My oh my, it seems I ain't no pantser...

To plot or to pants?
That is a question that did not occur to me when, 3 years ago, I sat down to start writing my first novel. My muse came to me at the tail end of a terribly devastating week, and in order to cope, I simply began to write.  In the very same week, feeling as though I needed to take back control of my world, I  also re-enrolled in university. The degree I enrolled in was Australian Literature and  Communications, and I dedicated myself to learn everything I could about the craft that I had spent most of my life declaring that I loved.

1 year and 300,000 words later ...
I gave the novel to three trusted friends for beta reading. When I say three trusted friends I mean my mother, sister and closest girlfriend. As you can imagine, the mother and sister loved it and had little else to say. Thankfully the girlfriend - who is also a writer- gave much more practical advice and pointed out the novel was far from finished.

She said something about being long winded and entirely missing the point...

By now I was almost halfway through my Literature degree and starting to understand a little bit about the art of novel writing. At last I considered the 'To plot or not' question, and I decided to not.  Off I went, to tackle the third draft of the novel. I finished the draft within a month, decided I hated it and then BAM! Like a lightning strike, I had it! I was not a pantser at all!

To plot or to pants?
To plot, to plot, to plot. So simple, why did I not see it before? Right, now to plot...hm mm...plot,plot,plot....
.................................plot........................................................plot..............................................................
plot damn it, PLOT.........BLEEP BLEEP Bleepy BLEEP BLEEP...............................................................

Plot


PLOT




ARRRRRRRGGGGGGGG

Many months passed like this. I came unstuck. Struck down with writers block, my muse deserted me.

Maybe I am not a plotter?

Maybe I am not really a writer?

Maybe I suck???????? Like big time suck??????

Ok, breathe...
At this stage I was in my third year of uni and trying to study full-time, be a full-time SAHM to Thing 1 and Thing 2 and run a full-time community initiative. In short, I was very short - on time, patience and creative juices. I decided to give it a rest. I sat the book aside. I planned to return to it in March this year.

March came and went.
So did April, May and June.

It looked like July was about to pass by also.

Then I began to plan for my graduation. I invited the folks, I booked the dress robes, I organised a babysitter, and I sat down to draw.

Draw?

I know it seems a strange preparation for a university graduation but it makes total sense to me...
(and I promise this is taking us somewhere)

You see, like most dedicated writers, at every major milestone in my life I have sat down to my trusty old journal and documented the passing - of age, of friendships, of loved ones, of hair styles and of favourite pieces of clothing.  This documentation however, does not always take the form of a story. Granted, sometimes it is a story, but often it is a photo, a song, a poem, a lock of hair, a scrap of fabric (a fingernail once made it in there!), and frequently the documentation takes the form of a drawing.

So I sat down to draw. I didn't plan (because as it should be clear by now, I am not a planner) I just drew. And low and behold - as my dear departed gran would claim- my muse returned.

There she was, the perfect pictorial image of my muse, waving cheekily up at me from the page, as if to say 'Well, what are you waiting for!'

Angel Grace
My muse - and the leading lady in my painfully patient novel- launched herself back into my psyche and kept me awake for two night running. She had me lock myself away in my dungeon and forced my hand like some kind of Chinese torture (I know I'm mixing metaphors, but cut me some slack, my muse is back!)

At long last, I was plotting. And I was loving it. I can be a plotter, I can, I can.

To plot or to pants?
In answer to the question, it would seem I am both a plotter and a pantser. After my revelation - and upon conferring with my muse - I now have a completely re-plotted outline for an entire trilogy, based very loosely around the original idea of my very first novel. And it only took me 3 years of pantsing to get here!

And on top of that, in the very same week,
I have finally graduated from university,
only 15 years after I first started.

Pantser indeed!

A hiatus...

3 years in the making...

The first draft of my current WIP took all of six months to write. It was rubbish, but in all fairness I was a stay at home mum running two businesses, studying at uni externally and trying to juggle a family that appeared to be coming apart at the seams.

The second draft took 12 months. Again it was rubbish, but much less the filthy stinking rotting sludge of the first and more a discarded food wrapper kind of rubbish. The reasons the second draft took twice as long as the first were numerous. Due to the epic failure of one business and the ginormous stress of the other not being worth the money it could earn, my husband and I decided to sell up and head north. We did that, with two toddlers in tow, and only our dreams of a fresh start to sustain us.

The third draft took a further 12 months to complete while we settled into our new home. It was slightly better but not much. By this time I had found a trusted critique partner and with her helpful comments I quickly made the changes.

The fourth draft was the quickest of all, I completed it in one month. The circumstances surrounding this epic achievement were ideal: I had a deadline, my foray into full time study (who doesn't work better under pressure? ) I had my mother visiting for a month (so a full time quality babysitter that didn't mind if I stayed buried in my work way past the agreed knock off time) and I had one of those rare bursts of creative energy that carried me through (most of the time these bursts of energy tend to peter out after the chocolate runs out but not this time!).

At the end of this month I was happy with the final product and I was ready to set it aside for 12 months to mull it over while I completed my degree. The plan was to launch head first into the final draft/line edit upon graduation. It was a great plan.

Very rarely do things go according to plan.
I graduated over two months ago. Despite the copious amounts of notes scribbled in notepads, saved in numerous word documents on laptop and hard drive, scribed as blog posts and mumbled into the Dictaphone app on my iPhone, the fifth and final draft is nowhere to be seen. In fact it has escaped so far over the horizon that I don't know if I have the energy to chase it down.

The biggest problem, the reason for my procrastination, my excuses for stalling? This blog. Writing competitions. Short story submissions. Secondary projects. Facebook. New manuscript ideas. Other Writers and their awesome blogs that eat into my creative time. All of these things I have pursued instead of starting the re-write.

