My Neuroses


You’re right. So sorry. That title has nothing to do with anything.

More things that are of devastating intrigue to me. The fact that Word 2007 shows what may or may not be an entirely accurate set of editing hours for a document. I have no idea what the parameters or limitations are, but I do know that I have compiled a list of my first draft hours for The Last Life of Avrilis, Cait After Exile and Keepsake. They vary so widely that I’m sure there are unknown variables involved. But I’m also “sure” simply keeping a document open couldn’t attach any hours to the total as I basically do not close them when I’m working on a wip. Or at least they would cancel each other out to some degree, since I do so with all of them. Of course it took me three times as long to write the first draft of Keepsake – which is a novella and therefore half the length of the other two – so [insert deduction that is sage and reasonable].

The point is that I love it. And will continue to admire my list that ultimately amounts to nothing but then why do these things make us so happy? Writers, I mean. Because I assume I’m not the only one amused by the 758.17 hours of Keepsake and 537.75 hours of Cait. I’m not even going to say where Avrilis fell.

And if anyone has any idea why my wordpress reader is suddenly empty even though I’m subscribed to all the same blogs I ever was, please feel free to m’expliquer!

So in summary. Fun – checking out the total editing hours on a document. No fun – losing wordpress reader functionality.

With all the excitement and meshegas of yesterday’s visual aid making – I probably should’ve taken a picture of my face throughout the stages of that process because you need another reason to avoid me in public – I think the second one I made was *still* misleading. It was not supposed to look like a ball of chaos! Just as my father insists that his office holds some system (actually this might go for both Dads), so does my brain. But before it’s a straight line of prose on paper, it’s this NEW AND IMPROVED visual.

See! Arrows! It's a CYCLE!

Now I know what you’re thinking. “Bethany. We didn’t even care the first time.” To which I can only tap my nose and say, “Riiight.”

I gotcha.

Guess what *I* feel like doing today? (Turning up the mattress heater…aaaand DONE.) Anyway, so there’s a part of the writing process that I’m not sure gets discussed as much as it should. Which is to say, equal to the degree of its importance. It doesn’t have a particular place in the process, though, which may be why it goes undiscussed. It’s sort of like mentioning oxygen when asked about your environment. (Right? Maybe not.)

Anyway, I meant to just mention it quickly and move on to doing it but then I was sort of sucked into making visual aids. (It’s been awhile since I had an excuse a reason to make one!) The first one, I think, may be what a non-writer imagines the process to be.

Which I think would be a pretty knowledgeable assumption, for many reasons. The problem of course is that it seems pretty straightforward and streamlined. Which maybe it is. For somebody. Whom I don’t know. I almost wonder how well I could possibly enjoy a story written in this sort of Henry Ford fashion. Hmm.

Here’s something a bit closer to reality (for me):

Okay.

See, this all came about because I wanted to talk about one of those little purple circles. Thinking about writing! This is where I am today, right this minute. (I could complicate it more by talking about how I’m actually doing it for two different projects, but whatevs.) Now what thinking about writing isn’t: outlining, drafting, planning, et cetera. So what is it? It’s…literally thinking. About writing. It usually happens once I’ve started writing because it’s not part of the planning process, it’s part of what becomes necessary once something sort of organically develops in the story. Or once I come to a conclusion about what elements need to be introduced/addressed. Again, this isn’t part of the working out the plot points for the first time thing. Sometimes this is more motif/theme … marination. I know something needs to be demonstrated and I’m letting that sink aaaaalll the way in until it’s completely integrated into the next step of the story. So that my brain can sort of do it without having to think about it. Sort of like meditating on the scope of the project so that the many scenes that trickle out will steadily approach the desired destination, no matter how they do so. (Is this making sense?)

This is when I’m looking at pictures, creating images, musing to music, or you know. Sitting in the dark. Holding a pen. And then somebody comes and starts talking and I go, “Do you not see me working?!”

So as you may have guessed – or you know, been told up there – I’m thinking about writing right now. Yes for the wip that I haven’t really spoken about. I did show you that image that one time!

‘Member! My sister Jen is the main character…for the purpose of this image. :) Because I had a lovely picture of her in a cloche hat. So I’d written an unofficial query synopsis for the purpose of [read about that here] and the other day I wrote my first – which means possibly useless – logline. And here it is.

In an alternate 1920s, Elsie – aka Dolores Extract No. 1 – struggles to define her identity beyond being a Mem, a clone born of a memory. 

It’s a little tumbly (that makes sense in my head). And I’m also trying to decide whether it’s an appropriate indicator of how the story reads. Which is a whole ‘nother discussion. (Actually, we’ve talked about that before, too.) Basically, this is much more likely to happen because the category/style is literary but the concept is speculative. And after writing loglines for YA novels that were much more plot-driven (*refusing to go down the rabbit-hole*), I’m concerned that this one is too similar and is therefore misleading.

