ability to set a timer for ten minutes, sit down with a blank screen, and put to paper at least two hundred words of something.

Of course it’s a timed exercise, so the bits of something aren’t always worth keeping (or a sentence that ends up in the Story Prompts posts.) But the whole point to effort is that it’s a learning curve. I’m learning how to take a thought, an object, or a random bit of nothing and build a story out of it.

It’s not so much what I’m building –which is why you get were-hippo mafias and sentient vacuums– but that I’m building at all. (Although building good things is definitely the next step on my ‘learn to do’ list!)

Early on I tried to focus on writing each daily snippit with a completely new world and new ideas. If I wrote about giant robotic ‘dragons’ left over from millennial old terraforming one day, then the next day I’d write about talking cats. Or dogs. Or a werewolf with an affinity for Starbucks. Or more talking dogs.

Now I’m trying to deepen the groove, luring the Muses into working in the same universes I touched on before. I’ve learned how to do the basecoats, it’s time to start learning how to blend in the highlights and shadows…

I was finally able to get the LiveJournal import to work, and have pulled over all posts from the NaNoWriMo blogs NeverNeverDogs and FenrithLei. Now it’s just a matter of reformatting the nine trillion individual posts and editing the index pages. *mutters something unrepeatable*

I’ve also finished building the Online Novels page so that folks can get a quick overview of what’s being worked on. While the offical Serial Stories won’t start until January 2009, this will give folks and idea of what to expect. (It’ll also provides quick links to the various Work In Progress stories, like DotNN and GtFL!)

I’m still working on getting all the WIPs copied over, but at least The Gate to Fenrith Lei and Blackguards and Plaster Saints have been put to paper (screen?).

Dogs of the Never Never is proving to be much more of a headache to translate over, as I wrote DotNN a completely different style that GtFL. In order to make it a bit more blog-friendly, I think I’m going to cut it down into much smaller posts. You can see the chaos-in-progress by hitting the November 2007 archives. helpme! >.<;;

On a good note, this means that I can actually get started working on the stories again. It'll be a good practice before this year's NaNoWriMo starts!

Things are still a bit messy, but at least the domain appears to be pointed in the right direction. I’m rather fond of the LoseMyMind theme on the whole, but there are some things I still need to tweak. Like the magical vanishing tags. *eyes code* Hmm.

It still feels a bit odd, splitting the Original Fiction out from the Fan Fiction, but I suppose it’s about time. Of course this means I need to go chisel the OF sections out of The Unforgotten Country, but I figure that’s a fight for another day.

I’ve setup the LiveJournal feed for Unquiet Bones over here, but for now I’ll continue manually cross-posting to LJ. I’m still getting into the rhythm of WordPress, with all it’s various widgets and whatnot; plus all of my social circles are over on LJ.

Although I must say I’m rather fond of the ‘Scheduling’ feature [works on setting up the serial stories that will start a bit later in the year] makes my life a whole heck of a lot easier!

Whilst musing it occurred to me that I like writing frontier stories. A lot. Actually it’s apparently now to the point where almost everything I write seems to have an underlying theme of alienation. Which I could blame on the fact that most of my fandoms share this theme (Stargate, Doctor Who, Buffy, etc), except for the fact that my original fiction has the same inclinations (Nine Kingdoms, Fenrith Lei, Skipping Stones, Lairkin, etc).

My Muses seem drawn to stories about everyday people dumped into an unknown (and sometimes hostile) social or physical environments. Watching them change, adapt, rebuild to suit the world they’ve found themselves in… those are the kind of stories I love to read. So I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that those are also the ones I love to write, but as I hadn’t noticed it until I sat back and started cataloging all of the random stuff I’ve written.

Now that I’ve noticed, it’s really hard not to see the same thing in everything I enjoy reading or writing. My Side of the Mountain, Beowulf’s Children, The Last Unicorn are all variations of the same favored theme.

Hmm, now I wonder if there’s a book I like that doesn’t follow that default rule… *wanders off to check her bookcase*

So, let’s say that magic is controlled by talent and will, which is pretty standard for Ye Olde Generic Fantasy World. Only the people who live there have no way of knowing this. Think about it, when weird things happen what do we do? We rationalize it. Thunderstorms? The Gods are angry. Lightning? The Gods are really angry. Lightning striking Cousin Bob? The Gods have it in for a) Bob, b) people like Bob, c) people who aren’t like us, or d) praying to Steve, God of Lightning apparently does work.

This is what I like to call my ‘magic rock’ theory. Say Phil really needs a fire, only he has no way of starting one. But Phil’s in luck, he’s got the gift and the will and presto! he’s got his fire. Phil’s first reaction is probably not going to be ‘I did that!’ In fact his first thought will most likely be ‘Ack! I didn’t do that!!’ So Phil has two choices, either a) blame it on a handy deity or b) something else that is not Phil. Lacking a deity-of-campfires, Phil focuses on a nearby shiny rock. ‘Why of course!’ he thinks, ‘it’s a magic rock!’ So the next time he wants a fire, he pulls out his magic rock and presto! fire! Because the magic could care less how he goes about it, just what he wants to happen. Likewise, anyone he tells the story to will get the same result (assuming the have the gift). Which leads to people looking for more shiny rocks, which leads to a revolution in the fire starting industry.

