Not Quite An Update, More Like a Chronicle of Recent History

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Ready, set, publish!

Ready, set, publish!

It has been, like, centuries since I’ve written a blog post. I’d thought about it. Many times. I even went so far as to come up with a witty title for a new post. And yet, I didn’t get far enough to reach the website.

It’s an odd sensation to be at a loss for words. As a teenager, putting all my thoughts into words was about all I concerned my day with. That incessant need to express myself with blog posts (back in their heyday, before everyone had a blog), or in my Notebook of Doomed Things. For a time, all I wanted to do was express my innermost thoughts and tribulations, regardless if anyone else would ever read them.

And then I became an adult. And I still wanted to express myself. So I became a writer.

Fast-forward to last year, and I can say without a pause in my breath that 2014 was one for the books (ba-dum ching). I spent most of my “free” time on my book, whether it be writing, or editing, or designing the cover, or thinking about writing or editing or design. All of my brain space has been consumed by my manuscript, for better or for worse (although, I’ve sadly neglected a few friends; thankfully Husband is in charge of the cats, because … um …). Needless to say, despite how my original intent was to document my Adventures in Book Making, I have failed that resolutionmiserably. Also, my resolution to get back to the gym — but, one thing at a time.

Biggest update? Well, I can say THE THING IS DONE! Now, what’s next?

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Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby

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If my parents thought this was my life in a public high school, I'd have been home schooled.

If my parents thought this was my life in a public high school, I’d have been home schooled.

Remember when you first heard that song on the radio? I do. Very specifically. I was in my best friend’s bedroom, somewhere in the early hours of a summer sleep-over. Previously that night, there had been nail-polish, a pillowcase contest, and reruns of Step By Step.

Sex? On the radio? They’re talking about sex? No freaking way.

Oh, and I was nine years old.

What did I know about sex at nine? Well, not a whole lot, and that song and all it’s talking about it did nothing to provide me a glimpse as to what it was. I knew it existed. I knew adults loved it. I knew my schoolmates made jokes about it. Imagine the amount of information ABOUT SEX I learned in the following eight years until my high school graduation. No, that’s not a hint as to when I really learned about sex, that’s just about the point when the reality of sex really hit home. I mean, high school.

Who reads Young Adult fiction? High schoolers! *shudders* (Chuck Wendig wrote a fabulous article about how teenage characters should suffer teenage problems in novels.) I’m writing a Young Adult Fiction series. There will possibly be a point after my novel is published that those young adult readers will find my blog and read through these posts (and then find one with the word ‘sex’ in it and go all bat-shit because ohmygodshesaidsex shealsosaidbatshit adultsgonewild). And you know what? I want these young adults to read this post for some insight as to why I’m choosing to write sex into my novel.

Yes. You read that right. I am writing sex in a Young Adult novel.

Hang on, I’ll get the hand fans.

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Stuck in the Middle Again

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Spontaneous combustion is a real thing, folks. I saw it in a movie once.

Spontaneous combustion is a real thing. I saw it in a movie once.

There’s this weird thing going on with my manuscript. She’s defying my authority. (Is it weird to refer to my manuscript as a female? It’s totally not weird, just go with it). My MS has gone through this sneaky-like-a-rebellious-teenager defiance stage ever since I decided to expand the story into a trilogy. And by defy, I mean, create diversions and a false sense of cohesion and story truth and basically run off with the mistress and all of our money and assets. 

I take no responsibility for the actions of my manuscript. Okay, maybe I must take some responsibility because it was under my supervision during the time of the crime, and had I been paying attention maybe it wouldn’t have thought that sucking all of reality into the stargate portal, packing it onto the TARDIS and sending it through a wormhole to the end of the universe was the BEST IDEA EVER. (Hey, that’s actually a pretty cool story idea). Nevertheless, my MS decided one day it was going to up and leave the building like a queen at a drag show, finger-snap and all, and make itself comfortable in some alternate universe where everything is backwards, inside out and upside down. And I’ve been trying to wrestle it back ever since. Continue reading →

Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner

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Yes, that's a screenplay. Still applies.

Plot holes! Plot holes everywhere!

I asked myself recently, “Is it always a bad thing to paint yourself into a corner?” Or, drive yourself into a hole? Or, flow up creek without a paddle? I’ve never done the latter in a literal sense (or the others, for that matter), but I imagine it’s a little like getting lost in a new town. There’s an advantage to getting lost, I think, because the next time you drive around that part of the city and you pass the dog park next to the reservoir that you discovered while you were lost, suddenly you know exactly where you are. Maybe you still don’t exactly know how you got there, but that’s not the point.

How does this pertain to writing? Well, I get lost a lot. Like, a lot. Usually at my own fault, too, because while I previously posted about how I prefer to be a free-ballin’ panster-plotter, it comes at a price: the price of shooting the plot of my stories full of a lot of gaping holes. Yet, even while that has been my M.O. for some time, I’ve grown fond of those plot holes. Why? Because those holes can be later filled with anything I damn well please. And wouldn’t you know, more often than not, what fills those holes ends up being the sticky asphalt that holds the whole thing together . . . as long as I leave out the glitter. 

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Life Imitating Art Imitating Life

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Life-imitates-are-far-more-than-art-imitates-life

I’ve had many different jobs in my life. I’ve been a barista, a teacher’s assistant, a corporate intern. I’ve worked at music recording studios, worked reception desks, worked hours filling out excel spreadsheets and scheduling forms. All of these jobs came with their own perks and advantages, and all had their own sets of challenges. And each time I moved from one job to another, I found myself molding my external persona to fit within the new environment.