Also...
There are a few bare faced truths that I have had to face.
1. I hate the manuscript.
2. I think it is complete rubbish.
3. I want to put it on the scrap heap and start again.

Of all of these truths, I have come to terms with the first two.
1. I still love the premise, characters and setting.
2. I am a much better writer than I was when I started 3 years ago.

The third truth is the one I am having trouble with.
I just don't know how can I start again, completely from scratch. Every time I sit down to write, my brain freezes in fear. I panic.  My heart all but stops. I have hit a very famous brick wall.

Writers Block
The trouble is, it is not the words that don't come, my characters are alive and well in my head.  Honestly, they talk to me all the time, asking me when I'm going to get my act together and write their story, telling me tidbits about their day, forcing my hand to scribe conversations they've had with their mother, brother, lover. I have the Who, What and When down pat.

The thing that won't come is the HOW.  And the thing I don't know is WHY are they talking to me and WHERE is the story going?

This is a problem. I have brain stormed, I have drawn charts, I have broken the original manuscript down scene by scene, I have dissected the characters until I am blue in the face. And still I cannot for the life of me work out the best way to tell the story.

What all of this ranting means.
I have not written so much as two words toward the new manuscript. And I have a time limit. You see a set myself a new deadline, to have the final draft ready by my 33rd birthday which falls in three short weeks on the 30th of May. Also, I hoped to be ready for query by my husbands 40th birthday, the 1st of July, only eight very short weeks away. If I don't do something soon, I will miss my deadline. Sure this will not cause too much damage to the greater time continuum but it will damage me. I hate to miss deadlines, I hate to ask for extensions. Besides, I know the chick giving out the extensions, she's not very nice to slackers, regardless of their circumstance.

So this glorious Sunday morning- which is mothers day by the way and yes I was spoiled very much by the gorgeous Cat and Thing 1 and Thing 2 outdid themselves with hand made cards and gifts- I have decided that I will no longer let anything interfere with the production of the manuscript. 

I am putting all other projects on hold, I am cutting myself some slack and I am going to bury my head in PLOT resurrection. I will not be blogging, facebooking, twittering, short story writing, beta reading or doing anything else remotely unrelated to the emergence of Silken Threads.

Please bear with me, I will be back, I just cannot say when...

The Editing Process - How to make paper piles.

Finally dear readers
Today we begin chapter 2 of The Writing Book. Originally the plan was to achieve one chapter of Ms Grenville's book per month. I do not choose to dwell on how long it has actually taken. I suggest neither do you. Let's move onwards. By now you should have a nice sized pile of  little stories, snippets of action, conversations and dialogue or simply random thoughts. I know I do!


I would just like to take this moment to say how excited I am by my progress. Jax appeared out of nowhere, threw me full force into her world and then blew up the dock we were hanging out on. This character lept of the page and took over my life but now I have regained control. Although I can't wait to see where she takes me next I have asked her to be patient and first let me deal with Silken Threads.


Anyway...today will blossom from Kate Grenville's 'The Writing Book' exercise: Chapter 2 - Making Piles.


We will be exploring  my current WIP Silken Threads

The Big Cut
In chapter 2 Grenville asks us to make piles of all the exercises we have completed from Chapter 1. Now I have done this with Jax and set them aside. Seeing as I am now back on track with Silken Threads I decided to continue forward from this point, and seeing as I have 100,000 words already, I figured pile making was as good a place as any to start.

It has been painful, it has been wicked and  surprisingly, it has been inspirational. Although I reached a devastating revelation a few weeks ago, where I thought Silken Threads was a no-hoper, I have been given a new lease of life and I am surging ahead.

In three weeks I have cut the MS to pieces. Literally, I printed it out, took out some scissors and started hacking. It was cathartic. What I ended up with was not, as you may be now imagining, a pile of shredded paper, but five neat character profiles and the idea for six interconnecting novellas!

I know right?
So I have my piles, now what do I do with them?  Next Grenville suggests looking at the similarities in the text, in other words, seeking out the underlying themes. Seeing as I am working with an almost complete manuscript, my themes are pretty well established, so instead I broke down the entire manuscript into individual scenes. Yes, I did that.

I have 211 individual scenes!
You would think that is a lot of action. Amazingly I found my first big problem - it's not.
A large portion of the scenes are inactive and do not move the plot forward - this in itself is a huge revelation, but of the good kind! At last I have somewhere to start!

The next step...
Now that I have these piles (and large gaping holes in the plot!) Grenville suggests I work out some sort of order: to arrange what I do have in a way that allows the underlying themes to shine through. Taking a deep breath, I am now about to plunge myself into the crazy, chaotic world of PLOT MAPPING. Yep, I going to get out my sticky notes and my markers, I'm going to set up my pretty pink pin board and I am going to create an ARC to be reckoned with.

I will be back sometime in the not so distant future to report back - if I don't resurface sometime in the next week, please don't panic, I am probably just getting my groove back!
copyright 2011, TBell

The love affair we call writing...

Over the weekend I was fortunate to spend time away with the girls. Amongst the clouds in a mountain chalet we talked, laughed, cried, drank and ate. My cheeks hurt from smiling and my heart is warm with the kind of love only girlfriend's can supply (my liver is a tad sore too but don't worry mum, it's water all the way from here).

A wonderfully nurturing child/husband free weekend was had by all and amongst the tears and laughter a few insights and epiphanies were revealed...

On Sunday morning one of my favourite girl's, MermaidMeg, sat us down and gave us all a tarot card reading: some were funny; others spot on and mine - well take a look for yourself.

Tarot Reading - 10 card spread.