Of course, with a little research and an open mind someone will figure out that the shiny rock is not needed. But for the most part humans are hunky-dory when it comes to a status quo that requires no effort on their part. So they might ‘develop’ better shiny rocks, or find a way to smelt them into even shinier doodads, but unless the society has hit their Renaissance period (in which people are paid to sit around all day and think), it’s doubtful they’ve started working on any ‘no rock’ theories.

Which is why it bothers me, somewhat, to read a fantasy world in which the gift and the will are all that’s needed… and everyone is aware of the fact. How did they find out? Why?

Fantasy would benefit from more shiny rocks, methinks.

Some days I wish I could just take my brain and pour it onto the paper. *frustrated* I know what I want to ‘say’, I know how I want to say it, but I can’t find the words to make it click. I know I can do this, I’ve done it before and logic indicates that’s proof I can do it again, but I feel like I’m back in grade school. I know the feel of the words I want, the heft and cut, but taking that and trapping it in letters is- is… *waves hands* Arg!

Why yes, I’m editing Promise Me again, why do you ask?

Twelfth times the charm, right? *sighs*

I would like to be published someday, nestled in among the B’s in the bookstore. Only I can never decide just what kind of book I’ll have. The B’s seem rife with science fiction and it might be fun to spice it up a bit. But a goal is a goal, and it’s nothing without plans to reach it.

I have plans, I do, they just never seem to survive the enemy.

And it occurred to me, I’ve got one shot at this. Tomorrow is not a guarantee, it’s no more real than the daydreams that carry me through the day. I cannot put this off. I cannot wait for when I have more time, less stress, more freedom. I need to write today, this hour and every hour, in the scribbled margins of my life. Because waiting until the day where I can lay aside all else and bury my thoughts in Muses is a day that will never come. Not while I can still make use of it.

So I will start scribbling the stories in my head, in whatever pen’s at hand, and from those seeds build up a forest. If I plant them now, in thirty years I’ll have a hundred acre wood of my own, instead of a bag of horded acorns and a trowel.

And that, that is what I’ll wake to tomorrow, to life and stress and dreams of trees.

Five Guess the Plot ideas submitted, four of five used, plus one comment by another reader that they would read a book based off the teaser I had written. How nifty is that? So anywho, here’s the next batch…

The Healer’s Legacy – Not used (too evil?)
In a god-blessed age where death comes only by catastrophic injury, who needs healers anymore? Two magical healers quest to destroy the four Healing Stones and resurrect their dying profession.

Pushing Leaves Towards the Sun – Used! (modified)
Terraforming had never been more boring and stuck in the orbiting space station botanical geneticist Thelma has nothing to do but tinker. When the scientist unwittingly creates sentient plants, will the crew realized what they’ve planted before it’s too late?

Sphinx Awakened – Used!
The last of the sandstone is worn away in a scouring wind and the creature that had been entrapped for centuries is finally free. Can the modern world bind the powerful Sphinx yet again, or will Ancient Egypt have the last laugh?

What’s Wrong with Us? – Not used (and not really suprised. *shrugs*)
Four best friends dive into the stormy seas of Graduate School. Between lab work, papers, and student teaching, can they find a way to keep from killing each other over the mess that is their apartment?

Wrecking Ball – Not used
Susan had a nice life; not perfect, but nice. That was until she was yanked from line in a bookstore and into an alternate universe. Now a self-assigned bodyguard to the teenager who was standing behind her in line, she guards the Chosen One from the Evil Sorcerer… and the girl’s own devoted followers.

Now I really should be getting to my homework… ^_^;;

There are some nights I despair about ever becoming a ‘real’ writer. Why these morose musing always wait until the dim hours after midnight, I have no idea. Perhaps it’s because I fade out from reality when I get sleepy, like a drunk who is convinced the pink elephants are always there, he just can’t always see them. Which is a rather silly analogy, I will admit, equating my Muses to dancing pink elephants in tutus. Oh Disney, you have corrupted my imagination so very very well.

It’s odd that musings about being ‘real’ come at a time when everything feels one step further away, less immediate, less encompassing. Like the Velveteen Rabbit, I know what I’m not, but I’m not quite sure how to get to where I want to be. Like Pinocchio, like Data, and so very far from Don Quixote who believed with all his heart in the should-have-beens.

When I was eight or nine, I knew I was a ‘real’ author, after all hadn’t I written stories? Drawn books? Spun up worlds from nothing? What more is there, really, than capturing on paper what dances through our daydreams?

But that’s a self-determined prize, a title worthless beyond the confines of my own imagination. When they asked, I could tell them I was a writer, a poet, a tale spinning fool with a pocket of dreams… and they’d nod and smile, and dismiss me in that frustrating adult fashion.

