First page.

I've only once before posted a piece of my writing, my Nano project first page, but I kinda feel like sharing today. Here's the first page of my WIP, a rewrite of WHERE CURRENTS PULL. I hope I'm not embarrassing myself too much.


Chapter One

Monday mornings are like first impressions. They're your one opportunity to set a positive tone for the upcoming week, and mine was already not boding well. I woke up on time and was dressed, makeup on, hair done and ready to go when the annoying rumbling of my stomach sounded. Generally, I bypass breakfast, opting for several cups of coffee at work or, if I have the time, a latte. But Gretchen and I went out for burritos around nine last night to soak up our afternoon drinking, and late dinners always mean hungry mornings. Better than a hangover, but equally time-consuming.
No amount of coffee would satisfy my begging stomach and I knew better than to ignore it. I went to the kitchen and got out a bowl from the dishwasher, a box of cereal from the cabinet, and the milk from the fridge. I said a brief prayer of thanks that the milk hadn't turned, assembled my breakfast, and opened the silverware drawer.
I have an assortment of flatware: the ornately scrolled and slightly tarnished silver-plate I picked up at an estate sale, the modern, sleek Crate & Barrel set from my parents when I moved into my first apartment, the bronze-colored set that looked like bamboo I purchased just last week, the tiny and simple silver that I’d been willed from my grandparents. There are others, odds and ends I've accumulated over the years. I am the only person I know who has the large drawer completely filled with forks, knives and spoons- not a serving piece or kitchen tool in the mix. I even crafted my own holder by cutting two plastic utensil organizers and hot gluing them together to fit the entire drawer.
There's a lot to choose from. And that's the problem. I've always thought that the course of my life could change in an instant, that my path is determined, not just by the big decisions I make, but by each small one as well. The spoon I chose for my cereal this morning could be the perfect spoon, the perfect choice that would send me towards great things. The wrong spoon could lead me to disaster, the fateful choice that caused the cosmos to shift and propelled me to death in a car wreck or smiling at a hot boy with lipstick on my teeth. My future- the fate of the world- hung on the balance of silverware.
I had to choose right.
I looked at the spoons and felt pulled toward two. I picked them out of the drawer. One was my inherited silver, the one spoon with a minute notch in it that caught on the right side of my inner cheek every time I pulled it from my mouth. The other spoon was my Crate & Barrel. It was smooth, still shiny, and heavy in my hand. It never cut my mouth, so it should have been my choice, but decisions aren't that easy.
The muscles around my back and chest tensed as I weighed my two options. There must have been a reason I picked up the sadistic spoon. Maybe I deserved a cut-filled mouth. Maybe it was a karmic retribution for drinking on a Sunday. Or maybe my grandparents were trying to communicate with me from the beyond via this spoon. Letting me know that they're still watching out for me and sending their love.
Or maybe not.
I put the cutter back in the drawer, shook my head at myself for being so ridiculous, and allowed relief to wash over me. Decision made. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. My muscles relaxed and the flush on my cheeks cooled. A sure sign that I'd chosen wisely. I could nearly hear the ancient knight from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade grant me approval. Perfect spoon in hand, I picked up my cereal bowl. It was filled with a brownish mush that, at one point, I was certain had been cereal. My mouth twitched, and I poured the mess into the sink, fixed myself another, much smaller bowl because I was already late for work, and ate with fury.

Listening to: Band Of Horses "Infinite Arms"

xo. kb.

Giving yourself permission.

I haven't written in a while. I mean, really haven't written. Not here, not anywhere. Okay, so there have been some tweets, maybe a facebook status update now and again, but that's it. I wouldn't say I've had writer's block specifically. It's not that I couldn't think of what to write, or how to express what was on my mind. I would instead say that I haven't wanted to write at all. Not the slightest desire. So I didn't write.

I understand that I'm going completely against my "Eat Your Vegetables" post, where I pontificated on why you work, even when you don't want to, because it's good for you. I guess I should amend that entire post. I won't, because it would require work and because it seemed like a good idea at the time and I like to be true to the me who felt that way when she wrote it, but I should.