1. The Signifier - Ten of Swords - The darkness before the dawn.

2. Crossing Card - Three of Swords - A painful state that does not allow for blindness to continue.

3. On The Surface - Three of Cups - Seeking emotional connections / new beginnings.

4. Crux of Issue - Four of Pentacles - Let fears of self go to unblock creativity and allow confidence to flow.

5. Past - Queen of Wands - The superwoman - Let go of the ideal.

6. Future - Ace of Pentacles - The release of past energies will make way for success and prosperity.

 image sourced tarotoftrees.com

 7. Development - Death - Something must come to an end, new life by letting go of old.

8. Response from others - Ace of Cups - Outpouring of feeling, upsurge of raw emotion.

9. Hopes and Fears - Ten of Cups - On going contentment and permanence in the realm of the heart.

10. Outcome - Two of Cups - The beginning of a new relationship or project, renewal of one that has undergone difficulty.

What this means to me...

At first glance this reading appeared to be about my personal relationships with actual real humans. I contemplated for a moment running off to have a wild, passionate affair with an incredibly handsome man that would cook, massage and serenade me (all in that order) but then I remembered I loved my husband, our children and our life together - and considering my question was directed at my writing career - I was forced to look deeper.

Now I think many a writer would agree with me when I say writing a novel is like embarking on a love affair. It is euphoric one moment and the next you are swept into the depths of despair only to be lifted up again by a chance encounter with a new character or a stunning moment of clarity. My journey as a novice novelist would slip into this descriptive concept without missing a beat.

As you may be aware, I have struggled recently to attempt the fifth edit of my MS. The reason I have struggled is because I have decided after 3 years work that I do not like the final product. This is a somewhat crushing revelation and  I have even contemplated (deep breath) giving up!

And I am loath to say I have also flirted with new characters in entirely new worlds. These flirtations have given me the rush I was missing, the glow of first love, but alas I found myself staring out over the mist covered mountains and yearning for my first love.

With that in mind
I took a second look at the Tarot reading. I think it is clear that I am indeed wallowing in the depth of darkness and it has come as a great sigh of relief to know the dawn is coming (insert here a song and dance routine from a really bad but nostalgic 90's music video).

I was already beginning to toy with a new concept for the old manuscript and I have even spent the last month breaking the story down scene by scene and re-plotting several characters journeys.

My MysticTarot has given me faith in pursuing this course of action and I would like to say, as a writer, to all other writers, you have to take inspiration where you can get it - oh and having a little faith in yourself helps too.

FictionFriday - an exploration of character through random writing prompts

The Prompt
[Fiction] Friday Challenge #200 for April 8th, 2011

Use this phrase “Looks can be deceiving” as your prompt of theme.

The Character

Chelsea looks like a young Reece Witherspoon



This week I will be exploring the character Chelsea, the protagonist from Book 3 of The Silken Threads series.

Chelsea is the youngest daughter of the 3 Dell girls; she is 17; in her second to last year of high school; and is anything but studious.The Silken Threads is a YA paranormal series focusing on individual character experiences of the afterlife.
*(still bandying about ideas for individual book names)

***

The Flash

"It's not what it looks like."

"Uh-huh." Dario nodded.

"What? It's not! Looks can be deceiving."

Dario smirked, "Sure."

Chelsea tugged the scarf tighter around her throat and grinned, "Besides, I least I got lucky at the party. What did you spend the night doing huh? Running around drooling after my sister no doubt."

Dario blushed, "Drooling yes; your sister - ah nooo!"

The bell rang as Chelsea squealed. Joslin and Angel rushed passed and rolled their eyes.


"Don't be late again Chels, you know Ms Craft has it in for you." Joslin called over her shoulder. Chelsea screwed up her nose and linked arms with Dario. Joslin stopped on the path ahead, "And mum will have a fit!"

"Yeah, yeah." Chelsea and Dario both stuck their tongues out at the older girls and burst into fits of giggles."So do tell, who is the lucky girl then?"

Dario blushed again, "No one, it doesn't matter. Come on or it will be Ms Craft who throws a fit."

"And we don't want to miss that!" they sang together.

At the classroom door Ms Craft caught them in one of her famous death glares, "So nice of you to join us Miss Dell. Mr Tripp, I trust you have your speech prepared?'

"Yes Ms." Dario ducked his head and slipped into his front row seat.

"Yes Ms." Chelsea mimicked as she slid in behind him. "Don't think I've forgotten, at lunch you will tell me who she is or..."

"Or what Miss Dell? If you have so much to say, why don't you collect your paper and come to the front of the room. We would all be delighted to listen to your talk first." The teacher paused for dramatic effect, "You do have it prepared?"

"Ah, well you see Ms, my sister turned 21on the week end see and I sort of didn't get it finished."

"Well you can read what you have then!"

Dario snorted as Chelsea shuffled in her bag for the single sheet of paper she had managed to scribble her ideas on. Friday night was supposed to be a study session where Dario helped her with the stupid speech but it turned out to be a complete right off. After the first joint Dario got in a stupid mood and they started talking about the death again. She was obsessed with death, even more so now that Khai--

"Miss Dell, we haven't got all day."

"Sorry." Chelsea found the note pad and looked at the heading. She swore under her breath and Dario choked on his laughter. "What is this? She hissed.

His shoulders were rocking back and forth with barely contained delight, "It's your speech." He spluttered.

"MISS DELL!"

Chelsea kicked Dario in the shin and he yelped. "Yes Ms, I've found it."Chelsea strengthened her shoulders and walked to the front of the classroom. She would just have to read it in the most serious voice she could muster and hope for the best.

At the front of the room the rest of the students looked at her expectantly. For the most part the faces were friendly, excited looking even. They were hoping for a show: for Chelsea to embarrass herself with her ineptitude once again. At the back Chelsea caught a genuinely friendly eye. Faith Grace gave her a grin and nodded encouragingly. Ok, breath Chels, breath. It took a few seconds to steady her breathing and a nervous twitter rippled through the room in anticipation.