I know nothing.

And then I went to purchase flat-heeled, black boots. Why, you ask? Because I am apparently very self-conscious about the fact that I am obsessed with brown boots. I have a pair of black boots but they have a square heel and while they’re beautifully tall on the leg, they’re way more narrow than I would’ve personally purchased. And I hardly wear them. SO. I went to Yellow, having seen a couple options online.

And I tried. I asked to try on three different boots – none of which they had in my size. To reward my stamina, I tried on a pair of cognac (brown) boots. :) Josh said, I don’t know why you’re trying them on. We’re not getting another pair of brown boots. And of course, I agreed. Then this happened.

These particular boots also fold down and have a lovely sweater pattern on the inside. !! Full disclosure…that’s not the floor of Yellow.

And then I wore them for like four days in a row (despite how hard it is to unlace them enough to get them off) and went to church as Bride of Mumford.

Slightly too big sweater: Old Navy

T-shirt: JCrew

Beaded belt: JCrew

Tomato tweed skirt: JCrew

BOOOOOOTS: Yellow

8)

I need you to keep a secret, just this once. And if “secret” is a ridiculous thing to call something to-be-posted on the internet, then let’s just say don’t read too much into this and start hounding me – particularly those who know me. If those who don’t know me start hounding me, well. That’s fine.

So. WHAT about the age of 29 has anything to do with grandchildren? Unless you’re on some BBC documentary. You guys know I have a seven-year-old piece of adorable and that I have not had a second. And not for lack of trying! (Trying, I mean, not to have a second. To be clear.) So, the thing that I’m going to admit and that you’re going to promise NOT TO BRING UP AFTERWARD? Is how it’s because of this need of grandchildren that I’m reconsidering.

With an only child, there’s a pretty glaring chance that I’ll have zero grandchildren. O_O I’m not kidding. I’ve thought ahead to age 50 and half the time, I’m playing with balls of yarn. That….is just depressing. And somehow, my child being a male makes this scariness seem even more likely. (I don’t know how that works, either.)

I may or may not have blurted this out to Ezra when it struck me one day during our snugglefest. He may have tried to relay it to my father the next day while we were on speakerphone, which of course put me in the awkward position of having to laugh really loudly at nothing and pretend to get disconnected. Because come on. You don’t tell a father of nine – who has told you once before that he thinks it’s “not right” to have an only child – that you’re having visions of a lack of grandbabies and it is freaking you out. (He has thirteen and isn’t satisfied.)

But I can’t deny it anymore. My phantom grandchildren might be winning.

Today should be pretty full. And hopefully not full as in, wow, a bunch of my time just got sucked into this vortex of disorganization and disarray which does not belong to me. To anyone operating in such a way, a gentle reminder: sometimes God has a mind to bless you and you disallow it by being unprepared to accept His blessing. We’re all there at some point, I’m certain, but I don’t wanna put huge boulders in my own way.

Otherwise, what am I doing blogging right now? Well, first of all, it’s on the list. And secondly, how else would you guys know that Yahoo! News is the bane of my existence?! This is not the time for you to offer up some other news feed or email provider. Just let me vent about how much it’s making me think I hate Brad Pitt and we’ll move on. I qualify it with “think I hate” because I try to be reasonable and consider the fact that I don’t actually know the guy. And so I shouldn’t hold him to the irritating quotes (please stop complaining about how hard it was to make Interview with a Vampire, which we all loved and which you are now desecrating) or headlines they post (like how he’s apparently still gonna talk about what was wrong with his marriage because that’s not coarse and tacky) and which I inevitably speed-read when all I wanna do is switch between email accounts. This is why checking one’s email on a pda is so much better. (Go in peace, Mr. Pitt. ::waves hanky from harbor::)

Wanna talk to you about my newest WIP – OR BETTER YET ABOUT THE YEARS OLD WIP THAT I HAVE REENVISIONED SQUEEEEEEE – but of course I shan’t. Not for any silly, jinxing reasons, but because I refrain from discussing concept until I’m well into the draft. But stand really close and I’ll whisper emphatically and then that’ll stave off my insanity and you’ll realize that I really do love you, but to never ask me about my work. Because I am the Godfather. Or whoever said that.

OH OKAY, YOU TWISTED MY ARM! Here is a piece of eye candy/inspiration/story sliver from my newest WIP but don’t tell anyone!

Oh okay and this!

Le sigh. ::Fanning self::

And no, I am not writing about old timey bank robbers.

I know what you’re doing, by the way. This game you’re playing where you pretend I haven’t been ridiculously lazy about blogging – not the content, mind you, because let’s be real, candy woulda been involved one way or the other – and pretending to be entertained so I feel like a giant loser and have to commit to doing actual work here? You win this round.

