Targets

Way behind on The Devil You Know. There. I said it. Now I've shown myself up as a slacker on my blog, I'll have to do something to remedy this fact.

To get on track for NaNo I need to do another 2,697 words this evening. Piece of cake. Well capable of that.

However!

To get back on track with my personal aim of 75k this month, in the next five and a half hours, I need to write...

*does quick calculation*

...14,363.

Hmm. Might have a problem there.

Okay, I'll say it now. By this time next week, or rather by midnight on Saturday 21st November over Sunday 22nd, I'll have caught up with myself. And that means this coming week I need to write...

31,863 words.

Yes. In a week.

I know, I'm crazy. But that's my target.

And I'm going to use my next project as bait. The quicker I finish TDYK, the quicker I can move on to my supersekrit following project, the details of which are only known to Her Most Satanic Majesty, the Crown Princess of Darkness, the Reet Dutty Bastige Currently Resident in Japanistansylvania, Lori.

It's a departure from what I'm used to but I'm keen to get started. Details no doubt will follow but for now, it's back to Daniel and his eye-meltingly disgusting activities. TDYK, I am all yours...

There's something in the air...

A number of writers I know who shall remain nameless (for reasons of privacy and jinx-avoidance) have met with some well-deserved success lately when it comes to representation, publication and the distinct, realistic possibilities thereof, with menny munniez accompanying.

Which has me in two minds.

One, I can be really pleased for people I like personally and respect professionally and wish them all the best, reasoning, "There's something in the air. We're all advancing and improving at a rate of knots. My time will come."

Two, I could implode with insane, butthurt levels of jealousy and stick pins in little wax dolls while cursing every word they've ever written.

I think I'll go for 'one'. It's more positive. Besides, I happen to like every word they've ever written.

Seriously, though - 'one' is the only possible option. Yes, I'm a writer but I'm also a reader and the more well-written, intriguing books there are in shops, the better it is for every bookworm out there. And as I'm acquainted with said successful writers, I prefer to pick their brains rather than stick pins in their effigies. I'll reap the benefits of my acquaintance with them, learn from them and soon blaze my own trail.

More to the point, I love, love, love associating with other writers - online and in real life. We have a love of language in common (or should do, otherwise they're not writers I'd want to be friends with) and the mutual support system such friendship provides means we can share in the joy of each other's successes.

Too, we commiserate in the misery following a rejection but not for too long. Dedicating our writing lives to 'making it' means there's only so much room for wangst. Having an attack of teh sadz after a knockback should only be a temporary state of affairs in my view - think of it as an opportunity to prove how much you want this.

And...if you have a circle of friends, all dedicated to the same purpose and you see each one creeping forward, making slow progress which then speeds up, and the positivity spreads to others in the collective...

...it kinda makes you wonder if this is fate trying to tell you something.

Your reward is coming.

Migraines = teh wurk of teh debil

Aaaaand that's another few days lost to the joys of being a migraine sufferer. I'm still way ahead on The Devil You Know, which is the main thing. Writing comes first - write through the pain! Or something. Not quite up to my target of 2,500 a day, but I'll catch up. Somehow. Total currently stands at 15,392. Excel is telling me this one will be 90k but I think not, evil MS Excel.

Never fear. I shall struggle on through the back pain. (Srsly. Puking = dehydration = your kidneys pack up = sore back for a few days).

Feel sorry for me yet? Ah, don't. My NaNo book kicks meaty round assbuttocks, and once I've had some proper sleep, not the pseudo-rest granted by a sparkling cocktail of the strongest drugs the local pharmacies can provide, I shall get right back into the swing of things instead of forcing out a thousand or so a day.

When you're used to knocking out 4-5k without thinking, that's bad.

Here is a James. Purely (Purefoyly?) for medicinal purposes only, you understand...

The sniff test

There's something I don't so much plan to do, but know I will because it's...well, it's writerly instinct.

What is it?

The first time I hold a printed copy of my first published novel in my hands (each one, actually; I can't imagine that feeling ever getting old), I will flick the pages with the book held to my face, and sniff.

Just to breathe in that 'new paper and ink' smell. Heck, I do that with books I buy. But can you imagine that 'new paper and ink and oh my god I made this!' feeling?

'Cause Lori doesn't have to any more.

Spine:

Back:

Last but not least, Darren and Eric Knight in all their shiny, shiny glory:

BUY IT HYUH.
NAO!

Why I love this job

I speak to Lori for hours every day (well, most days) over MSN and every so often we'll take a break from drooling over hot actors and singers to discuss something serious.

This evening I decided to write chapter 22 of what is tentatively entitled The Devil You Know (subject to change at my whim) and yes, I know Lori's book The Distance Between Us previously had that title, but it doesn't any more, so TDYK is fair game and it fits my project, so nyar. Anyway, I said to her, "I fucking love this job."

A random comment, you might think, but we've said it to each other so often it's faded to a sentence barely worthy of acknowledgement, garnering a grunt in reply, or its MSN equivalent of "Me too," and that's it.

There's always a reason for saying it though. A pleasing turn of phrase, a character making a funny comment that makes one wonder, "Where did that come from?" A zinger of a metaphor, a thump-in-the-chest scene of poignancy.

This time, though, it was a sudden rush of affection for my three-days-old characters. (Okay, four days; it's after midnight but let's not quibble). Two guys dancing around each other, trying to have a conversation, somehow managing to talk about anything but what's on their minds.

For whatever reason I felt moved to articulate my love of this job with something more than my usual, blunt "I fucking love this job!" and here's how I did it:

I'm on a power trip. I just love making people up and playing God. Except they often have different ideas, but meh. The fun part isn't in making them do whatever I want them to, it's how I choose to describe what they do.

When characters misbehave, I can forgive them - it makes them real. More human. And sometimes you feel like you're really in tune with something bigger than yourself, because you nail it, read what you've written and think - even while acknowledging you'll edit it at a later date - "This is the work I was born to do."

And then you go back to drooling over hot actors and singers.