"All right, settle down. Now class, although Chelsea is clearly unprepared, remember she is doing you all a favour by going first and I expect you will give her the silence and time she deserves to get through her piece. This is an assessable item; the grades you receive today will go a long way toward determining your final grades next year. I expect you give this series of speeches the respect they deserve." Ms Craft turned to Chelsea, "Now Chelsea, I understand your topic for discussion was The Possibility of an Afterlife?"

"Yes Ms." Chelsea looked at her paper again and flushed. Dario snorted again. I'll kill him later she thought and then deliberately turned away. Although she could still see his shaking frame in her peripheral vision, it was blurred and much easier to ignore. Taking another deep breathe she launched herself into the speech.

"The Night I Died and Went to Heaven."

Dario couldn't contain himself and burst into fits of laughter. The class twittered with him but Chelsea ploughed on. After a couple of seconds her voice gained strength and she relaxed. The essay wasn't half bad and the class settled in and listened attentively, even Dario shut up and by the time she was finished he had to try hard to not look impressed.

The class broke out in applause and Ms Craft offered her possibly the only genuine smile she would ever offer. "Well done Chelsea, once again you have proved you are more than piggy tails and smiles."

"Thank you Ms." Elated Chelsea slunk low in her seat and silently high fived herself.

Dario twisted in his seat and raised his eyebrow, "What the?"

Chelsea grinned, "I told you looks can be deceiving!"

Ms Craft tapped his desk with her pen, "All right Dario. Let’s see what you have."

Dario gulped and stood up. Chelsea smirked, serves him right for being so smug about the love bite.

***

Read more Fiction Friday stories or Join in

How to play the name game.

[Fiction]Friday Challenge #201 April 1st 2011

It would seem that celebrities choose some interesting names for their offspring. Write a scene where a (fictional) famous person announces the name of their newest child along with justification or reasons why the name was chosen and their attempt to ‘normalise’ it.

How to play the name game.

I really don't like playing the name game. When I fell pregnant with my children the name game almost had me running for the hills. I'm serious. Seeing as i also hate to run, that was not a practical option so instead I actually considered the possibility of not naming the children. In hindsight I could have done just that: the nicknames-Thang 1 and Thang 2- suit them so perfectly I'm sure our friends and family would have come around eventually. As it turns out I didn't need to panic. You get given nine long, heavy uncomfortable and crampy months for a reason, and not all of those are used to brainstorm names apparently. Go figure!


So in the end our children came, they were named and we moved on. At the time we thought we had done a nice job considering. We came up with unique names, plain names, traditional names and family names. For the boy we settled on a traditional and a family name and the girl we settled on (what we thought was) a very unique name and also a family name. Fast forward five years, enter the school grounds and suddenly every little boy that runs by is called Thang 1 and every sweet little girl in pigtails is Thang 2!


So as I said, I don't like playing the name game. It doesn't matter how hard you try, someone else has used it before you, or someone more famous than you has used it and spelled it way cooler than you could ever have hoped to. What's worse, if you do manage to find a creative; inventive; unique and uber cool name, no sooner will the ink dry on the birth certificate than someone will have blogged about it and by the time your child arrives at the school gates, every other boy/girl within a two year age range will present with the exact same name or some lame derivative!


So this time we didn't try to come up with a cool, unique or "different" name. As I hide out in my super expensive and lush delivery suite in the so totally private hospital that even I don't know where I am, screaming bloody murder at my mega famous rock star husband, I am completely at peace with playing the name game. At the first scan, 8 months ago, when we discovered our third child was to be the next ultra gorgeous, supremely talented and all time most photographed famous child in the WORLD, we agreed.We just wont play.
So go on, I dare you. Name your child after mine.

The spectacularly talented and famous musician/actor/director/producer/model/designer's

 Jessmica and Hawko Thang

today announced the arrival of the third biological member of their ever increasing brood-

 Thang 3.

A diversion from the usual

Due to the nature of this weeks Fiction Friday I have not explored any of the characters from my current MS as originally planned. This is because none of my characters are mega famous rock stars who need to justify the naming of their latest child. I will get back to it next week however - or will I? Looks can be deceiving...

An Exercise in Character Exploration - Fiction Friday #200

Fiction Friday for me is a way to explore the characters in my head. These characters practice the art of insidious whispering. What these characters have to say is nearly always strange but sometimes wonderful. These characters usually end up the host of short stories or novels.

Much of last year my writing was dominated by the exploration of the character Jax from my second MS Jax@theinceptionofchaos. I have now finished plotting the first of the many adventures I am sure Jax has planned and I find my attention has turned back toward my first MS Elysium.

My plans over the next few months are to explore the characters from the tentatively named Elysium. This novel is a series of short stories linking many different characters. I am yet to decide which character is the main character.

The characters – Angel, Joslin, Sara, Chelsea, Faith, Khai, Wynn, Beatrice, Grant, Dan & Jules

My hopes are that Fiction Friday will help me to explore each of these characters in turn and discover just who’s story it is that I am trying to tell (or which character resonates most with my audience). Please feel free to comment, blatantly shout down or barrack for your favourite. Cheers.

Now I’ll stop rambling and get to it.

***

Fiction] Friday Challenge #200 for March 25th , 2011


For some extra fun each month, we are utilising ”Story Starter” die. Look at each face of the dice, ponder on its significance to a character, setting or plot you may have bubbling away.. now write – using these as your inspiration.
 Die - 1.Lightbulb
       - 2.Little harmless human with big scary shadow

ANGEL



 Jacqueline McKenzie to play Angel in the  movie.





“Who is Angel Grace? What does Angel Grace want? When--”

“Seriously? What is this, some sort of character profile?” Angel strained to see over the guy’s touch pad. “Where am I anyway? And why do you look so familiar?”

Angel decided to ignore the lopsided grin he gave her and tried to work out where she knew him from. It wasn’t recently, that much she could work out.

“You’re having trouble placing me?” He grinned even more, so annoying! “Should I give you a hint?”

