The Perils of Pantsers

If you’re not a writer, you may not be familiar with the terms “Plotter” and “Pantser.” Plotters, um… actually plot their books before they write them. They know what’s going to happen in chapter eight before they get there. Pantsers, though, fly by the seat of their pants. Pantsers start writing and see what happens. It’s an adventure! Who knows what will happen? The possibilities are wide open! Chapter eight? I'll worry about chapter eight once I finish chapter seven.

For me, every book is like a college road trip with a group of friends. I know I'm leaving campus and heading for Graceland. I have a general map – I know which direction I need to go at least – and I’m pretty sure I want to See Rock City, stop at the outlet mall in Nashville, and do some bar-hopping on Beale Street on the way. (That’s the synopsis I turn in to my editor.) But when I see that sign for the Giant Ball of String or The World’s Biggest Sweet Potato, I turn because it sounds like it might be fun. I figure I'll get to Graceland eventually.

And because I’m with friends, I enjoy the ride. Except when I don’t. Someone is going to keep changing the music to a crappy station and then sing along off-key. Someone else is going to conveniently “forget” their wallet and never chip in for gas. No one wants to take a turn riding in the middle of the back seat. After a while, I’m wondering why I ever thought I liked these people in the first place and contemplating ditching them at the next rest area (where, if I’m really lucky, a serial killer will find them).

Know what I mean?

Now, when I get stuck, I’m stuck. That general road map is kinda helpful – I know I’m at Rock City, and the next stop is Nashville, but I don’t know how to get back to the interstate. And it’s not like I can skip ahead and write that great scene that takes place on Beale Street. I don’t know what happens between here and there, so there’s a good chance that conversation won’t work by the time I catch up. Maybe my characters will have already had that moment by then – in a rest area on the side of I-24. And, of course, there’s an equally good chance they won’t make it to Beale Street at all. Hell, they might not make it to Nashville.

Another problem with Pantsers (or at least this Pantser) is that we end up writing ourselves into scenes we don’t have any research on. All of a sudden, my characters are pulling into the parking lot at the World’s Biggest Sweet Potato, and I don’t know how big the sweet potato is, who grew it, who decided it was the World’s Biggest, what purpose it serves in the tourist industry of the surrounding area, or even how much it costs to get in to see it. (In particularly exciting circumstances, I’m not even sure exactly where they are or what I hope to accomplish with this little side trip.) Everything has to come to a grinding halt while I frantically start Googling “giant sweet potatoes.” And, should I happen to find the email address of the country’s leading expert on exceptionally large yams, he’s always out of the office until Monday.

What? I’m supposed to just leave my hero and heroine in the Sweet Potato parking lot for a couple of days? Um, I’m on a deadline, people.

But Pantsing through a book has its charms, too. Because I don’t have everything plotted out, I never get bored of the story or feel it’s getting predictable. Because I don’t have a plan set in stone, I’m fine with adding interesting details and side trips and just weaving them into the book as I go along. So my characters stop at the Giant Sweet Potato. The heroine has a soft spot in her heart for sweet potatoes because her mother used to make them for her. (Go back and stick that in chapter 2). But her mother is dead now (quick trip back to chapter one), so this is an emotional and healing moment for her. Later, in chapter twelve, when I need the hero to make a grand romantic gesture, he’ll cook her a sweet potato casserole from his mother’s recipe. Ooh, when he asks his mother for the recipe, they are able to break down that estrangement barrier that I will go back right now and add in chapter five, and then reconcile in a way that makes him realize he’s not his father – run back to chapter three -- and can therefore commit to the heroine in a satisfying HEA. And they’ll get married at Graceland!

Plotters reading this just dropped dead from a heart attack – and it wasn’t from the butter and marshmallows in the casserole.

Road trip and sweet potato metaphors aside, this is exactly how I write books. Ask the Playfriends – they have to listen to me whine and argue my way through every single book because my people have gone off chasing giant yams and I don’t know how to get them back on the road to Graceland. It’s painful. For everyone. But eventually, it gets the job done.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go research giant balls of string. Ooh, and Elvis impersonators!

The right words...

Sure, my mom thinks I’m a great writer. So do the Playfriends (or at least that’s what they tell me). DG and AC fill the stands in my cheering section as well. But these are people who love me. They have to say the nice things (or else deal with the horrible depression and witchiness that follows.)

But second only to my editor, there’s one person whose opinion really makes me think. That’s my Fabu CP. Sure, we’re friends now and I love her like my luggage, but that’s not how our relationship started. It was a business relationship –one built around saying not nice things to each other when the situation called for it. She had my respect long before she had my love.

My CP has to read through some rough stuff. She’s the first set of eyes on everything I write. If it’s wrong, it’s her job to tell me. If I go too far – or not far enough – she has to be the one to redirect me. She read at least four complete drafts of The Secret Mistress Arrangement before it sold – that’s commitment to the cause. She’s had a hand in the plot of every book I’ve written (and been the reason at least one has been archived on the hard drive because she finally had to tell me that it just wasn’t working at all. That takes guts and a long view of the situation as a whole.). Trust me, I’m a much better writer thanks to her guidance over the years. I owe her a lot.

So I trust her, but more importantly, I respect her. I’m often awed by her – and not just her incisive critting skills, either. She’s an amazing writer who often leaves me gaping at the way she strings words together. For the record, Pamela Hearon ROCKS.

I’ve been struggling with the current WIP. It’s been hard to find my groove with this one. And Pam’s been handholding me through it, dog love her. But in her notes from the most recent chapter she critted was exactly the thing my ego needed to hear, even if she didn’t know it at the time.

I remember writing the paragraph her comment referenced. It was getting close to time for AC to come home, so I was winding down my writing for the day. I like to end in the middle of something or on a strong note so I’ll have something cooking until I can get back to it. This paragraph was that stopping point. And I was kinda pleased with the image and the wording.