Here's what I'll say instead. Sometimes I get freaking bored with running the same run every day. I used to think that I had to be consistent with my workout in order to build a good habit and to see results. So I was consistent for a long time, and I grew to HATE my workout. Like dreaded it all the time. Which was stupid, really, because that's the best way to set yourself up for failure. For quitting. And one day I planned to blow off my workout entirely, and would have if it weren't for that little voice inside me (whom I've named Guilt and picture in a frilly pink dress with curly hair and a sweet voice that is as unrelenting as my daughter when she wants ice cream) telling me to do something. Anything. So I ran. Just not my usual run. A shorter run at a slower pace. But it was something.

*Light bulbs flash*

I realized that I don't always have to be hardcore. I don't always have to be Miss Badass Workout Girl. Sometimes I can be Miss Likes To Elliptical To Chill Music For Twenty Minutes. And once I gave myself the permission to achieve less when I felt like I needed it, to vary my routine so it wouldn't become stale, a giant weight lifted. Why I didn't figure this would hold true for writing as well, I'll never know. Especially since most of my analogies are workout/writing. Anyhoo.

I've been spending all this time working on my Nano project, filling it out, editing, whatever, and hating every minute of it. Wondering if it was worth it, wondering if I should instead focus on revising another work, start a new project, or quit altogether because I couldn't stand it anymore.

Not many days after the Veggies post, I just stopped writing. I wasn't getting anywhere with it and I needed a break. I needed to revise my strategy. To give myself permission to achieve less. To vary my routine. I went to the library and checked out a crap ton of books. A literal crap ton which, if you look it up in the Urban Dictionary, is equal to 4 shit loads. That's a lot, for those of you who don't swear. And I've been reading. Like crazy. Drag it out for three syllables to get the real effect of how much I've been reading. Or look at my Books 2011 blog post to see the list of books I've read. I think it's been good for me. I've infused myself with stories, renewed my love for them, and- FINALLY- have begun thinking of my own again. With interest. I'm ready to write now.

Listening to: Band Of Horses "Infinite Arms"

xo.kb.

When the ending feels wrong but is right.

It has been one hideous week, but I have finished the first draft of LET IT POUR. I will tell you this- I didn't think I would be able to do it. It's one of those, you know where the book should go, but you don't want it to go there. So I fought and fought with myself and tried to think of a way out of it. I agonized on the elliptical. Fretted on my run. Folded clothes with a face of pure concentration, and my head anywhere but at work. Actually felt movement in my skull, the turning of heavy gears. But when your lyric inspiration is, "Life goes on long after the thrill of living is gone" then, really, there's only one place to go. So I wrote the end that belonged with this book and I love and hate it.

Here's the thing, though. That's life. For real. It's not happy endings or even sad endings or even endings at all. It goes on. And I know that's not always the point of fiction (I've said this before), but it's the point of my writing. We have ups and downs and they can crush us or we can handle them and move forward. Even when we hate our path. I like to see that my MCs can stand tall. It proves to me that I can too.

I'm not sure if that makes me less marketable, but I'm pretty sure it means I'll never be welcomed into RWA. Well boo. I really wanted to go to that conference in NYC.

Listening to: Foals- Daytrotter Sessions
BTW- If you aren't familiar with Daytrotter, do yourself a favor and check it out. Amazing artists, amazing music, amazing concept. Also, the app is free for the iPhone.

All the best,
David Bowie

(Just kidding. It's really an xo. kb. But I saw that on the horrible, can't-even-call-it-a-film, BANDSLAM and thought it hilarious.)

NaNoWriMo: Lessons learned.

Oh NaNoWriMo! You are over now. It was a busy and exhausting month, and here I am- left with an unfinished and highly unpolished manuscript, and a filthy house. Negatives aside, I am grateful for the experience. Here is why:

I wrote an entire first draft in one month.
My first drafts usually take me six months. They are large (between 90-120K)and generally require extensive editing. By that I mean cutting and shaping. My outtakes file for my other three stories is as large as an average manuscript. LET IT POUR stands at 60K right now and could use some filling and detail, but the story is all there. The hard part is done and it took me 25 days.