Angel shook her head and looked around. Maybe she was dreaming. The wall to her left looked kind of blurry and the floor felt spongy beneath her feet. The last thing she could remember was climbing out of the car and the phone ringing then, bam – the light bulb in the sun appeared to go out and next thing she knew she found herself standing in the middle of this room.

Holy crap! Maybe she was dead! “Am I dead?”

“No, you are not dead.” His stupid smile stretched into a wide smirk. “You can’t be dead.”

“Uh, and why not?”

“Because you have to first be alive before you can be pronounced dead, and you my friend, are not a living kind of gal.”

“What does that mean: I’m not a living kind of girl? How would you know what sort of girl I am?”

The boy shrugged and checked his touch pad again. “Look, it says right here.” He turned the pad around so she could see the front. On the screen tiny writing scrawled by at a pace too fast to read and a row of fast moving pictures appeared to be photo’s taken from her private album. He tapped the screen and the tiny writing jerked to a stop, “See here? It says – Angel Grace, not a living kind of girl.”

A chill ran up Angel’s spine and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Her chest felt tight, kind of like after her mum died and she had the panic attack that had everyone rushing around trying to help but this time she didn’t panic. As crazy as it sounded, it all felt strangely familiar, like she had heard it all before.

"You look a little pale, do you want to sit down?” The guy waved his hand and the blurry walls melted away. Green grass curled up beneath her bare feet and the blue sky stretched out to the horizon. He offered Angel a seat at the small table and chairs which appeared miraculously in front of them. Angel sat with a thump.

“Whoa.” The guy stepped back, his eyes fixed on something behind her.

“What whoa?” Angel twisted to see what he was looking at and caught a glimpse of her shadow. It was huge and fierce. Angel blushed, “Oh that.”

“Oh that? Does THAT happen often?”

“Sometimes.”

“Huh.” With one eye on her shadow and one on her he typed something into his touch pad and then sat down beside her. “So you really don’t remember me huh?”

She shook her head, “Sorry.”

He laughed, “Don’t be sorry.” Offering his hand he said, “I’m Grant.”

Angel shook his hand. His palm was soft and warm and it felt really nice, like a...

No. Stop. Angel pulled her hand away quickly and he grinned again.

“Are you some sort of kidnapping weirdo kind of guy that is going to mess with my head and convince me to do your evil bidding?”

Grant’s shoulder’s shook with laughter, “My evil bidding?”

Angel flushed furiously and he laughed harder. “Look buddy, just tell me where the hell I am so I can work out how to get home.”

He stopped laughing and put on a mock serious face, “Well, you’re not in Hell that’s for sure and as for home, you’re already here.”

“What?”

This time his face was seriously serious, “This is Elysium, welcome home Angel.”

***

How Fiction Friday works. It’s easy to do.

• Check this page for this week’s theme or challenge. Prompts are published each month to give you plenty of notice
• Spend at least 5 minutes composing something original based on the theme or challenge. (and keep writing…)
• But, remember, no editing. This is to inspire creativity not stifle it.
• On Friday, simply post what you wrote to your own blog.
• If you utilise social networking, Tweet your story using our hashtag of #fictionfriday AND post it up onto Facebook.
• Then come back to Write Anything and leave the link in the comment section below.
• Consider recording it using AudioBoo and submitting it on Sunday for our Spoken Sunday Prompt
• You may also like to Tweet other peoples links from this site as they are posted using the hashtag #fictionfriday afterwards.
• To participate further, just go visit some of the other links left by other participants, read what they wrote, and leave a comment. Just be sure that your comment is constructive—this is, after all, a meme to give us all a little writing practice.
• You may also like to Tweet other peoples links from this site as they are posted – and our hashtag of #fictionfriday

Two Things Every Writer Needs

Yesterday

I posted about my

inability to write.

My first MS,

with whom I have spent the better part of three years in a dramatic love / hate relationship,

is currently languishing

in a bottom drawer

crying out for some much needed TLC.

You see

the last time we spent quality time together

it all ended in tears.

The break-up of all break-ups.

The MS haughtily took itself to a quiet corner to sulk

and I, ashamed as I am to admit it,

took solace in the world of another.

The new MS idea almost ended my first meaningful MS relationship.

Don't get me wrong,

I did try.

For 6 long torturous months

I tried.

I have dug deep,

 tried reconciliation,

counselling,

self help books,

 the works

but...

each time we sit down together

each time we think we have it all sorted,

the new MS sidles up to listen in.

The new MS is well meaning,

full of inspiration,

full of big ideas,

but the new MS is not helping.

Yesterday

I thought we had hit rock bottom,

I thought there was no way to pick up the pieces.

That is until I spoke up.

I stepped away from the MS's

and I went to my peeps.

The Two Things Every Writer Needs

1. Someone to tell you what you WANT to hear

2. Someone to tell you what you NEED to hear.

My bestie (and critique partner) took the brunt of it

(that's what happens when you drop by at wine o'clock).

She listened,

she asked appropriate questions,

she considered

and then she agreed.

I felt great.

I had secured my

No 1. Someone to tell you what you WANT to hear

Later, over another glass of wine and dinner

The Cat  -husband not animal - asked how my day was.

Now usually I regale The Cat with stories, funny incidences

 and the drama of spending the day with 

Thing 1 & Thing 2. 

Instead he found himself nodding uncertainly to

 my incensed ramblings

 about how the old MS and I had fallen out of love

 and the new MS that was flirting with me at every opportunity.

I detailed the tears,

the laughter,

the fights,

the jealousy

and finally I admitted

the guilt.

The Cat cleared his throat, folded his arms and sat back,

"So, you're giving up?"

My stomach dropped, "No!"

I shook my head vehemently, "No no no."

I tried to explain how suffocated I felt by the first MS,

how needy it had become,

how it was stifling my creativity.

The Cat nodded in understanding.

I sighed in relief.