And when it came back from Pam, she’d written in red next to it “Man, I wish I’d written that.”

That got my attention. Yeah, it’s great when someone points out a nice phrase or some clever wording, but to have another writer – a writer you respect – wish they’d written it? Wow. That’s pretty damn cool. That’s high praise. That made my whole day. Made me think I’d finally gotten a hold of these characters, and that we all might get a happy ending after all. Made me feel the hair-pulling and teeth-gnashing might have been worth it. Six words, probably just off the cuff to let me know the image worked, made me feel like Nora Freakin’ Roberts.

And that my friends, is why good CPs are worth their weight in gold. Not only because they can tell you what’s going wrong, they let you know when it’s going right.

What’s the best compliment you’ve gotten recently?

PC

Are editors evil?

I haven’t been on the published side of the fence long enough to forget what it’s like to be subbing and waiting and waiting… I still have all my unpubbed haunts bookmarked. All those blogs and boards I read trying to educate myself about this business. And yes, those include the places where the rejected, disillusioned, and frustrated vent.

The one thing I saw a lot of on those boards/blogs was editor bashing. Not necessarily a specific editor, but editors in general. Yes, publishing can often move at a glacial pace, and waiting six months to hear from an editor can seem like an eternity – even worse is if after six months you get the dreaded form rejection.

Hey, I can relate. Really. Been there, done that, and I have the extra ten pounds on my thighs from all the chocolate I ate in my misery to prove it.

But what disturbs me are the people who seem to think editors are evil beings, only here to make a writer’s life hell. Interestingly enough, the vitriol seems to come most from people who have been asked by an editor to make changes to their book.

Gasp! Horrors! How dare some editor think your book needs changing! Dog forbid you should be told your characters don’t have enough emotional conflict to sustain your story or that your pacing is dragging. (Trust me, they’re right 99.9% of the time. If the editor says it isn’t there, it’s not there. This isn’t a graduate seminar where you’re supposed to sit around a table and second-guess whether the bird on page 23 is a symbol of the Resurrection or not. You don’t get to explain stuff to your readers outside the words on the page. It has to be there. We wouldn’t be arguing about that bird if there wasn’t something in the story already to suggest that it might. )

These are often the same people who turn to vanity or self-publishing because they don’t want one of those evil editors “messing” with their story. (But that’s a whole ‘nother rant for another day…)

I’m reminded of this recently, because I really, really (heart) my editor right now. She’s fab, and I (heart) her every day anyway, but especially now. See, even with all the fun of field trips and plotting sessions with the Fabu CP (and everyone else who made the mistake of having coffee with me), I was really struggling with this book. And by struggling, I mean I was being sucked into the Giant Black Hole of Crap (tm) from I was sure which my book (and my career) would never return.

These are the times, my friends, when your editor becomes your Most Favorite Person Evah. Editors can make your book better – that’s the purpose of revision letters. They see the thread in your plot that didn’t get tied off, the motivations that seem crystal clear to you because you know your characters but aren’t actually clear to anyone else on the planet, the part that just doesn’t ring true, or the part that you left out. By pointing these things out to you so you can fix them, they help you make your book stronger, more interesting, and well, better.

And you’re the one that gets to fix them, so it’s still your story.

Most importantly, though, editors know the line and they know you. Thirty-something minutes of brainstorming with my editor solved weeks of angst and worry and crap-production. What we came up with is different from my original vision of the book, but hey, that vision wasn’t working real well for me anyway. Plus, it was producing large amounts of stress (as those who live with me can tell you). The new vision of the book fits me better, fits my voice better, and I’m pretty sure will produce a much better book in the end.

I’m going to be rewriting a lot. Many of those golden drops of brilliant prose (snort) will be sent to the deleted scenes file. And that synopsis thing? Gone. You know what, though? I’m looking forward to it. Simply because my editor can look at the line, the book, and me and see the place where they intersect. When they don’t intersect, she’s able to point me in a different direction – probably one I couldn’t see before – and that pulls me out of the Giant Black Hole of Crap (tm). I’m happy, she’s happy, my readers are happy. There’s no bad there.

So, no, editors are not evil. No one likes to hear there’s something not working in a book, but the fact someone pointed it out to you doesn’t make that person evil. If I told you that you had spinach in your teeth, you wouldn’t think I was evil, would you? I hope not. I’m just trying to help.

I’m a much happier camper this week. I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me, but it should be easier because I’m not fighting my own voice and style and comfort level to try to write the *other* book.

How well do you handle constructive criticism?

Research, research, research.

Historical writers do a lot of research. What people wore, what they ate, how they danced, whatever. Most historical writers are walking experts on their time periods, because they know that if they get the tiniest of detail wrong, someone will send them a nasty email (“There’s no way Lady Hawkshore could eat roasted quail with sage potatoes as sage was not a common spice in 1066 as it was not brought over from the Holy Lands until after Richard I, blah, blah, blah, etc.”)

This is one reason why I don’t write historicals. I didn’t enjoy research in college, and I’d rather write books than research details.

Then I decide to set a book in a winery. I have two great characters and a fun plot. I’m writing a synopsis and I’m feeling pretty good about the whole thing.

Then I realize the only thing I know about wine is how to get the cork out, and even then, I’m not always 100% at removal techniques.

So, I’m rather screwed, as the WHOLE book takes place at a winery where the heroine is a winemaker. Hmm, you think that wine stuff might just come up in the book at some point?

Cue images of Kimberly banging her head against her desk because ugh, I’m going to have to do massive research just to figure out what I need to know for the small bit of realistic detail this book is going to need. ~whines and wails, gnashing of teeth, rending of garments~

Fabu CP to the rescue!! Pamela lives in a wine region within driving distance. She knows a guy who grows grapes. He, in turn, calls one of his friends at the local winery, and next thing I know, I’m headed up to Illinois for the weekend for a crash course in Winemaking For Romance Novels.