Planning is my friend.
I go into a new work with an idea and let it flow. This is how I've always written. This one was different. I dove into writing with an idea for each chapter. While it wasn't extremely detailed, it did give me focus. I knew as I wrote what I needed to resolve, what I needed to explore, or foreshadow. This kept me in line and kept me from straying from topic. The result is a very specific story.

I have proven to myself that I can complete a challenge.
I never thought for a moment that I wouldn't 'win' NaNo. I don't ever enter anything that I don't believe I will win. This is why I don't do College Basketball brackets (anymore) and have no desire to go to Vegas. This is why I fold if I know I don't have a chance in poker, conversely why you should fold if I say "I'm in." I knew I would accomplish the 50K goal. But I was concerned that I would hit my 2K daily stretch goal. I set the goal to see if I could achieve more than what was expected of me. And I did. This is an amazing confidence-builder for me. I have learned that a challenge isn't an obstacle for me, and that dedication and hard work will bring results. (Remind me that I said this when I start querying again, btw.)

I have added to my Skipping Seven stories (or what Tim Lotesto called the Aqua Trilogy).
I didn't think I would. I thought this novel would be a rebound for me- a chance to work on a project outside that realm and break away from it. Instead I found that there were more characters for me explore. I'm happy about this. I love that there's a community and relationships that I've created, and I can continue them. I've always hated finishing a book and walking away from characters I love. Now I don't have to. (Side note: I wrote a scene two nights ago with all four MCs at a party together. While it split my brain to have to get into all their heads to write their conversation, it was an amazing experience.)

I have a new musical love.
Jessica (@coffeelvnmom), if I stop listening to Florence & The Machine any time soon, it will be a miracle. But I'm sure my family and friends will appreciate the break from my Jeremy Enigk obsession.

I know that a Mom Strike will never work for my benefit.
I told everyone that I was taking November off to write. Okay, not really off, because I still cooked and worked and did laundry, but I wasn't going out of my way to ensure that the house was beautiful or making any fantastic dinners/desserts. I kind of thought that the folks at home would pick up the slack a little. Didn't happen. Never before have so many chicken nuggets and bowls of cereal been eaten in my house. Dust an inch thick laced all counters. The pile of laundry grew to epic heights. Seriously. My kids had to pack a water bottle and a snack just to get in there and find a pair of clean pants for school. And I won't even discuss the state of the bathroom. You just don't want to know. The positive take-away from this is that I know my kids don't mind filth, and I learned this when I couldn't care less myself. I have saved myself the stress of having to learn this when trying to teach them a lesson about over-working and under-appreciating their mother.

Listening to: Guess.

xo. kb.

Really, I'm very inconsistent here.

You should see my myspace. Full and ridiculous. Or maybe you shouldn't see my myspace. Highly personal. Anyway.

I took a brief break from writing. About two weeks. I mean, I've been blogging and writing a bit, taking notes or whatever, but not a whole lot. And I've been reading like it's water and I'm on a hike. In the last two, maybe three weeks, I've read every Blake Nelson (re-read GIRL, one of my fav books of all time), all but one Laurie Halse Anderson, the new Jane Green as well as her first, JANE EYRE (loved it much more than when I read it in HS), BEFORE I FALL by Lauren Oliver, INTO THE WILD (oh my God.) and... I think that's it. A ton of this is YA, which I love and was thinking, maybe I'll write a YA novel. But no, I don't think it's in me.

Besides the crazy reading, I've been revising and sending out queries for WHERE CURRENTS PULL. It makes me nervous that I haven't had any requests yet. With JUST A LITTLE RAIN my first letter out got me a request. While it was the only request, and though I stopped querying when I really got into writing WCP, it gave me a hopeful feeling. I've sent out a few letters with WCP and all form rejections. I really like the writing in that book too. I feel like Nat has a very distinct voice and is relatable, so I wonder if my query sucks? Or the query's fine, but my writing sucks and I have no objectivity? Sometimes I wish an agent would send back a rejection with, "Honestly, no one's going to want this. Your book sounds horrible." Or "The book sounded like it could be okay, but your query is so God-awful there was no way I'd request anything." At least then you'd know. You could get on with things and maybe get a job at the Gap or something. Certainly, I'd be dressed better and perhaps have some more money...

