the last day/July review

So today's work has been completed. Today I edited three projects, bits of them. Two chapters of The Road Home in the early morning, then reading through The Farm At Sam and Jenny's for the bulk of the day. Then three chapters of The War On Emily Dickinson late this afternoon. Then I stopped, and started dinner.

Which was sausages with grilled onions, corn on the cob and veg with dip. Jay was home, so K1 came over with her boyfriend M. Now it's nearly half seven, and they are making their nighttime plans. I think they're going to a party, the girls to spend the night at K1's grandmother's abode.

But those are just details of life, the ending of this year that this time last summer held that girl in our house full time. Now she's just visiting for a few more days, before she heads back to her dwelling, getting ready for college.

And me? I'm getting ready to query The War On Emily Dickinson, the first novel written in this past year of writing dangerously. I think it's a good manuscript, more than good. Pretty darn good, but I'm not objective. Pretty darn biased, but then, really, what do I know?

I know how to write, a task this past year pummeled into my head, month after month, novel after novel. I wrote and wrote, what this year was all about. A fiscal year, August 2009-July 2010, twelve months of buckling down, butt in chair, let's be serious (and have fun too) about this whole writing gig.

A year later, I'd like to say I know what I'm doing, at least for me. I know my voice. I know what POV I prefer (Third, but I've written in first as well.). I know how to write shorter books, longer books. I know that I can write quickly, that I shouldn't take more than two days off when writing.

I know that writing isn't just some hobby, but a way to enjoy my freedom, a manner in which to communicate with my God.

It's far more than I had dreamed three hundred sixty five days ago...

It was dangerous at times, taking three days off consecutively for instance. A big no-no for me. Two is the max I can give, three leaving me sluggish, not right.

It's dangerous at times, wringing from myself what I think is possible, then stretching a little bit more. Three times last year I wrote two novels in a month; August, September, November. It's possible, but man, a lot of butt in chair!

It's dangerous at times, when finding something so close to home in the words, the stories. A few last year were based on very personal situations, tweaked enough to NOT be my life, but in small, or large ways, it was my life. Moments I hope never to relive, except maybe in fiction.

It's dangerous at times, wondering why? Why am I doing this, why so many words? Why can't I do something else, why why why?

Why might have been the most dangerous query all year. Doubting this calling, questioning a power so much greater than me. Curious, so dang curious when all I should have been doing was not giving a hang, only writing.

And on most of the days, that's what I did. I didn't ask why very often, but imagine I'll do it still, on occasion, not as rare as I'd like. So hard to avoid that word, but really, since I know this isn't about me, to ask why is like trying to explain things to a three-year-old. They love to ask why.

(why why why...)

Tomorrow is the first of August of a new fiscal year. Also the first day of a month dedicated to querying, to asking not why but why not? Why not take this manuscript under your wing, into your hand, through the internet lines that easily accept and filter. But that's tomorrow. Today, the last day of this fiscal year, I'm wrapping up days and days of sitting in a chair, using this very keyboard, although I do have a new chair. I have a new chair, but the same computer, the same view out of my window, new plants, but it's the same house, same husband, even our youngest is still around, albeit for a limited time. So much else has changed, too many to list. The novels keep coming, however, that remains. What happens to them is unknown, but something. Something will come of all this, a year of writing to sharpen and polish, a year to learn and grow. A year that taught me to trust, that what is meant to be will certainly arrive. A year to grab hold of this occupation, this craft, this way to express more than I could plot, letting the words fall from my hands, my head, my heart. If nothing else, this is from my heart, one beating with the strength not of my own making.

All of this, every single bit comes from one stronger, more knowledgeable, more than I could ever be. All I'm doing is translating the essence as best as I can.

Translating the essence; what it's really all about. That is what I've learned, sometimes dangerously. But never deadly, always beautiful.

Always the most beautiful thing in the world, once everything else has been left behind. Now I'm ready for the next step. And here I go!

Oh, btw... This month I wrote The Colours of Planes, 101,876 words total. And the complete word count for the year?

1,177,190 words between thirteen novels. Never let anyone tell you something is impossible. If it's meant to be, no one and nothing will prove an obstacle!

funny how these things work

So I spent the last week in Oregon, supporting my sister who has preemie twins. It was a momentary, gifted look at the world of neonatal medicine, and yes, I have a story idea brewing. But that wasn't the main point of this entry.

Nor is it about those gorgeous, striking twins, who set themselves into my heart forever, alongside their mother with whom I reconnected. But that trio floats in my head, so beautiful, wonderful, lively and lovely.

Really, this post is about the other love of my life, not my hubby to whom I am bound even more than I thought before I left. Laying beside him last night in bed that wasn't an air mattress on the floor was more perfect than I dreamed.

No, this post isn't about any of those blessed folk. It's about the one who turns my wheels, who gives me breath. It's about the one for whom I write, do most of the rest of the things I meander about, the one who matters most.

A Savior, a Holy Spirit, a God in three parts. The reason for my being, why I write. How I write is more to the point, and that I write at all is His gift, his purpose. I've known that, accepting and affording this gift to Him. But what I didn't know, didn't learn until driving home, nearly to the place where I'm most familiar, what I only learned yesterday afternoon along a freeway was that in writing, I'm praying, I'm connecting, I'm communing. That part I never really knew.

I knew that being away from my husband was difficult, but not deathly. Being out of my element was invigorating in many ways, immersed into another world with different people I love, learning how little lives are just as meaningful as big existences. I felt somewhat apart from my routine, of course that was unavoidable, but I was so busy, so taken over by all I saw, felt, smelled, sensed, that it was okay. Running on fumes of a different sort that weren't debilitating, but distracting. But only long enough to teach me what really needed to be learned.