Have I mentioned how fabu my Fabu CP is?

This is Frank LaFoon of LaFoon Vinyards in Anna, Illinois. He grows grapes for Owl Creek Vineyard (they sent wine to the Presidential Inauguration!). He was my tour guide and info man – and he certainly has the info!

Frank set me up with a personal tour of Blue Sky Vinyard by their winemaker Karen Hand. (No picture of me and Karen to share– I was too busy taking notes and asking questions and I forgot. Sorry Karen!) Instead, I have a picture of me and Pamela in front of the building.

There’s a lot more to growing grapes and making wine than I ever expected. My brain was exploding from information overload after just a couple of hours. There’s a lot of science and a lot of art (and I suspect just a smidge of voodoo as well) that goes into growing good grapes and making good wine. I’ll never just casually open a bottle of wine ever again, that’s for sure!

What really blew me away – beyond the *really* unbelievably cold temps possible in Illinois – was how wonderful everyone was. How generous they were with their time and their knowledge, and how willing they were to answer my questions, no matter how stupid or strange they were. (And I don’t want to give away a major plot point to my book and spoil the surprise, but let’s just say I asked a couple of questions no vintner or viticulturist would ever want to even think about, much less answer.) And when I finally left them, I had email addresses and an open invitation to email them if any questions came up later on.

That’s so awesome. It’s times like this I really love my job.

Thanks to Frank and Karen, I spent the rest of the afternoon in deep huddle with my CP reworking all the things that were WRONG in my book – like timelines , yikes! – and hopefully this means I won’t get irate emails from readers telling me how wrong I was about just about everything. I now know what the inside of a fermentation room smells like, how tall grape vines actually are, and most importantly, how passionate the people who make wine are about their craft.

(That's Karen in the fermentation room.)

Thank you, thank you, Karen and Frank (and Pamela and Hubby) for a great research trip…

Oh, and that “deep huddle?” We were in the hot tub, so that didn’t exactly suck either. Did I mention how much I love my job?

So, do little mistakes pull you completely out of a book? Would you email the author and let her know she’d messed something up? How much factual detail do you like in your books? Just a flavor, or do you want to really learn something?

Glitter, Baby

No, I'm not talking about the re-release of the SEP book. I'm talking about the little glittery things all over my house. Glittery bits from sparkly tissue paper and the beautiful decoration I made for the table in my foyer. Glittery pieces sprinkled on the tables and rugs and hardwood floor and are hard to clean up, even with my super-duper new vacuum cleaner.

We undecked the halls over the weekend while I still had #2 son at home to help the DH wrangle down the tree. All the ornaments, garland, candles and reindeer are packed in their storage boxes, ready to be stored away. I even managed to disassemble the lighted reindeer and put them back in the boxes they came in. It was kinda like re-folding a road map.

We shop and wrap and decorate for weeks prior to Christmas and then poof! It's all over in a day and it's time to undo it all. I enjoy decorating even if I complain about it. I put on the Christmas music and sing along as I make the house look festive.

The week after Christmas I have to figure out why the stuff I pulled out of boxes has grown and doesn't want to go back in those same boxes. I have to put away my gifts and write thank-you notes (note to self: DO THIS). The bottom line is I'm undecking the halls, putting jingle bells and good tidings back in the closet and returning to ordinary life. And while I'm doing that, I see all sorts of things that need to be done like cleaning baseboards, dusting behind large pieces of furniture and washing a door with grandbaby fingerprints all over it.

The big problem is, I have a book to finish -- a book I'm having a difficult time getting back into. It's terrible when dust seems more attractive than writing. Add in that I had doctor's appointments on Monday and yesterday (got a clean bill of health!), a haircut appointment this morning, have a coffee date with a chapter member tomorrow morning and I need to get prepared for a presentation at our RWA meeting on Saturday. It's tax time and my DH-the-accountant will want my financial records soon.

My mother's birthday is next weekend and I still haven't bought a gift for her. And the DH and I are going to the Caribbean at the end of the month and I'll need to start getting ready for that soon. I have to find where I stored the sundresses I bought in August when the stores put them on sale. I know where my passport is, thank goodness, but I need to buy sunscreen. I have a Red Hat lunch next Thursday and a follow-up appointment with my orthopedic surgeon next Friday to check the foot he operated on almost a year ago. A proofreading job landed in my lap with a deadline of January 14th. Oh... and my Golden Heart entries arrived on Monday and need to be read and judged.

How is it that the most wonderful time of the year suddenly morphs into a glittery mess that's booked solid on my calendar?

Is anyone else having trouble getting back into the swing of things?

P.S. eHarlequin has been nominated for the Best Community Blog on Weblog. We're quite partial to eHarlequin on the Playground. Once every twenty-four hours you can vote here through 4 PM CST on January 13.

P.P.S. If you've been with us for a while, you may remember the post I made in July 2007 about a remarkable baby story. Well, this family welcomed another member last night. Romance writers just love baby stories. :-)

Random Tuesday Ramblings -- and a SQUEE!!

I have a book to write and I’m so behind on Christmas preparations it’s not even funny. Coherent, logical, interesting blog posts may be more than I can manage at the moment. Bear with me.

