NaNoWriMo is coming...

One of my favorite things to do is NaNoWriMo. For one thing, it's a darned good way to whack out a first draft. I, the compulsive over-editor, get to throw it all aside and BLURT! I get a kick out of the forums, going to an occasional write-in (hardly anyone gets much writing done), and posting that frustratingly small number of new words. Some days my keyboard slogs uphill through warm butter; other days it sprouts wings and words dance onto the screen. Life interferes, dammit! My husband, the cat, a friend, need... Just when the plot is hopelessly dead and entangled there appear passages of absolutely golden prose. Which trickle out into a swell floop. And there's the last frantic push, after which I mentally collapse in a sweating little heap.
This year I "ought to" do the next section of Loriano's story, but I'm returning to my beloved Ancient World to continue the story of Karie the last true High Priestess with Speaker of Visions.
*The woman on the cover is not Karié; she is High Priestess Alina, who appeared in a Journal Workshop meditation exercise and told me to "Write! Or Else...!" 

Yet Another Sunny Day - Breakthrough!

In Memoriam - Blackitty

     We will be glad of all this sunshine when el nino hits.
     Just 'cause I haven't been posting doesn't mean I've been idle. I've written something nearly every day, even if it's just a sentence or two. A family member's health problems have required nearly all my time and wiped me out. And I've had to handle it without the comfort of a warm kitty. Our beautiful big sweetheart disappeared one morning 3-4 months ago.
     It's taken me 2 1/2 weeks to recharge my energies, and the chapters I was working on didn't help. My hero was trying to overcome drug addiction, and some not-so-nice folks strapped him to a bed. To write this passage, from his point of view, I had to live through my feelings after a bad fall--lying in the ER, endless waiting, nobody coming, morphine, helplessness, weird dreams, surgery, a rehab facility, inability to move... I dreaded writing it and could only manage a short paragraph or two a day. My trusty line editor said I'd done a good job. Now my hero is back on his feet, confronting enemies, and taking steps to move on.
     Today I had a huge breakthrough!
     While tinkering around with dates and moon phases in the World of Elakand calendars and timelines a bunch of plot lines wriggled into place and I was able to outline the last six chapters of my novel (working title: Troubadour's Quest; probably will end up as The Dark Lady's Troubadour).

Happy Halloween

     I've been working hard on Book 2 in Tales of the Dark Lady. The tentative title is The Dark Lady's Troubadour and it follows Sir Loriano of Vayne's journey after he leaves the Karaskan court. He and a mysterious herbalist accused of witchcraft because of prophetic "fits" undertake a quest to the far-distant drakken mountain in search of a vital treasure. So far they've been fighting bandits and evading the witch-hunters across the Empty Lands. Who is this mysterious woman? The two have just entered a rich merchant city where drug dealers will try use them for sinister purposes.
     NaNoWriMo starts tomorrow and I plan to use it to rough draft my plot on to the next stage of the journey. (One thing I love about epic fantasy--there's no limit to the number of words.)

End of an Era

     Well, it’s official. Today I received a black-bordered e-mail from RWA National that begins: “We regret to note that the final date for renewing your membership with Romance Writers of America (RWA) has passed. In accordance with RWA’s bylaws, your membership in the organization has been terminated.” 

      So ends an era that began in 1991. I wanted to write novels and, after every publisher in the country rejected my first, I was advised to join a writers' group and get critiques. I saw an ad in the paper for the local RWA Chapter and went to my first meeting where I learned why every publisher in the country had rejected my novel. I realized that I, a former editorial secretary with a B.A. in Creative Writing, had to go back to writers' kindergarten and learn the whole process from the ground up. (A business journal is not a genre novel.) 

      Lots of learning, lots of growth through good times and bad. Thanks to RWA I learned to write fiction (plots, character development, dialogue, pacing, POV) and tons of "how to be a writer" stuff, like critique groups, how to query and submit, identify publishers, how to find an agent, how to get rid of an agent. I felt really good about serving on the Board of my local Chapter, first as Secretary, then Treasurer, and for the past years as Newsletter Editor--again, lots of work but tremendous learning (I got to read all the articles posted to the Editors' loop). And I'm one of those nuts who enjoys obsessing over formatting and type-fitting. 

     Je ne regrette rien. But sometimes one’s just gotta move on, so I chose not to renew my membership in RWA. 

'Tis Fall - Autumn

The Naked Ladies have since died, and the plants look tired and dusty. Rain sure would be nice. The sun is slowly fading, and the year starts to wind down. I think of Dylan Thomas's call to rage against the dying light, to fight darkness with red passion. Thing is, when the light dies, I don't have the moxie to rage. I just want to find a hole, crawl down into it, and pull it over me.
But what am I thinking? It's another beautiful, warm, sunny day and the coffee is hot. Still lots of days to sit in the sun.
I'm plugging away at Book 2 of the Dark Lady series. I had to ditch a lot of great stuff on the heroine because it was too much for this book. Ah well, I can use it later.  Once this one is finished, I can resurrect an almost-finished novel about her early life that I'd abandoned.

I won NaNoWriMo!

I won NaNoWriMo--along with thousands and thousands of other people. It's still a thrill. Three days from the end I was hugely behind, thanks to "life," and I thought, "what the heck," and I sat down and pushed, and by golly, I did it--50,503 words and with hours to spare.


City of Gold contains X-rated scenes and drek I didn't think I could write. It's illogical with over-the-top melodrama--and some dead-on plot lines and scenes that are pure gold. I love my opening hook:

"You! I thought you were dead!" 

Tora opened her eyes and looked up at moist, round, rosy cheeks, set off by blowsy blonde curls straggling from an unkempt bun. "I am dead, and don't you dare tell anyone otherwise, Lady Catina Dalmar."  

It will require very substantial rewrites before I dare show it even to my best friend.

Where to go?

I'm stuck in a scene, or rather an episode, and what to do? My hero and heroine blundered into a raid on a village. Knowing they couldn't win over the bandits, they started to leave--and the bad guys took off after them, wanting their horses. My hero turned to fight them, so the heroine could get away. And . . . a) manages to hold them off; b) gets captured; c) wounds/kills 1 or 2; d) tricks them and escapes; e) heroine doubles back and steals the pack horse and loot; f) hero escapes, can't find heroine . . .

I'll just leave it for a bit and go on to the next part for now while the inner juices churn.