And that stuck with me, the thought that other people get to tell me what I am. That I must have someone else to sing out my inner truths, to say to the world ‘Yes! Yes she is a writer! And a poet! And many other things besides.’ All this so they will listen. They will take the word of someone who isn’t me, because they titles have more weight, more bearing, more heft when the names roll from someone else’ lips.

Well phooey on this!

I am a writer, unpublished and unpolished at times.
I am a poet, though of a minor sort.
I am all the things I always thought I was, and someday, if I keep trying, someone else will say it too.

And then maybe the nameless They will listen…

Okay, so the Evil Editor (http://evileditor.blogspot.com) just used my two camels debating existentialism quote for his lineup in Guess the Plot, which really isn’t that big a deal, but woot! ^_^ *is highly amused with herself*

How pathetic is that? ^_~

Anywho, on a more writing related note, I think I finally have It Wasn’t Enough and Promise Me as reworked as they are going to get. Thus they will be coming off OWW tomorrow and headed to their separate fates.

It Wasn’t Enough will be going in the Quarters for College pile, since it didn’t change much from the version that was posted online. Promise Me, however, has undergone many a change… so I think I’m okay to submit it for attempted ‘real’ publication.

Although I shall be checking all the various places to make sure it’s okay to do so. It isn’t worth risking the wrath of the publishing world just to get a bit of flash fiction published. ^_^;;

So let’s hear it for doomsday portals, the end of the world, and small grey kittens at the edge of nothing…

Was playing on the Evil Editor’s blog and noticed he took submissions for the ‘Guess the Plot’ section of his query reviews (He has one real plot listed amoung several fake ones)… and so I did! I think the camels are my favorite. ^_~

A Guardian’s Tale - Used!
This was not just any mousehole, as Tess the feline Guardian knew well. This was a doorway into the realm of Faire and if she lapsed in her duties the real world was doomed!

The Goblin Brothers and the Rogue Gold Mine - Used! (used in a modified version)
Steve and Ray Goblin find an abandoned gold mine hidden in the cliffs. Against their mother’s wishes they go exploring, certain that the legendary Rouge that guards it is nothing but a myth.
(Note: Actually I think he did use this one, #3 is an awfully close match. Hmm…. *ponders*)

Papa’s Secret Wish - Used!
He never wanted a real little boy… but undoing the Blue Fairy’s magic would take the help of an even more powerful witch.

The Portal to Doom - Used!
There was a pervading hint of depth to everyday shadows, as if Paul could reach through them into some silent ocean of darkness. And then one day, he could.

Sandstorm - Used!
Two camels trapped in a sandstorm muse on the human condition and the philosophical merits of existentialism. Is the world merely a manifestation of our own subconscious desires, or a shared hallucination of the collective consciousness? And why is there so much sand?

I have realized that I love writing for the same reason I love reading, it’s escapism in its truest form. I lay aside the day-to-day troubles of the real world and delve into the more interesting machinations of worlds built from dreams. They may be other people’s dreams, unfolding as I read, drawing me down and in, laying aside the world I know to lose myself in the realities of unreality. But often, it’s a playground sprung from my own imagination and an endless stream of whys. The trees grow thusly, but why? The people live thusly, but why? A dragon has died on the edge of town, when dragons haven’t been seen in a hundred generations… but why?

Even when the worlds are darker than reality, even when the folk who live there are suffering fates a thousand times worse that my petty own grievances, I still find solace in the imagining. Because I can fix it, change it, mold it into something better. Something brighter. I cannot write my own life into the perfect ending, but I can craft a life for my dreams. And sometimes, when the mood is right, for other people’s dreams as well.

There is magic here, among the pixels, among the ink, seeped in the screen and paper lying dormant until we dream again.

Come dream again…

It has been a long, long while since I’ve stayed up until the world wakes up. Until the sidewalks by my window are lit by something other than the flickering streetlight. For a confused hour or so I thought the birds were simply background noise from the TV in the other room, and then the cardinal got into a screaming match with the mockingbirds and I knew it was real. No one uses angry birds as background. I felt like Watson with that dim Aha! but there was no one there to pat my head and tell me how very bright I was after so little sleep. I felt cheated.

But there were stories there, in the long late hours after midnight, so many stories.

A man too old for names who collects the broken children yearning to be Lost, but who are long ago too old for Neverland.

A golden clockwork bird, created by the last dying god of Seventhrall that can sing death or life to those that hear it. Of the brother and sister who set out to find it to save a horse that isn’t quite a horse.

A woman who is given the choice to see or not to see, to step into the story or out of it.

A taste of might-have-beens, those shadowed dreams that haunt the waking hours of everyone who’s ever made a choice.

And a few other things that may or may not turn into something else. I have a lot of opening lines and I don’t know what’s beyond them. It’s fun to world-build when I’m sleepy, things make more sense, grow faster, further than in waking hours.

But my sentence structure still drives everyone nuts…

I found an old excel spreadsheet that tracked all of the short stories and long stories that I had ever worked on. Out of these, I think maybe ten were ever finished. o_O;;

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