COUNSELOR SHELLEY UPDATE: You may remember this blog post, and my total amusement at Counselor Shelley’s decision to repeat dorm life after the age of 30. We were taking bets on how long she’d last. Well, if you put your money on one term or less, you’re a winner! I gotta give her props, though. She survived middle of the night fire alarms (where she had to go outside in the hurricanes), the college-kid parties, RAs who didn’t appreciate the fact that she had a good ten years on them and therefore wasn’t going to obey their silly edicts (like evacuating the building for the third friggin’ time that night to go stand in the rain), a mold problem that had her running dehumidifiers 24/7, and living with thin, perky people who still run up the steps. However, the cockroach infestation did her in. The proverbial straw, so to speak. (Not that I blame her. Roaches would send me over the edge as well.) Counselor Shelley is no longer a dorm dweller.

(But otherwise, she’s doing very well. Good grades, good research, and the respect of her professors. PhD, here she comes!)

PC’s NaNo UPDATE: I suck. That’s about all there is to say. Okay, so maybe not completely, as I did get some words on paper, but it wasn’t nearly as much as I’d hoped for. Darn people who insist on being fed… My status meter now shows progress on the book as a whole. I’ve got to get this thing finished.

SQUEE MOMENT: The Secret Mistress Arrangement is on sale now on the Mills and Boon website!! It’s real!! It’s official!! It’s time for lots of exclamation points!! Look over there in the sidebar – I have a cute little widget where you can read the first chapter. This is very exciting, and a real time-suck as I spend too much time on Amazon UK looking at my ranking on the Pre-Order lists.
(I’ll be on sale in the US in a couple of more months, and we’ll have a release party on the blog in April.)

PC

PS: AmyS is the winner from Maven LJ's blog. Send your smail mail to smartypants@writingplayground.com to claim your prize. Remember, you have seven days to claim or we have to give the prize to someone else!

PPS: KimmyL – today is your last chance to contact me to claim your prize from Christie Craig. We’ll have to pick another winner if I don’t hear from you! (problemchild@writingplayground.com)

The horror that is Chapter Seven

I hate chapter seven with a passion you wouldn’t believe.

In a 50-55k book, chapter seven falls around or just after the mid-point of the book for me. But don’t confuse my hatred of chapter seven as having something to do with the dreaded sagging middle. In order for the middle to sag, you must assume there’s an end somewhere. As a true-blue Pantser, I guarantee you that when I’m in chapter seven, there’s no way in hell “The End” exists.

So why the hatred of chapter seven?

It’s in chapter seven that I realize my hero’s motivation isn’t strong enough to continue to carry him through the plot. It’s where I realize what little plot I have sucks big time – and is probably overly contrived to boot. By chapter seven, I’ve decided my heroine is too stupid to live or totally unlikable, and that she and my hero have all the sexual chemistry of an oatmeal cookie. Chapter seven is where my career ends.

Now, back in the days when “editor,” “deadline,” “contract,” and “money” were simply vague concepts, dealing with chapter seven was pretty easy: I just turned off the computer and walked away.

I’d dither about, organize my sock drawer, have long conversations with the Playfriends and my CP about ways to fix the problems. I’d write newsletter articles, blog entries, and letters to the PTA. This was the opportunity to play with the first three chapters, enter them in contests, and stress over the results. I could easily kill anywhere from two weeks to two months before I’d figure out what I needed to do and get back into the book.

But those days are over. Chapter seven is still the bane of my existence, a harbinger of my downfall, proof that I suck. But I no longer have the luxury of time to wallow in the horror. Decisions have to be made quickly. The sock drawer goes unorganized as I stare at the computer screen, willing myself to figure out what happens next.

Feel pity for DG and AC who must live with me during chapter seven. In the old days, the freak-out was spread over a long period of time, and while they may have tired of listening to me whine and moan about the general I suckittude, but that’s nothing compare to the all-out disastrous nervous breakdown they had to witness during my most recent chapter seven. With no time to dither about, options had to be discovered, argued and discarded at warp speed. I paced, I talked to myself, I sent emails and called people to solicit opinions. It got ugly. You probably heard the sigh of relief when I reported to one and all that I’d typed the beautiful words “Chapter Eight.”


Am I the only one who goes through this? If not with chapter seven, when? Even if you’re not a writer, I’m sure you can relate. (And if not, lie to me :-) )


PC

The Power of Lunch

I’ll admit to having a couple of tiny superstitions. There are the basic ones—knocking wood, tossing salt, etc—but those aren’t really superstitions any more. It’s more like folklore fun. Everybody does it.

Artists of all shapes, though, seem to be a superstitious bunch. Just ask around. Professional athletes are, too. I have a long, drawn-out theory of superstitions among performance types that I won’t bore you with here, but when you have no other reason to understand why on some nights you hit the triple pirouette with no problem and on others you fall and break a foot, superstition seems as good a reason as any. It’s either that or worry about butterflies in the Amazon flapping their wings and bringing on chaos…

I have a couple left over from my dancing days. Big superstition number one: Red Carnations. For the love of dog, don’t give me red carnations. They’re Bad Luck. They give me the willies just looking at them. The Artistic Director of my dance company wouldn’t let the things past the stage door. I also will not wish you “Good Luck” if you’re going to do something physical or performance-related. Everyone knows that, right? But no one in their right mind would tell a dancer to “Break a Leg.” Instead, I will wish you much Merde. (Yes, your high-school French is correct. That means what you think it means.)

Until recently, I didn’t have any writing related superstitions. No lucky writin’ hat. No turn around three times before I sit at the desk. Nothing.

But I am now a believer in Lunch. But not just any lunch. It is Lunch with Lynn.

The first time was actually dinner. Lynn and I went out to eat and the next day she got the call that she’d won the Instant Seduction contest. A few days later, we go to Lunch and she comes home to a Golden Heat finalist call. We did Lunch to celebrate me finishing the revisions on my book, and the next day I got the email that said the editor loved it and could I send her my phone number. (Yes, I forgot to give the editor who had my book my phone number. Sigh.) Twenty-four hours later, I got The Call.

We figured we might be on to something.

