write a novel

and, surprisingly, this did not make the cut when I put it to the test.

Will it make me happier? Not necessarily. I used to want to be a writer, and spent most of my free time writing – at any given time, I had 5 or 6 stories going. Now, not so much. I do have a few ideas rattling around in my head, but putting them on paper is not as enjoyable as it used to be. I thought at first it was a form of stage fright – I was afraid the book would suck, so I didn’t write it. Now I think I’ve not written because it’s not a priority at the moment.

I will probably reopen the goal at some point, but for now, I’m making room for other things.

but Gretchen’s post today has inspired me to at least think about my current works in a different light.

Think I’ll add that book to my Christmas list.

the more conflicted I become about what I write.

Those of you who follow me on Twitter and Facebook have seen part of my frustration with my current reading material. The main problem is that my current source of reading material is my mother, who all of a sudden is only interested in reading “good” writing, which to her means depressing stories. And I’m not saying she’s wrong. I’m just a little worn out from her selections.

Not that they’re not good. They are. Take tonight’s reading, The Bright Forever. Excellent book. Read it in a sitting. But damn.

I read these books, and then I look at my own writing and think “fluff.” But then what I want more than anything else at this very moment is some fluff. Something happy and silly, something to take me away from the dark world I’ve just climbed out of.

Problem is, I’m not great at writing happy and silly, either.

Which is probably why I’ve not written much lately.

Been thinking a lot about my books lately. And writing parts of them in my head, though I have committed very little to type. However, I realized tonight that what I should really do is combine books 1 and 3. The stories dovetail nicely, and meshing them removes my “now what?” roadblocks. Sweet.

this is still on here! I thought I’d removed it, so I was going to add it back. But I guess I never gave up on it.

Currently working on novel number 3 – the one that’s flowing easily but I’m not sure I should let anyone read. I’m at 4441 words right now. And I could write more, if it weren’t bedtime. Stupid day job.

But I will say this: I think this one’s good. I surprise myself when I read what I’ve already written.

A few weeks ago, I was in the shower when the first chapter started writing itself in my head. So as soon as I got out, I ran in here and wrote it down…and of course the inspiration dried right up the moment I finished typing that chapter. That always happens to me – the words flow when I’m nowhere I could possibly write (the car’s another popular location), and dry up when I can. Oh, well. It’s a start.

I wrote a little more last night. Nothing major—just a couple hundred words or so. Generally what I do is vomit out whatever’s in my head, then reread it the next day and clean it up. Well, what I wrote last night didn’t need much tweaking at all…it came out damn near perfect.

Tonight I reread the whole segment (what I wrote was inserted in the middle). And it dawned on me that I really, really like my characters. When I started working on this book again, they were all pretty one-dimensional…it was hard to tell the difference between them. But somehow they’ve taken on lives of their own. I can see them in my mind, hear their voices, see their facial expressions. I don’t think I’ve ever stuck with a story long enough for that to happen. I actually feel like a real writer now.

No longer am I just rereading what I wrote and tweaking it (though I do still do this…just can’t help it). No, I’m coming up with ideas for scenes that just play themselves out in my head, usually at the most inopportune times: in the car, 40 miles away from my house; in the shower, just as I put shampoo in my hair; at work…though I suppose if I were subtle about it, I could jot something down there. ::grins::

Once I start dreaming about my characters again, I’ll know I’m truly back.

Well, actually more than that—I did a bit of tweaking and fluffing on one scene. That’s just the word count for the brand-spanking-new scene I wrote.

I am doing so much better than Dane. But he writes better, so I think he still wins.

So I’ve dusted off the novel I started…oh, ten years ago. And though I don’t like where it was heading, what I wrote has potential. So I’ve been chipping away at it here and there. Still haven’t decided where I’m going with it, but the main character’s voice has not left my head in the intervening years. So I’m just letting her speak and seeing where it leads. And it’s gone to some interesting places!

I wrote a bit tonight. Well, more like I dissected one of the chapters I wrote back then and patched pieces in to chapters I’ve written recently. But it’s something.