The Cat hugged me close,

"It's OK to admit defeat. If it's too hard, then it's too hard"

I nodded gratefully...

Hang on...

 "No. That's not what this is. I'm not giving up because it's too hard!"

 Cat annoyingly raised one eyebrow.

 (How? how does he do that?).

"Are you sure?"

Am I sure. Am I SURE.

I snatched up my glass of wine and stomped away.

AM I SURE. Huh!

Dinner was eaten in silence.

Half way through Cat

commented on my choice of wine.

Three quarters done

and Cat complimented the dish.

As I finished Cat collected the plates and loaded the dishwasher.

Cat poured us another glass of wine.

The Cat is a lovely husband.

He knows me, hairy armpits and all.

He has my best interests at heart.

Maybe he has a point.

Am I sure?

No 2. Someone to tell you what you NEED to hear.

Today I am back on track.

MS no 1 has been given a new lease of life.

She has three months to get her act together.

MS no 2 has agreed to wait patiently in the side lines.

Her time will come.

May 30 - my 33rd birthday - MS no 1 TBC.

A deadline.

Accountability.

I owe it to myself and to my wonderful support network.

I am so grateful to have two people who know me so well.

What in this writerly world are you grateful for?

How do you move from one unpublished MS to the next?

Words On The Page.

That easy huh?

Today I did not write

Today I did not write

Today I did not write

My first MS has swallowed me whole.

The characters from my second MS

(the one living in my head and yet to be put into text)

 have hijacked my creativity.

I am torn.

Do I force my creativity into the first MS,

the one that is crying out for inspiration that doesn't come,

or do I go with the voices in my head

and write the second MS while passion and inspiration are hot.

Sounds like a no brainer right?

So why is it that I feel like I'm cheating myself by putting the first

MS aside before it even reaches a publishable state?

How do you move from one unpublished MS to the next?

Progress of a novice novelist

The journey of first time novelist is indeed an interesting one. Several months ago, Cat and I found ourselves discussing the mountain of projects I had accumulated over the last 12 months. His concern was that I, a woman who has not exercised with any great regularity since she was 15 years old, would not be able to scale the mountain without causing a landslide of epic proportions. I assured him that it wasn't as high as it appeared and I was already at the top.
Cat put his hands on his hips, cocked his head and quite firmly (in a sexy Tony Danza from 'Who's the boss' kind of way) asked me to come down right now!

Now don't get the wrong impression here, Cat is the most understanding and supportive husband a girl with plans could hope for, very rarely does he say no and more often than not he is the one to encourage my harebrained schemes- even the idea I had that involved packing Thing 1 & 2, ourselves and my mother into a camper van and touring New Zealand for two weeks in the middle of the coldest winter ever.As it turned out it was a great holiday and fun was had by all, nevertheless even I have to admit, this year I may have taken on one too many a project.

It started out innocently enough, really. After 17 years I was only 8 units away from completing my degree and I thought to myself  Eight units is only one full-time year of study. I could be finished uni by the time Thing 1 starts school! Over Christmas further rationalising occurred and a serious conversation with mother secured a 2 months visit in the new year. My little mind started ticking over, I could finish the 3rd draft of 'Elysium' while mother spent quality time with the Chillin's all through February/March. Come first term I would be free of my WIP that had dominated most of my head space for the past two years (slowing the progress of the degree somewhat dramatically) and ready to sink my teeth in to full-time study.
Further more, Thing 1 was starting two days in kindy, which I decided would give me some extra time to study.

So far so good, come 30th March, the 3rd & 4th drafts of Elysium were complete and I was able to put it aside for a planned 6 months to mature before tackling the final rewrite. In the mean time I had committed to hosting a Steiner based playgroup in our home one morning a week. I also had agreed to be part of a New School Initiative to start a Steiner School in our region and further I started another book and a second blog. But it was all fine, really I was on top of it.

So although suddenly my days were not as free as I had imagined I happily ticked the months of the calender and managed to keep my head above water. Come the middle of the year I was starting to get antsy and a little bored with how well I was managing it all so I decided to add another few feet to the already extremely high mountain, I committed myself to a Collaborative Writing Project and agreed to pen another book.

Then quite suddenly a friend came to me and very gently asked if I was doing OK? At first I looked at her strangely, smiled through my shock and said 'Yes of course' and promptly started putting the clean laundry in the refrigerator.

I closed the fridge door and paused. My stomach flipped and I found it hard to breath. I rolled my neck to release some tension. It was really sore and tight. I should see a physio I thought. I turned back to my friend and smiled, 'Do you know a good physio?' I asked. She said yes, found me the number and we resumed drinking our wine. Later that night I considered what she had said and dismissed it. The next day after I snapped at Thing 1 unreasonably I dismissed that too. A week later when I sat on the closed toilet seat and wept because I was too tired to have a shower I thought about the comment again. Still I dismissed it.

It was only after Cat  found me perched atop my mountain hissing like a wild animal and firmly asked me to climb down that I actually gave weight to the situation. Okay, I admit it, I think I am super woman.

Yep, that's right, I was raised in an era where I was told I could do it all and I believed it. Delusional for sure but even now, after spending months going to bed at 8pm and being unable to drag myself out of bed in the mornings in any kind of good humor, I still struggle to admit that maybe I don't have to do it all. The trouble is, there is so much that I want to do, so much that I have convinced myself I must do, I find it hard to separate the want from the must.

fast forward a month or two and here we are. I have agreed with Cat that I will focus solely on completing the degree and polishing ' Elysium' to the stage where I can happily start sending it out to agents. This is a good strong sensible plan and it is plans like these that make Cat and I perfect for one another. He allows me to go off on a wild ride of fun and crazy scheming and I allow him to reign me in when I get out of control.

Thus far I haven't found it hard to let go of the obsessive cleaning, that was an easy one. After having a meeting with local councillors regarding the Steiner School I even happily relented on the hardcore campaigning and I have agreed to relinquish our beloved playgroup after this last term of schooling. But...