We now go to Lunch every time one of us sends something off to our editors. Without fail, within a day or two, we hear back some sort of good news. Revisions, acceptance, titles, something good and writing related. (The only time Lunch has failed us is with the Golden Heart. We did Lunch on Saturday before the awards ceremony, but by then it was too late. Pity we didn’t know when the judges were actually reading her entry. Maybe we should have Lunched continuously during the judging process.)

Are we each other’s lucky charm? Does our Lunch somehow affect the Universe? Don’t know. All I do know is that Lunch is not to be skipped nor taken lightly. It has earned its capital letter.

Of course, it helps that Lunch is fun and a great way to break up the monotony of my days in front of the computer. Lunch with a friend is always good. The fact that it seems to have some kind of cosmic publishing power doesn’t hurt.

I’ve heard of Power Lunches before, but I’m a believer in the Power of Lunch.

(Sorry, Lynn, but you are never allowed to move away. I hope you like Alabama. Stay hungry, honey. My career needs you.)

Do you have a superstition or lucky charm?

PC

Today is a good day...

Hmm, whatever shall I blog about today? Gas prices? The book I’m reading? Oh, wait, I know—I’ll blog about MY CALL!!!

I SOLD!!!!!

Happy Snoopy Dance, Everyone!!

SQUEEEE!!!!!!

(I’m using far too many exclamation points, but I just can’t help it.)

You may remember my earlier posts about revisions, but I can now say that the Beautiful Editor is Bryony Green of Harlequin Mills and Boon (who is now my Most Favorite Person because she saw the promise in this book and challenged me to meet it.). Friday morning, at 10.15 a.m., she called to buy BEST LAID PLANS for the Modern Heat line (thereby solidifying her place as Most. Favorite. Person. Ever.).

(Of course, this is me we are talking about, so there’s a story behind the story: At 8.45 that morning, I was on the phone with Rhonda Nelson, obsessing over my revisions and parsing out the meaning of the work “tweak”—just in case it meant something else in Editor-Land. I’m on my cell phone with her when the house phone rings. I glanced at the number, but didn’t recognize it, so I figured it was a telemarketer. But then the “Telemarketer” left a message. Thinking that odd, I googled the number—still on the phone to Rhonda, mind you. I have no idea what she was saying because the next words out of my mouth aren’t appropriate for the blog. I go storming down the stairs to listen to the message—yep, still on the phone with Rhonda—only to hear that I’d missed a call from Harlequin Mills and Boon. The message said she’d call back in an hour or so, which meant I spent the next 84 minutes staring at the phone, WILLING it to ring with my amazing mental powers. Le sigh.)

The rest of the day is a blur of happy dances, phone calls with much Squeeing going on, and champagne. Congratulatory emails came pouring in (and I’ve saved them all). Flowers arrived. AC made me a pink ribbon to wear to dinner that night (because July is just too far away to wait for the pink “First Sale” ribbon). It was a good day.

And now we get to Par-Tay!! But first, I need to make a small speech (feel free to visit the bar while I do), and send out big thank you’s to the following people:

My Wonderful Playfriends: You ladies are my support, my inspiration, and my compass. I wouldn’t be here without y’all. Your faith and determination bolstered mine when I needed it.

The Marvelous Mavens: For believing in me. (And a special thanks to Beverly for nagging me to finish this book in the first place!)

My fabu CP: For telling me what I needed to hear—even when I didn’t want to hear it. I’m a much stronger writer thanks to you.

Rhonda and Jen: For cheering me up (and on) when things got tough.

Counselor Shelley: For talking me off the ledge more than once.

My Mom: For being my head cheerleader.

My Amazing Child: For understanding “Mommy’s writing” and asking me every night at dinner how many pages I wrote that day (and applauding regardless of the amount).

And, finally, my Darling Geek: Thank you for believing I could do this and all of your support while I did. I’m so lucky to have you in my corner. I love you. (Now get to work on my website!)

~fans eyes~

Crank up the music, cue the nearly-naked dancing men, call Captain Jack, and let’s get this party started. Teeter-totters all around! (And, the lovely Soapbox Queens are also hosting a party at their castle today to celebrate! More men and booze over there!)

Thank you everyone for being here today to celebrate with me!

Kimberly

The Revision Process

Step One: Receive letter. Restart heart. Do Happy Snoopy Dance around living room. Begin phone calls to everyone you know.


Step Two: Practice sounding cool, yet excited, when “The Call” comes. Visualize cover. Write RITA acceptance speech. Fax revision letter to critique partner.

Step Three: Brainstorm exciting wardrobe possibilities for RITA award ceremony. Re-read revision letter and start to panic. Call CP instead to deconstruct editor’s word choices and obsess over possible underlying messages.

Step Four: Open computer file. Re-read deathless prose and wonder how you’ll be able to improve upon it. Close file. Re-write RITA speech and practice signature for first book signing.

Step Five: Open file. Begin slashing everything the editor said had to go. Realize you’re left with 45 usable pages. Go lie down in dark room until nausea passes.

Step Six: Brainstorm ideas for revisions. Realize they all suck. Call emergency meeting at Starbuck’s with writing friends to brainstorm other ideas. After coming down from sugar/caffeine high, realize those all suck too. Decide you need new group of friends, ahem…fresh perspective.

Step Seven: Begin work on pages 1-45. Replace all weak verbs with stronger, more colorful, choices. Give hero ability to cock one eyebrow. Give heroine a cat.

Step Eight: Realize that only netted three new pages and that you’re now totally screwed. Wonder if you can get old day job back.

Step Nine: Begin writing—something, anything, just do something other than stare at that stupid blinking cursor. You’re not getting any younger, you know.

Step Ten: Realize that you may just be on to something. These new pages aren’t so bad after all. Begin to take chances. Discover characters’ true motivations. Find your groove.