Anyone who’s worked retail or food service will agree to the horrors of long and exhausting hours on your feet (which only get worse during the holiday season), all the while you’re expected to keep a smile plastered on your face. The customer is always right, right? Quite frankly, the general public is a needy asshole. Yet, you’re not allowed to have your own personality working in retail. You’re meant to be a robot in a green apron. Smile and say yes. A lot.

The biggest dichotomy in my working life was the time I moved from working in a music recording studio to working at a post production house where I coordinated schedules and made spreadsheets. I went from working long (loooooong) hours, on-call graveyard shifts, expected overtime, shitty pay and no benefits, in an environment filled with rappers, mistresses, booze and drugs, to a company where there was a fair amount of un-healthy food shaming (fat-shaming for LA health nuts) and where the two people who smoked cigarettes were looked down upon as being walking cancer advocates.

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You Don’t Know What You Don’t Know

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I didn’t know I didn’t know that much.

One of the most valuable things I learned in school was that I didn’t know shit about anything. While I was an introspective and philosophical adolescent (read: I was convinced I was positively smarter than anyone I knew) who understood humans and the universe they live in, I learned that there was such a vast amount of things in the world I didn’t know were available for a teenager such as myself to know anything about. There was so much I didn’t know I didn’t know, so much I never even considered necessary or interesting or relevant. That’s one of the joys — er, betrayals — of adulthood, learning that there is still so much about life that you I don’t even know exists. Sure, I know I still don’t understand rocket science, or parenthood, or walking a tightrope, and a lot of those things I have little interest in learning. But coming to terms with the vast quantity of things I didn’t even know were possibilities is both a riveting and risky experience. I’d imagine it’s a little like agreeing to be the world’s expert on the next newly discovered animal species . . . you have no idea what you’ll end up with and whether you’ll spend the rest of your career being laughed at by your peers.

As a novelist, the same rules apply while writing. Not before I create a story, not while plotting or even researching, but rather while I’m writing.

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The First Draft of Anything is Shit…

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All Hail the Wendigo (aka Chuck Wendig)

All Hail the Wendigo (aka Chuck Wendig)

1st Draft: Weee! Writing is so awesome and fun and look at all the cool ideas I have! This is great! I’m gonna be rich and famous and everybody is gonna read my book and LOVE it because it’s just awesome!!

2nd Draft: This story is even better now that I’ve cleaned up the rough spots. And oh look how complete it is with its fancy chapter fonts and clean margins and pretty formatting. Yes, pretty pretty manuscript. *pets computer monitor*

3rd Draft: Well that one part in the beginning there is kinda odd. It feels a little off to maybe but maybe no one will notice if I just nudge and smudge a little here and there. I mean, the rest is really great, who cares about this one part, right? Well, and maybe that other part in the middle…and the one at the end…

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To Self-Pub or Not to Self-Pub

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self_publishing1

Back when I first began this writing journey (seriously, anyway) I’d told myself I was going to become a legitimately hardcover printed, agent-represented published author and follow a traditional route from “aspiring writer” to “novelist”. My reasons for this mindset were based on my narrow understanding of the possible success of self-published authors and the stigma that goes along with being one. The more I saw writers plastering themselves on Amazon (because they could, dammit) made me less eager to be just another drop in the piss bucket. I’ve witnessed similar phenomena in other artistic arenas: anyone with a point-and-shoot digital camera can call themselves a photographer; anyone with a mic and Garage Band can call themselves a recording artist. Anyone with access to the internet and some sense of storytelling can become a published writer… It’s a similar bucket of nonsense in a lot of instances (really, in most instances), and another example of the many ruining the respectability of the few. So I said, “Screw that. Imma a be legit, yo. Continue reading →

No Barbies in This Girl’s Drawer

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burn_barbie_burn_i_by_shwarzengel_400x271_xlarge

I didn’t burn Barbies, but I can’t say I was nice to them.

I never expected I’d become an author of Young Adult novels. Perhaps it was my stubborn insistence that the subjects and themes I’d been preparing to put into a literary context were too complex and bold for a younger audience.

And then I read The Hunger Games. And the wheels started turning.

Three major YA series in the last decade have come from female authors and feature young female protagonists (Suzanne Collins, Stephanie Meyer, and Veronica Roth). I wasn’t quite so taken to the Twilight Series, mostly because I was never really into vampires, and a story which mostly focuses on relationships isn’t quite my cuppa tea. Then Hunger Games and Divergent came barreling into the scene and I was all “Hellz yeh, these bitchez be awesome!”

Still, I felt there was something missing. Continue reading →

Don’t Look Into the Light!

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…unless you’re looking into the light at the end of the tunnel. In that case, by all means, keep those eyes fixed right there, dear. Bring sunglasses.

Now, this here is the first post of this blog, and as can be expected, it’s going to feel a little awkward and contrived and all around amateurish. I feel a little like a virgin on a first date; for all we know, this could end with someone crying in the backseat of a 15-year-old Civic stalled in a Carl’s Jr. parking lot (don’t judge). I’ve written blog posts in the past, but those were about music and/or depression and adolescent self-realizations and/or whining, and we really don’t need to revisit those moments of childishness. This blog is meant for a greater purpose (oh, here we go…) because it is here that I wish to share with you my journey through becoming a novelist.

I haven’t published anything… yet. There are lists upon lists on the internet about “the best way to get published!” and they all tout the same twaddle about the importance of the writer’s social media presence (as though there aren’t enough people on the internet already bombarding everyone with ALL THIS INFORMATION I’VE AMASSED THAT NO ONE ELSE KNOWS). It’s all a bunch of baloney; we know this, everyone knows this, and maybe that’s not the point. Not my point, anyway.

The purpose of this blog is to share with you my journey of becoming a published novelist. Continue reading →