I have to admit, the extra curricular writing is continuing to grow, much like mushrooms in a dark damp corner. Now the fungus has taken hold, it is proving hard to eradicate and truth be told, I am not trying very hard. There has been no industrial strength fertiliser, no shovels and compost heaps, and certainly no hand weeding will be taking place any time soon. The writing has a mind of it's own and it has planted it's roots firmly in my life and I am happy and comfortable with this development. Thus I have taken the writing underground. It is all very hush hush at the moment and Cat is confident that I am once again safe at the bottom of my perilous mountain. And I am positive Cat will be more than understanding of this little underground activity when I secure my first deal and all is revealed.

So that is where I find myself. I have 2 more units of uni to complete over the Christmas semester, I have no less than four new WIP and I am standing at the bottom of my mountain where it seems I did manage to climb down one step at a time without causing a major landslide. However I must give credit where credit is due, the sides were safely secured with a strong sturdy wire frame provided by my own personal super supportive construction company.

Tell me, do you ever feel like the need to write is almost organic?

getting started - a novel in the making

from first draft manuscript to published novel , a novice novelist’s journey from go to woe, or woohoo-frikin-hoo! (depends on the outcome really)

well actually it is now the fifth draft manuscript, i actually wrote the first four manuscripts while completing my literature degree but now that the degree is almost at an end, i am free to go back over all those texts i’ve merely skimmed, and actually partake in some of the writing exercises

and so, because i can, i will.

without further ado, join Kate Grenville (in text below, not in flesh) and I on our journey

the writers book – a workbook for fiction writers

Chapter 1

getting started

Grenville provides all kinds of exercises and commentary on how to get off to a great start and the first exercise she details is the opening line.

how to hook the reader. each and every time i start a new draft for elysium i play with the opening line. i am yet to reach that place of happiness. here are all six different opening lines from all five drafts of elysium. the first is from draft five, i wrote it yesterday.

‘At first glance Angel Grace thought this life would be routine, much the same as the one before, she soon realised, nothing much about life could be considered routine.’ Elysium, draft five, copyright2010

‘Angel Grace has lived and died many times. At first glance she had thought this life was routine, much the same as the one before, she soon realised nothing about returning to earth could be considered routine’ Elysium, draft five copyright 2010

‘The days of the dying are long. From well before dawn till well after dusk they stretch, snapping back only once the darkness of sleep has fallen.’ Elysium, draft four copyright 2010
‘Angel lived in a perpetual bubble of waiting, waiting for the next terrible thing to happen. Which was stupid really, all the terrible things she could possibly imagine had already happened.’ Elysium, draft three copyright 2010

‘Mid stride Chelsea Dell’s mobile phone rang interrupting her rhythm, the vibrating in her pocket a distraction she didn't need’ Elysium, draft two copyright 2010
‘The gates opened on a whisper of wind, beyond which was a brilliant sunlit day.’ Elysium, draft one copyright 2010

looking back over the six it is hard to decide which is better, if i have improved at all. what each revision has done is allowed a deeper study of each character, how they are introduced into the story and what their role in may be. each revision has also helped decide where the story begins and who should tell the tale. the passages the follow each of these opening sentences have all survived the fifth draft.

the second exercise Grenville suggests is improvisation, such as free writing for 60 seconds, self portraits within the moment, starter lines such as ‘I remember’ and ‘Yesterday I’ and dream recall(Grenville, p.13). the exercise i will tackle is ‘describe a character’

Joslin Gee is 33 years old and she is the middle child in a family of three girls. Sara is older, tall and beautiful, kind and caring. Chelsea is younger, short and cute, snappy and quick tempered. Like most middle children, Joslin is neither here nor there. She is not tall or beautiful, she is not short or cute, her manner is mild and light. Joslin has a close bond with her father, Gabrielle Dell, they love to garden, in fact they run a landscaping business together. The business is well known in the small suburban circles which they live and work. Mostly upper middle class, mostly professional families much like Joslin’s family. Crest Haven is that sort of city, suburban and close knit, everybody knows everybody, as long as you come from the same side. The city is divided into north and south, if you are a northerner you mix with other northerners, if you are a southerner you stay down south. The city circle is as good a place to meet as any and it is here the two sides co-exist. Joslin avoids the city, but that is not to say she does not mix, Joslin and her husband Dan live in the east, as do her parents and her sisters. Joslin has a little old fixer upper that Dan dreams of renovating; the house is nestled amongst the hills, in a cool and quiet valley, and they live a cool and quiet life.

Joslin Gee is a central character from elysium. i have high hopes for her development as an  'every woman’. Grenville provides many more exercises; i will not detail them all although i do invite you to share one you may have attempted.

getting started is a point in the novel that is often the hardest, this point in the novel writing process however was not hard for me. i have been an avid writer and reader since childhood, i have countless journal full of teenage angst to prove it, and i had always had it in mind to write a novel or two (or twenty as the case may be).

when elysium at last leapt from my day dreaming mind and onto the page it was unfortunately due to tragic circumstance rather than a great motivation to write. i was awoken early one morning to a phone call from my sister telling me that my three year old niece, Breezy, would not wake up. this was November 2005. from that very moment our lives were turned inside out with grief, blame, guilt, love, and the whole gamut of human emotion. unbeknownst to me at the time, this was my ‘getting started’.

to begin at the beginning, as Grenville says ‘is just about the hardest place to start’ (p.2) but as it turns out for me, the start was the easiest, it happened quite naturally with the eulogy i wrote for Breezy.

the months following  slipped by in the haze of grieving, i started a new journal and thought endlessly about Breezy but i did not write much. then in february 2006 my brother in-law died, aged 38 years, of an aneurism, while at work. one minute he was smiling, laughing and chatting, the next he was still and silent, never to say goodbye .

this new blow to our family finally opened the floodgates, i sat down at the computer and started writing, i paid no attention to what i was writing, i went with my gut and the words on the page took on a life of their own. i did not resurface for close to three months. in june 2006 i had draft one complete. today it is july 2010 and draft five is awaiting.

the beginning was not the hard part,

knowing when to stop is proving to be much trickier.