Step Eleven: Get giddy and excited. Decide to wear red to RITA ceremony.

Step Twelve: Realize pages 1-48 are now totally wrong and have to be rewritten.

Step Thirteen: Realize that’s not the end of the world. Sometimes you have to know the ending to write the beginning anyway, right?

Step Fourteen: Polish, proof, print, post. Panic. Obsess with CP over whether you’ve done the right things. Whether you’ve done enough. Decide she’s probably lying to you, but try believe her anyway. Cross fingers.

Step Fifteen: Stalk the mailman. Check caller ID for tell-tale area codes. Wonder if the cat was a bad idea after all…

Step Sixteen: It’s hard to say what step sixteen might be this time. Rejection? More revisions? A contract? But y’all will be one of the first to know—if I ever get there, of course. I’m finishing up 13 and closing in on early parts of 14 right now. But I’m hopeful. Happy. Cautiously optimistic about the quality of what’s happening with this rewrite.


And that's what's important, right?


PC

The World's Best Mom

And no, it’s not me. Pigs aren’t airborne yet. I’m giving props to my mom today.



(A little background—Mom isn’t living in town right now. She moved back to Tennessee several months ago to help care for my grandmother who’s having some health issues. Hopefully, she’ll be able to move back sometime this summer.)

So we got back Friday night from the whirlwind trip to Scotland on the world’s worst travel itinerary. Despite my plans to work on my book while I was gone, I didn’t accomplish much due to, well, due to lots of stuff. Saturday morning, Mom calls to check in and I bemoan my lack of progress and worry out loud about how I’m ever going to get this book finished with AC home all this week for Spring Break. She commiserates, but she’s not much help from four hours away.

A couple of hours later, she calls back and tells me if I’ll meet her half-way, she’ll take AC to Tennessee for the week.

The whole week.

Leaving me the week to work on these revisions.

Yippee!

See why I’m not the world’s best mom? I packed AC’s bags and headed to Chattanooga. Now I have the whole house to myself while DG’s at work and I should be accomplishing tons.

I should be, at least.

Unfortunately, being gone last week meant a ton of stuff landed on my To Do list for Monday and between the phone and the emails, not much got accomplished book-wise.

So if I’m AWOL most of today and the rest of the week, you’ll know why. It’s because I’m trying to make the most of the time I have to get this book done. If I’m going to suffer the Mom-Guilt of shipping my kid off with just a cheery wave, I should get a decent page count out of it, right?

So three cheers for my mom. You rock, Mom. Try not to spoil AC too much. After last week with her other grandparents and a week with you, I’d hate to have to beat her when she gets home.


Who’s your hero this week? Anyone deliver exactly what you needed?



PC

The hard part

No, not that hard part. Get your minds out of the gutter, people!





I’m in Scotland this week, blogging in absentia. While DG and AC visit with the in-laws, I’m working on revisions.

It’s appropriate, in a way, that I’m revising this book in Scotland, as I finished this book in Scotland many moons ago. (For those of you new to the blog, I play Miss America chaperone to AC and escort her overseas every summer. I use that time to write. Usually.)

Once the euphoria of “I don’t suck” waned, I was faced with the prospect of actually revising. I knew it would be a major undertaking—not just a tweak here or there or just a rearranging of scenes. Pretty much everything after about chapter four would have to be cut or completely rewritten. Yikes.

The first cut—the stuff I knew had to go—took my book from 56k to 18.5k in two quick keystrokes. I had to go lie down in a dark room after that.

Once that nausea passed, I knew I was on the right track. Until now, I lacked the distance necessary to objectively evaluate what was really in this book. Of course the book was dragging—I stretched the action out over eight freaking months. (Yes, if you’d asked me if that was a good idea for your book, I would have told you no way. My book, however, was special and that rule didn’t apply.) That supporting cast of interesting and quirky characters—complete with backstory for each—had to go. Needless to say, the scenes written from their points of view also had to be slashed.

What can I say—it was my first book and I’ve learned a lot since then. ~shrug~

Let’s just say that the first cut is the deepest, and while it may be painful, it can improve your book exponentially.

Then, of course, came the question of what will I do now? The Beautiful Editor did give me some suggestions, and after much personal angst, I decided which ideas I could use to create an actual plot past page 50.

Then, just as I’d come (almost) to terms with all that was cut, I started wondering what I might be able to keep. Can I salvage that wonderful scene I love in chapter ten? Maybe I can work some of it in in chapter six? It’s a great scene—full of angst and self-discovery. Maybe a few tweaks will make it work in the revised version.

Or, maybe since it’s “cut” right now, I should leave it as such.

I’m not saying this is easy, but it’s a growing experience for me as a writer. I’m really trying to push myself to go deeper with these characters and their story, because I do love them and want them to have their chance to see the world.

But it’s tough, trying to figure out if I’m making this book better or worse with the revisions. Honestly, at this point, I’m not sure.

But the only way out is through, so I’m slogging along, unsure if this is the best stuff I’ve ever written or if I’m a complete talentless hack. I guess I’ll find out once I finish it and send it off to Beautiful Editor, huh?

So send creative thoughts my way, okay? And maybe today would be a good day to practice our affirmations. I’ll start: “I don’t suck. I don’t suck. This book is great.”



Your turn. What’s your affirmation?





PC

The Next Best Thing

For aspiring writers, nothing is better than The Call from an editor wanting to buy your book. However, a letter containing this comes close:

“We love your voice—it’s sparky, sexy, lively and contemporary and therefore perfect for the series. […] Overall, your manuscript showed huge potential and we feel you do have a voice that would suit the series.”

Join me in the Happy Dance! SQUEEEE!!!

Now, the three pages that follow the next sentence, “However, we also have a number of revision suggestions to make to help bring out the best in this manuscript and help it reach publication standard,” are kind of daunting, but, hey, four nice adjectives about my voice go a long way toward my attitude about revisions.