What I needed to know was that all this writing, for all its creative musing, messages and deeper meaning underscored, all this writing is really a way for me to hear a quiet, small voice. And to give back what garbled response I can manage.

But I had to get away, unplug. Not from the web, oh no, I was plenty involved. I had to wrench myself from the writing to see just what it means, more than all the story lines I could ever come up with on my own.

And you know, it's not really about me at all. I've known that for a long time, but what I didn't know was how it's reciprocal, give and take. I thought it was all being handed a gift, and it is, but it's also about offering what I can, what I translate.



Translating the essence, oh goodness!! In translating the essence, what I receive, then immediately return, is better than spun gold, better than great sex, better than adorable twin baby girls breathing on their own. It's me breathing through words that arrive without fancy heralds, but arrive on time, time after time, and the words I let slip through tangled fingers are my way of saying thank you. Thank you and I love you too.

time away

Well, I'm leaving tomorrow. Not on a jet plane, only in my car. Heading north, a long road trip, to help my sis with her new babies!

The last novel for this fiscal year of writing is done, today, The Colours Of Planes. It's my first attempt at first person all through, and I'll be popping it on my iPod, maybe reading it up there. I'll need something to do, as mostly I'm going as chauffeur and support. Those babies won't be leaving hospital anytime soon.

But they are doing well, that's the main thing! And I'm looking forward to a change of pace, if not saddened by time away from the husband. But time away from the routine will be interesting. Then when I return, this year will be nearly over, moments over which to ruminate.

In the meantime, I gotta pack!

so much writing

So today... I wrote four chapters on the WIP, The Colours Of Planes. I've been getting two chapters done, two days with three. Today was a big haul. Tomorrow maybe the same.

I'm heading to assist my youngest sibling with her newfound life, that of a mum of twins three months early, not to mention her two and a half year old!

I'll be heading out Monday, not sure at this point for how long, at least a week I bet, maybe more. If nothing else, I didn't want this book hanging over my head, and if I can get some solid work done Saturday and Sunday, all should be well.

I haven't written that much in a white and by the end, I felt it. Like not much left to wring out!

But it was good, part of the danger. What's so funny is that up there, I'll have two books over which to do an initial read-through, making notes. Plenty to plot for August's novel, and plenty over which to ponder with the upcoming querying I want to do. So while there won't be any writing, there will be lots of the rest of it.

A strange way to end this year, but life is always full of unknowns!! Keeps me on my toes, if nothing else. And new babies to admire are always a gift!

June review

June was...

A busy, busy month! Full of changes, parties, ceremonies, a really miserable cold, and very little tennis. No Wimbledon for me until July; instead it was all about the words.

I wrote a novel, Where Is Fielder Walsh?, edited Detours, worked on editing The War On Emily Dickinson. I read through Hand in Hand, plotted The Colours Of Planes and Almost Flying Blind. I saw my youngest child graduate high school, threw an after grad bash (which was also a housewarming party). Spent time with family, but not enough, contemplated that youngest child's upcoming move, and wrote. And edited. And read. And felt like burnt toast by the end.

One more month of this year, of which has started off very quietly, thank goodness! I'll review that on the last day of July, but for now...

June, oh June! What didn't I do in June! I feel like it did it all, except for anything much to do with querying, except for reading a great article from Lisa, who offered me a tidbit of how to approach a synopsis for The War On Emily Dickinson.

Otherwise, it was just work, work, work. Maybe blotting out what was coming, what has already came. My youngest child has moved out, and that seems huge. As large as all that happened last month.

Dangerous is writing, sometimes living too. You just never know....

June total words written- 84,607

one more done

I finished Where Is Fielder Walsh? today, just in time as tomorrow my youngest daughter's last day at home. We're rented a truck, will pick it up in the morning, then pack it full of all her possessions. Plus a few extras. Then on Saturday, we drive her away.

A bittersweet moment, for this happens, it just does. I'm glad to be done with work for a few days, having completed a HUGE edit of Detours this morning too, then writing the last chapter for this latest novel, the twelfth in this year of writing dangerously. Now I can breathe out work, breathe in something else.

Something new, an empty nest! Such a bizarre concept, but it happens, it really does. Once that girl is gone, I don't know what life will be like. Other than the writing, of course...

I have querying to do, but that falls outside this year, but I need to do some research this month, maybe a little query writing and synopsis authoring and such so I'll be all READY to query in August. But by then, this blog will be done.

This blog is about writing, about getting that down pat. I think maybe I'm close. We will see...

small meltdown

Another reason this is somewhat dangerous; the end is near, and I'm burning the candle at both ends.

A great little saying, but I'm starting to feel it, with four projects on the stove, all burners tapped. I'm doing a major edit on Detours, writing Where Is Fielder Walsh?, reading through The War On Emily Dickinson, and plotting The Colours of Planes.

Today I did two of the four, yesterday a bit on each. Yesterday when I went to bed I felt out of sorts, tired and emotionally drained. Tonight I'm just tired, which is better than also being emotionally drained.

It's a funny situation, because I know I'm doing just what I'm supposed to be doing, only a case of asking how high when being told to jump. Really, it's about trust. What can be accomplished, how far I will allow myself to go; pretty far, but at times I also feel wrung out, like why? Why do I do this, for what, for whom? Not for self, which sucks at times, because everyone would like a little pat on the back, but really, this is not about me.

Which qualifies everything. If this isn't about me, and I'm willing to give it my all, trust until the cows come home then I have to accept being wrung, like a rag, aware it might hurt, it might not feel so great, but neither will it kill me.

It really won't.

It might make me a wee bit crusty, but really it shouldn't. I need to remember this, that no matter how tired or useless I feel, what needs to happen will, what needs to be written or edited or plotted or looked over WILL be all those things.

And I don't need to ask why or what for. All I need to do is JUMP!