Today I sat behind trusty ol' Burgundy for two hours, with the intention of studying and somehow, I achieved zilch, zip, zero.

In my defense, I was working..just not on the things I was supposed to be working on.

As you may already know, I set myself the deadline of March this year to have 'Elysium' draft four finished and rested for 6-12months. I achieved this, much to my relief as on March 1st I commenced full time study, and I needed the head space to concentrate on Uni rather than Elysium.

Now the first unit's I ebarked on in this final year of my Literature degree were Narrative Fiction and English 210. As luck would have it, these two unit's are wonderfully inspirational for a would be writer and therefore made the transition from full time writing to full time study an easy one.

What they did not do however, was grant me the free head space away from 'Elysium' that I so desired. Instead, every note I made, every novel I read,and every assignment I submitted was tainted. Tainted with thoughts of how to progress with 'Elysium'draft 5!!!

This you would think is a good thing, and indeed it was, but now I find myself dying to start on draft 5, but  alas I cannot, as the next semester has already started. The two unit's I am studying do not lend themselves so well to creative writing. Public relations and Styles and Genre's Journalism will indeed be interesting and of much use to me, however 'Elysium' has no place in the course of study.

As you can imagine this has left me in a bind, but I have come up with a solution.

During the course of my love affair with literature, I have purchased many a writing book to inspire and motivate. Many years before I had the freedom to embark on Uni I purchased Kate Grenville's 'The Writing Book' and although I flipped through it and kept it on my bedside table, sadly I never managed to work through it's wonderful pages.

Now last semester I found to my delight that Grenville's book was on our reading list, but sadly once again, I did not get a chance to adequately work through the entire range of motivating exercises Grenville's book details.

The solution to my conundrum then, of not being able to start on 'Elysium' draft 5, but being full of motivation to write, is to commit one afternoon a week to a chapter per month of Grenville's book. This I am hoping will keep the light that I accessed last semester alive, it will see me through this bleak time of living outside of 'Elysium' and hopefully inspire as many noted as my previous semester's work.

If you are interested in joining me, get a copy of the book, and check the blog monthly. I will post the chapter I plan to work on at the beginning of the month, invite a discussion about it during the month and post my findings at the end.


And now, I must be off, the girls are awake and the boy needs to be collected from kindy.

Happy reading...

Literary Competition

'Tonight as I strolled along the foreshore to the Wall, the sky  was ablaze with stars. Below the living world slept peacefully. Curled up next to Dan, only Faith rested fitfully. It was cold, spring was still new. The flowers may have blossomed but the chill night air remained. Her belly was swollen, fit to bursting, 'Dan.' she whispered. He stirred then rolled over, snoring, 'Dan, the baby is coming!'

Dan was awake immediately and together they prepared to leave for the hospital, totally and utterly unaware of the unrest here in Elysium.' (Excerpt, 1st draft 'Elysium - the winding path')

Why oh why are opening scenes so hard to get right the first time? I have pictured this opening line in my head for months now, I have played around with the idea on many sleepless night and taunted and teased my self incessantly about putting pen to paper on the second installment of Elysium. Finally, feeling confident enough to sit in front of trusty old Burgundy, I thought I had the scene down pat, nothing could stop the eloquent flow of words...

I was wrong.

Let's back track a little and I'll explain myself. Now if you've read the previous 15 posts, you will know I am on the epic journey of a novice novelist, from first draft to published. Currently I am awaiting the return of the fourth draft of 'Elysium - the road home', from numerous friends and colleagues who are oh so kind in offering their valued advice before I attempt the fifth -and hopefully final before professional edit - draft.

I promised myself I would shelve 'Elysium' for at least six months before committing to the fifth draft. Having worked on it solidly (between uni study and child rearing) for almost 3 years now, both I and 'it' where in need of some space. However, now 3 months down the track, as you may imagine, I am getting a little anxious. I miss 'Elysium', I miss spending time with Angel and Joslin, Chelsea and Sara, Khai, Wynn and the rest of my lovely world. I miss strolling through Elysium Fields, smelling the freshly mowed lawn and spring blossoms. I miss Elysium Common and Central, the Archives and the Wall. I yearn to swim in the river and climb the mountains and sip tea at the table with Nan and Pop.

So I bravely ventured into the unknown world of a sequel. Don't get me wrong, I have always though there was more to Elysium than one novel, however I always imagined I would have the first novel finished, published and loved  by all, with the second and third already commissioned, before I made a start on the next instalment. 

Once again, I was wrong.

Can you see a pattern here? Yes, I do often have to reconsider my preconceived notions of what the future may bring, as can be seen. I am now fully committed to the formulation of a story and mapping out a plot. As can be seen by the example above, I have the opening lines alive inside my mind. The story is already unfolding, as we speak new characters are dying and being reborn. Joslin is about to return home, but wait...

What is the unrest I speak of, what is happening in Elysium that my words struggle to convey?

That, my dear friends, is for now locked inside my overactive imagination, the story still belongs to monkey mind. Monkey  Mind is the term I give my ever swirling, overflowing, erratic imagination when it has a great idea but cannot yet piece all the little bits together. The monkeys take hold of a thought and swing from their tails, thought to thought, tree top to tree top, maddeningly cackling to themselves while I try desperately to catch up.

And on that note, I will leave you all maddeningly trying to catch up with my ramblings. I am off to once again tackle the opening scene, I just have to project it up onto the cinema screen of my mind and the words will come...they will...I'm sure of it...almost positive...