I’m not adverse to revisions. In fact, I knew something needed to be done to this manuscript; I just didn’t know what. I’ve learned a lot since writing this one, and I could see some of the problems, but the solutions were still beyond me. I now have three pages of what’s not working and why, and this beautiful editor even gave me some ideas how to fix it.

I love this editor. She’s my new favorite person. I think it’s too early in our relationship for me to send her flowers and chocolate without coming across as stalkerish, but I would if I could.

Ideas are sparking. Possibilities are swirling. At the workshop on Saturday, things kept popping in my head and I’d scramble to write them down. The major difference between this revision request and the last one is that this time, I’m excited about what I think I can do with it. The idea of gutting at least a third (and possibly half) of my book doesn’t bother me at all. I think I understand what this editor is saying in her letter, and, most importantly, I think I just might be able to do it.

I don’t suck. This book isn’t right, but at least it’s not totally wrong. It’s fixable. Beautiful Editor likes my voice and thinks the book has enough potential to take the time to type out a long letter. Wow. I have a voice. This doesn’t suck at all, people.

Happy, happy, joy, joy. In celebration of my non-suckiness and my “sparky, sexy, lively and contemporary” voice, I’m giving out prizes today. I don’t know what or how many yet, but let’s just say I’m feeling good and that bodes well for the prize patrol. Say something nice about yourself or others in the comment tail to enter.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a happy Snoopy dance to do around my living room.

PC

The lengths I'll go to for a decent plot...

Well, the Snow Day at Maven Linda’s was quite the hit with Playfriends and Playkids alike. AC is just lucky all Playfriends look after all kids or else she would have had to stay home.

See, this was my annual plotting weekend with my fabu CP. I wasn’t home to load AC up and take her. Thankfully, Kira picked AC up on her way past my house and carted her to Maven Linda’s where all Playfriends looked after her. Because the snow day was postponed from Saturday to Sunday, I was able to come by Sunday afternoon after I finished for my turn on the sled.

This plotting weekend is important. It gives me a chance to bounce ideas off my CP, brainstorm plots, and flesh out characters. Actually, it’s only one full day, because by the time we get there Friday night, eat dinner, get caught up, show pictures, and drink a bottle of wine, the evening is shot. But we get a running start on Saturday and go until we both have books ready to write.

But as we all know, it’s not a PC trip until someone (namely me) gets hurt. And this weekend was no exception. We’re at this lovely historic house bed and breakfast that is just wonderful. The innkeepers are super friendly, very helpful, and have two cute sheltie-type dogs.

One of the dogs bit me.

Yep. You read that right. I go on a plotting weekend and get bitten by the innkeepers’ dog.

Now, when I called DG and the Playfriends to tell them that it was officially a PC trip, there first words (after they quit laughing) were “What did you do to yourself?”

I did nothing to myself—I was injured through no fault of my own, thankyouverymuch. No, I was not doing anything to annoy the dog either, unless you consider entering the building grounds for getting bitten.

I guess it beats falling down their stairs or something.

I have a lovely mark, but the bite didn’t require stitches. And, no, they didn’t comp my room. But I have a book ready to write and a funny story to tell, so maybe a dog bite was worth it.

Some things can only happen to me…

PC

Don’t forget—Allison Brennan, Roxanne St. Claire and Karin Tabke are guest blogging tomorrow. I bet they didn’t get bitten by a dog while plotting…

Things that suck...

So, I’m trying to polish a first chapter and synopsis for a contest. The chapter was coming along just fine, but it was time to work on the synopsis.

I hate synopses. First of all, I can’t write a synopsis for a book I haven’t written—I’m a pantser. I know the beginning and the end, but the middle is still a question mark. A journey of possibilities, if you will. But since only the first four chapters of this book exist, writing that synopsis would be a real challenge.

But, hey! Look! I have a synopsis for this book. Neatly labeled as such in the computer file. Excellent. I have no idea why or when I wrote that synopsis, but let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth. I click on it, knowing it probably sucked, but figuring I could work with it.

It’s NINE freaking pages long.

NINE.

Now, let’s ignore for a moment that the contest only allows a two-page synopsis. I want to know what possessed me to ever write a nine-page synopsis in the first place. Especially considering how I have NO idea how the middle of the book will unfold, how in hell did I come up with nine pages worth?

Of course the upside to a two-page synopsis is that you only have to hit the highlights—surely I can cull highlights from those nine pages and pull something together. As I read through the nine pages, though, I realized why it ended up at nine pages.

Have you ever been told that you can spot a lie because the liar doesn’t know when to stop talking? Because the lie doesn’t sound credible to them, they think more details are the way to make it sound credible to you. So they ramble on and on, piling on the extraneous details.

A nine-page synopsis for an unwritten book is kinda like that. At least in my case.

I’m a terrible liar, too, just for the record.

But I worked and worked and managed to pull together a two-page synopsis. I’m so proud. Then I went back Monday morning to double-check the rules. It’s supposed to be two-page, double-spaced. ACK!! More hacking required.

But I buckled down and got that puppy down to 2 double-spaced pages. And I only had to mess with the margins a little bit in the end. (Come on, one measly sentence ran onto page three. So I decreased the margins just enough to pull it onto the previous page. Shoot me.)

Of course, after all of this, I find out the book may be ineligible for the contest anyway.

Now I want to go cry. All that work, and I might not have an entry to show for it.

But I think everyone has been in a similar type of situation. You work so hard, only to have it fall apart just as the end is finally in sight. (A good friend is going through something much like this today as well. I think we’ll go get drunk tonight.)

Feel free to vent about something that recently went all to hell for you. Or simply marvel at the insanity of a NINE PAGE synopsis.

