Just to touch base, I am chugging away at Go Bite Yourself. Im not really able to keep you up to date on my work count at this point, because most of my writing is being done in a notebook by hand while I’m on my daily commute. I will type it and imputed it to the nanowrimo.org page before the month is through. hopefully several times, but let’s keep our expectations realistic here people.
In the mean time, enjoy this sample cover I made while procrastinating. Interested in reading it yet?
Yup, its that time again. Nanowrimo 2016. I’ve follow along and encourage friends to do this in previous years, and enjoy hearing people completed their work. This year, I’m taking up the challenge myself.
For this 50,000 word endevor, I am writing a new book titled Go Bite Yourself.
Here is the blurb based on my starting concept:
Hamlin T. Barrow wakes up dead. not, you know, DEAD dead, but UNdead. Without any kind of guidance, he blunders through keeping in touch with family, trying not to eat every delicious smelling jogger he passes, and figuring out how to cure his vampiric infection.
Here is a small taste of the opening chapter:
Dead people stink. I mean, the living don’t always smell like sunshine and daisies either, but the dead smell particularly pungent. Especially the undead. The breath of a hungry vampire can peel automotive paint. So when one gets close enough to, say, unleash a roar of uncontrolled rage directly into your face, you nose mouth and eyes get hit with a wave of sulfur-infused-tooth-rot-halitosis of the otherworldly variety.
Gross.
I should probably be afraid for my life. This guy is stronger, faster, and deader than me. Age seems to matter to these guys a lot. But the thing is, I already died once, and that worked out pretty much okay. When you get up and walk away from what I did, death threats really just don’t carry the weight they used to.
Wish me luck, reader!!! I’m going to go make some tea….
I’ve been pretty hard on myself lately about how much I haven’t been writing. I take being my own worst critic to award-winning levels. I read all sorts of articles and blogs about writing, how to get published, etc. I try to immerse myself in all things literary to try and stay focused; admittedly not my best talent. Many of the things I’ve read say that if you are not feeling inspired to “just write”. Doesn’t matter if it’s crap or gold. The act of trying will produce something, and you can always work with something rather than nothing. Seems pretty sage to me, so I tried it.
To get back into the swing of things, I reared my novel start to (un)finish. As I read, I tweaked a word here or there, which developed into a sentence, which by the end became a rhythmic tapping on the keys. Huh. Go figure. It helped me feel a small sense of pride as I realized my storytelling skills have been improving while I wasn’t paying attention. I’m starting to like what I read.
So I’m sitting there typing away, and I glance up and three hours have gone by. I should have been asleep two hours ago, and I don’t want to stop, so I reset my clock and start calculating how much time I can shave off my morning routine if I skip the non-essentials, like straitening my hair or ironing my uniform. I’ll let you sort out how well that worked out.
I swear I am waking up from some sort of anti-writing spell. I’m feeling motivated, and I just might get around to finishing what I started.
What am I doing talking about it? Great question.
Back to writing!!!
It’s funny, I moved to the big city to be inspired. I wanted a fast-paced diverse backdrop to help shape my ideas. I also wanted the exposure that advertising to such a huge population might bring. Travel and change of scenery has always inspired some decent page turnout for me. And yet, I find I have writer’s block.
There are exercises that can help a writer push past writers block. I know them. In fact, I’ve blogged about it, back in April 2014 in a post titled Wherefore art thou, inspiration?
So what I really needed to figure out is not why I’m blocked, but why I’m not even trying to write. I haven’t even opened the file in Word to stare at that ominous blinking cursor for at least two weeks; maybe more.
Sometimes it is a question of time. I’m busy. Who isn’t? We all get caught up in the day to day, but that’s what a schedule is for. Making time isn’t hard if you get a calendar and make a schedule for yourself. I haven’t been doing that- instead I’ve been finding chores to do to fill my time. Sorting out bills, cooking, laundry- that sort of thing.
So if it isn’t a lack of ideas, and it isn’t an issue of time, then why am I not writing?
I know why, when I get right down to it. Recent events are getting me down, and I’m letting myself get moody and disinterested in the things I love (such as writing). I’ve been thinking about it a lot this week, and I’ve come to the conclusion that this will only spiral down from here if I don’t do something to change it.
I’ve decided to use my angst- which is a combination of being at an employer’s beck and call again after so long writing my own schedule, the loss of a couple dear people, and being so far away from friends and family in an unfamiliar place- and channel it into the piece I am writing. I’m skipping ahead a few chapters in Fayling (which should be done by now, but read above) and I’m going to schedule time to pour how I feel into my work. Hopefully it helps create a believable and powerful scene, and it will help me work through my crankiness.
I’ll let you know how that turns out.
Below is an excerpt of my inner monologue. Don’t judge me.
AUTHOR: Jeremy, come back in the room. We aren’t done working on this chapter.
PROTAGONIST: No. I’m not talking to you.
AUTHOR: Seriously? You can’t leave the story without a resolution. Come back here. You are making me look bad.
PROTAGONIST: No.
AUTHOR: I’ll let you kiss Svetlina . . .
PROTAGONIST: Promise?
AUTHOR: Yes. I will totally let you make out with her. And she won’t try to kill you this time.
PROTAGONIST: You said that last time.
AUTHOR: I know, but this time I mean it.
PROTAGONIST: Do I get a cool sword?
AUTHOR: Totally.
PROTAGONIST: Why do I feel like there is a catch?
AUTHOR: Um. . .
PROTAGONIST: I KNEW IT! You are going to fuck up my life some more, aren’t you?
AUTHOR: Only for a little while. It gets better, I swear.
PROTAGONIST: I hate you.
AUTHOR: I know.
PROTAGONIST: You know you are insane, right?
AUTHOR: Probably.
PROTAGONIST: Okay. Fine. I will get back in this chapter, but you better make my sword badass. And no more making me look like an idiot.
AUTHOR: Riiight…. You will totally not look like a moron swing a sword wildly as the wolves converge on you. . .
PROTAGONIST: Goddamn it. I knew I shouldn’t trust you.
“I’m a writer. Therfore. I am not sane.”
– Edgar Allan Poe
A Freckle for Your Thoughts 