First things first: My seven year old – who just turned seven, don’tcha know – is making up the guest list for his next birthday party. (Apparently, taking a trip every summer to celebrate the month of Morrow is lost on him and he’s wondering why he can’t have a crappy, four hour party like all the other cool kids.) Needless to say, he’s listed about a dozen people thus far – people I’m sure would love to celebrate him, btw – and nobody’s under the age of 21. Yet. Thankfully, there’s about four kids I know he likes. :)

Not good enough.

I wanna point out that today’s Labor Day (even in Montreal) and I’m blogging. Please double the amount of points I already deserve for awesomeness.

When there is an issue with my laptop that affects the way in which I interact with it, I realize how attached we are. The laptop and I. My son decided to bring his foot down on the left side of my computer and the audio promptly stopped working. I had to replace some drivers (some of which had no effect), it doesn’t hibernate like it’s supposed to, and until I disabled some start-up applications, it wouldn’t even let me move the mouse once the OS was open. So. Basically, I’m now able to do everything but listen to music and watch my stories – which is like having a child break your television, since I watch my shows online. And also, did I mention I can’t listen to music? Because I’m not sure I’ve ever mentioned how much music means to me. And also, that I listen to music when I write. And prepare to write. And develop a storyline prior to writing it.

(My son has offered – since music is so important to me – to make up songs. O_O)

EDIT: Sorry, I failed to mention that my USBs no longer work, either. And that I feel like an amputee.

This. Up until American Thanksgiving (as opposed to Canadian Thanksgiving), this is all that matters.

NOT this.

THIS.

Friends? Let’s not forget what this season is all about. And, Montreal, if you try to stand in the way of my procuring bags of these ON TIME this year – as opposed to having to wait for my loved ones to send them in the mail at Christmas time? We will have WORDS.

[Full Disclosure: This was written like eleven hours ago and I'm not even gonna reread it before I post. Because that's just the kind of guy I am this week.]

Truth: All I need as a catalyst to doing something is to have recently uttered, “I never do that.” It’s like I have an implacable case of You’re-Not-The-Boss-Of-Me’s…(the word “petulant” comes to mind, actually). So, at some point yesterday, I mentioned to the tribe that I don’t really blog about writing. And here we are.

I’ve repeatedly heard fellow writers talk about the early stages of writing a new wip. (How’s that for a first line, people? Boring, inconsequential, flat. I’m shaking my head right. now.) —> Okay, this is gonna be one of those stream-of-consciousness posts I so rarely do. *winkwink* Because wow, I honestly just reread that sentence to rate its effectiveness and wow factor. For a first line. Of the second body paragraph. Of a blog post. One of my blog posts, no less. I’ve officially gone off the reservation, y’all.

::takes forty paces back and rounds the corner::

Okay! So in speaking of these early stages, so many have agreed how it’s such a secret, personal thing at the beginning and that they’re too frightened of losing the magic (?) to talk about it too soon. Super strange to me. Whether we’re talking about the early stages of musing or writing, I can safely say that it is a constant struggle NOT to share. Every time I come to the first break in writing (let’s say the first five pages of a new story), I am dying to share it. Now, the Hubs doesn’t count because he reads almost line by line. If it’s a saved document, he’s read it. But then there’s like three or four people that I just MUST know what they think of the concept, if it’s clear (you’d never believe this but I swear sometimes I write sort of cryptically or confusingly?) … and especially because the past two years have been concept-concept-concept, I can’t share until I’m significantly into the project. That. Kills me. #ForSerious

Granted, (most of) the people I’m sharing my early work with aren’t in the industry in any way, shape or form. They’re not writing anything of their own, they’re not judging the marketability, etc. But HOW do you write an entire novel without that communal love? How.

Go, go, abrupt ending!

 

(1) People like Pauline something-or-other write ridiculous things about Accountability, International Baccalaureate and drizzle Foucault verbage over it in a manner that suggests she’s made some rather specious inferences and now I feel the need to reread all of the literature from senior year of university. You know, to … write an article… on her wrongness? Yep. Thanks.

(2) Mmmm, Quebec. I know I’m just a silly, modest American – that…doesn’t even read correctly. Are we really seen as modest? I mean, I personally consider myself as such but… Apparently, it is said modesty and not common sense and indignation that made me wonder why OH WHY I was caught sitting between my six year old son and a strange man while sitting in the waiting room of a dentist’s office and OH YES witnessing frontal nudity in the movie being played.

For serious?! This isn’t completely unacceptable to anyone else? Apparently not, because no one even seemed uncomfortable! Meanwhile, I looked at my son who somehow wasn’t looking at the television (mercy of mercies) and then politely asked him to take the New Testament + Psalms out of my bag and get started on Psalm 119. Now’s as good a time as any to work on memorization. O_O And before you Americans ask why I didn’t say something, let me chortle to myself and point out: We’re not in Kansas anymore.

(3) This. This is all there was or ever shall be. (If you don’t watch this, don’t bother coming back.) (Just kidding.) (Not really.)

Fin

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