Small rant aside, the writing has recommenced on ABOVE THE WAVES. I realized that I'm at the 50 page mark. Here I've been, feeling stuck and wondering what's wrong with me, and it occurred to me that, with each book, I get to the 50 page point and get stuck. Then each time I've skipped ahead with much success, then went back to fill in, before writing the last chapter. I've forgotten I do this when writing both #2 and #3. Even though I've left myself notes about this. Ah well. So I'm skipping ahead today. And very excited about it because it's right in the meat of it all. Nothing more thrilling than skipping the build-up and getting directly to the juicy.

Listening to: Jeremy Enigk and getting back into my writing groove.

I've finished.

I finished writing my second book. It took a ton less time than I thought it would- the last one took me the entire school year and I completed it on the kids' last day of school. I started this one, titled WHERE CURRENTS PULL if I haven't mentioned that yet, maybe a month before the school year (a little less than a year after starting the first) but finished last week, Friday. Originally had intended to be done by March, so I'm way ahead of schedule. I did a read-through this weekend and I don't think it's going to need a ton a lot of work. But we'll see on that one- I have two friends looking it over this week. Anyway, I love it. It's much more accessible than the other, maybe because it's smaller (100,000 words compared to 155,000)and takes place over less time. I will shop it around, probably starting next week, then work on editing book one, JUST A LITTLE RAIN, to make sure it's compatible with this one (they're companions, the first two in a series)and perhaps shorten it up a little.

Who knows when I'll start writing book three. It's in my brain already, but the home is falling apart and it looks like I'll be needing a real job. And I postpone that all the time, but now WCP is done and I feel that stressor gone. I think that I could get a full-time that I don't really care about just to bring in some money. It's not ideal, but what in life is? Maybe I'll sell a book this year, but in the meantime...

So much for taking a break.

I vowed yesterday, after obsessively checking my email, twitter, facebook, myspace, to take a day off. No updates, no peaking, no computer except to write. As you can see, I'm failing miserably. To be fair, I haven't done any of the above. Okay, so I checked my email, but just once. Twice. Whatever, it's not a big deal.

But I've decided that creating a blog is not really breaking my vow. Because I'm giving myself the opportunity to be creative or just honest in a different venue. It's like I'm journaling, just on the computer in an effort to be more green.

I have an insane desire, maybe compulsion, to share. To communicate even if no one is listening. And so to no one at all, I will share this. It has been a year of change and self-revelation for me. I have realized that I have immersed myself in a world I can't stand to be in. Like, jump in the deep end even though you can't swim immersed. And I am trying to figure out how to tread water.

I used to write. Like short stories and poetry writing in high school. And then in college I grew to love writing essays. And then post college happened, I got married and had kids and forgot that I could write. Hell, I forgot about music for a few years too. I think of it as my dark ages. Well, a light came on around 30 for me. Maybe it was the fear of being old and hoping that it wasn't really true. Anyway, I started reading obsessively, downloading music like crazy, and, last September, writing compulsively. Like I couldn't even stop it from happening. I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. I just had to get it out. It was like giving birth.

The book is me. About first experiences and the excitement of life. About tragedy and how it can change everything in your world. It's about compromising your dreams because it's what you think adults have to do. It's about waking up and realizing that your life is yours. That although we can't control it all, we can control some. And that the trouble we deal with is somehow worthwhile. A chance to learn and grow.

So the thing about writing a book is that it has to have an ending. And so I wrote one. The most hopeful ending I could think of, while still trying to be honest. Life's not easy, and everything doesn't end up tied in pretty paper with a lovely bow. But maybe sometimes good things happen. And maybe for me as well. And so I hope that, although I can't see my own ending, it will be worth the trouble.