Monday, April 30, 2012

Sometimes it's like that

My BIL tells a story about taking his son swimming as a very young child.  He'd been paddling about in a small kiddie pool for several minutes and my BIL wanted to introduce him to the bigger swimming pool.  The closer they got, the more agitated my nephew became, insisting "Daddy, I don't NEED to go in the big pool!"

I often tell a story about taking a young boy for a ride on a city bus.  He was two, and in love with all manner of large wheeled conveyances.  Riding the bus sounded like a good idea when we were inside the house, but not nearly as good an idea when we were standing at the bus stop, and the bus was closing in on us.  "No, no, no" my small companion began to shake his head.  I picked him up, and when it seemed like I was just not catching on to his meaning, he grabbed my face with both his hands, looked me directly in the eyes and shouted, "NO!"

That's a bit how I feel when I think about marketing a book I've written.

This boy ...

Turned 13 yesterday.

It's a lucky lucky life.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Housekeeping for the haphazard

I've spent the past few weeks trying very hard to focus on the book.  Focus does not come naturally to me, and what generally happens is I either uber-focus on something and let everything slide, or I neglect everything equally, so that small bits get done, but never enough for anyone to notice.

Last week Thursday, at noon, my beloved spouse texted me "forgot to mention.  Derkson coming for night tonight." 

I looked at my house and fainted. 

And then got mostly everything done.

And remembered that I am much more productive when things around me are in some semblance of order.

It was a lovely three days.

Today the kitchen needs attention, and the clothes folding fairy has lost my address and I sat down to work on the book and couldn't decide what to do first so thought maybe I should just play a game of something online while I figured out where to start.  I stopped, and gave myself a stern talking to, reminding myself how effective this approach has been in the past.

I walked in to the kitchen and set the timer for twenty minutes.  I decided that I could do whatever I wanted in the kitchen, I just couldn't leave it.  Loading the dishwasher and thinking this would go better with music?  Is there a CD player in the kitchen?  Then by all means, crank up the tunes.  (there's no crank.  It's a figure of speech)  Need to pee?  Too bad.  You can wait a few minutes. Need  a drink? You're in the right place.  Composing a blog post in your head?  Oh well.

I loaded the dishwasher and was in the middle of tidying up the Tupperware cupboard when the timer went off.  I noticed that it was only 17 minutes until half past ten, so thought I 'd just wash pots until 10:30.

and lo and behold, the kitchen is done.

I just had to figure out how to trick myself into doing it.

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Despair is easy

I am fine tuning my novel.  It took me about six years to write all the way from the beginning to the end, and I'm beginning to think I will be fine tuning it for another six years.

A few days ago, a gently worded email from a pre-reader pointed out the poetry in the novel was weak.  The actual poetry.  The prose itself is quite poetic - that was intentional, and for the most part, it's working.

Now I knew that the poetry left a bit to be desired.  I had kind of sort of decided I didn't care.  But, as I said to someone earlier this week -  I firmly believe that as a Christian writer, I'm called to excellence.  I'm working for a *king*.  Is there room for intentional mediocrity?

So the poetry is another thing on the list of frankly minor things to fix.

Every single time I have sat down to work on it this week, I have started lying to myself.  "This is beyond you."  "You will never finish this."  "You can't write metrical rhymed poetry, and therefore you can't make this work."  (the part about not being able to write metrical rhymed poetry is right, the part about making it work isn't)

The easy thing is to close the computer, and knit a blanket for my brother's grand-daughter.  And then knit something else.  And call a friend, and offer writing advice to a newbie.  None of those are negative things but they can ALL be avoidance, giving in to the despairing messages.

It would be so easy, so terrifyingly easy, to just forget the whole thing, write it off as a bad experiment, and go back to faffing about with words for fun.

I don't want to do the easy thing.

Friday, April 13, 2012

Opposites Attract

Sometimes, when I go out to eat, I bring part of my meal home.  This usually means that I've ordered a pasta dish, and when I was done eating all the vegetables and bits of meat and colour and whatever else is interesting, I'm too full for the noodles.

Last Sunday TechnoBoy brought home half his meal.  I had it for lunch on Tuesday - leftover noodles, and ...this cracked me up ...

Half the melted cheese that had been on top, and exactly one and a half meatballs.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

A Blogger Blogs

..or something.

I've been talking about the Perpetual Novel for seven long years.  I'm tired of talking about it, but work continues.  "Work" now means people who aren't me are reading it to see if it makes any sense any more, and while they're doing that I'm knitting a blanket for my great-niece writing a synopsis.

Right after I finish this blog post I'm going to go change the name of the northern Forest to The Haven, and the name of the eastern forest to Cutter's Wood.  It's not like the names "Northern Forest" or "Eastern Forest" lack imagination or anything (har), it's just a lot of trees.  And Brynn spends a lot of time in them.

And after that I'm going to make Taylon and Balthon get all blustery about having to mindspeak all the time.  They hate that, but there's evil afoot, and you can't be too careful.  You can, however, grumble about being careful, and then do it.  (Humans are human no matter what world they're set in.)

And in other news, I have a new blouse that has big droopy sleeves and last Friday when I came downstairs wearing it I said:

"Hey B! I'm so happy!  Want to know why??"

B:  "Why?"

I flapped my big droopy sleeves back and forth and said "I can fly!!!!"

He's almost 13 so he couldn't let himself smile, although it was a struggle.  He rolled his eyes and said "Looks like somebody didn't get enough sleep last night."