PC
~heading to the bar~

Some weeks are just better than others...

Nothing to whine about today. No venting. No ranting. Instead, I've had a run of good days lately, leaving me in an uncharacteristically good mood.

Hmmm. How odd.

Odd enough that I thought I'd share *why* I'm in such high spirits. (And, for once, it has nothing to do with spirits of the alcoholic variety!)

In no particular order...

1. My beloved Vols beat Kentucky in a nail-biting 4th overtime. My apologies to my blue-blooded CP, but what can I say-- GO BIG ORANGE!

2. We convinced AC to clean out her toy box, closet, and bedroom, resulting in a HUGE pile of toys to be given away. Clearing the clutter is a wonderful thing. I feel the feng-shui energy flowing better already. My closet will be the next decluttering project...

3. My mom and aunt made a wonderfully tasty Thanksgiving meal. A meal I don't have to cook or clean up after is enough to make me very happy. For it to be tasty is just a bonus!

4. I got the chance to catch up with my cousins, whom I haven't seen in ten years. (We were caught in the crossfire of a Big Family Drama.) It was a wonderful reunion and I cried a bit. (Okay, so some of the the limbs of my family tree aren't what exactly you'd call emotionally healthy. Got any nuts on your family tree? Thought so.) I now know where they are, so another ten years won't pass before I get to see them again.

Kandy, Kimberly, Kristy

(See any family resemblance? Nah, me neither.)

(Because my mother will want this clarified--the Big Family Drama wasn't from *her* side of the family)

5. Presents! As I celebrate my 29th birthday, I've received wonderful presents. I like presents. Presents are fun and good. One especially good present came from my mother in law:

I completely adore it! First of all, I love purses. I'm a bit of a handbag whore. Secondly, that's DG's family tartan, which happens to be very Christmassy and therefore perfect for holiday parties. And it has red fuzzy trim! What's not to love?

6. This, my friends, is quite possibly the best mood-enhancer of them all:

That is a picture of my former Work in Progress. It's done! Printed, packaged and ready to head to New York. I'll hit the post office this afternoon while AC is in dance class. To borrow a phrase from my friend Kelley St. John: Ding! Dong! The book is gone! I can now face the holidays without a book hanging over my head.

So, how's your mood today? Any good news you'd like to share?

PC

**************************

A special giveaway for Kims And Those Who Love Them

I get a lot of books sent to me--for reviewing, as thank yous, etc--plus I've pick up some at booksignings. Shelf space is at a premium at Casa PC, and I really need to clear some books out. But the thing is, they've been inscribed to me--at least with my name. I can't give inscribed books to the used book store; it just seems wrong. (And it's not that I don't appreciate the gifts; I just don't have the space for all of them.) But I never could figure out how to give them away as blog prizes--who would want books inscribed to "Kim?" Then the answer hit me--other people named Kim or those lucky folks who have Kims in their lives.

So, if you're a Kim (or love a Kim and want to gift them with a book), email me. Actual Kims get first dibs; then I'll go down the list for those with Kims on their Christmas lists. There are several books to be had, and I'll give away until they're gone.

A Concession Speech...

So, I lost the writing challenge. I put in a good showing though, so I’m not ashamed of losing. I should finish up my pages today (I would have finished yesterday, but I had to chaperone AC’s field trip.). I’ll still have some pages left before I can type The End, but I’m very glad I participated in this challenge— even if it did cost me a mani-pedi and a bit of my dignity on the blog.

(Honestly, I built SP’s prize in to my budget the day after I agreed to this challenge. SP is very competitive— the challenge itself got her moving. I, on the other hand, am deadline-driven. I dragged myself along in the early stages of the contest— mainly so I didn’t look like a slacker to the world-at-large— but once SP crossed that 90% threshold, I suddenly realized there was a deadline, and that, more than anything, kicked my butt into gear.)

I doubt I’m the only unpublished writer who struggles when it comes to producing pages. It’s tough to pour your heart and soul into something, knowing the odds are it will be returned to you with a “No Thanks.” Yes, we all understand on a rational level that we can’t sell a book we haven’t written, but investing that much of ourselves into something where there’s only the slimmest of chances it will amount to anything... Well, if that doesn’t teeter on the edge of soul-destroying, I don’t know what does.

In fact, I know I’m not alone. If I were, no one would be Sweating With Sven right now or gearing up for National Novel Writing Month. These challenges (much like our Playground one) have some accountability built in. It’s not a contract with a paycheck attached, but at least there’s a deadline and people expecting on you to get there.

Having that meter on the page and knowing folks (or at least the Playfriends) were eyeballing my progress forced me to slog through those sections where getting the words out made pulling teeth sound like great fun. There are about 40 pages in the middle of the book where I’d write a paragraph, delete the paragraph, stare at the page for a while, write a sentence, delete the sentence... The only way out, sadly, was through. (Especially for someone like me who can’t write scenes out of order.) Once I got through that section though, the words came easier. Without SP shaming me into action, though, I’d still be avoiding that section of the book.

I was reminded of something very important during this challenge, though, that I’d like to share with y’all: Never confuse feeling productive with actually being productive. Oh, I wrote a lot during this writing challenge-- blog entries, chapter bylaws, newsletter articles, resumes, letters to the parents in AC’s class... I’d feel so productive on those days, and I’d reward myself with an evening in front of the TV or with a good book. At the end of the day, though, I’d have little or nothing to post on the meter. I felt productive, but it didn’t take long to realize how false that feeling was. Maybe you play this game with yourself in other ways like cleaning house, planting pansies, or organizing your sock drawer. At the end of the day, you feel like you’ve been very productive, but wait— there’s no pages to post on the meter.

I’d recommend to anyone practicing WIP avoidance techniques to take on a challenge. Sweat with Sven. NaNoWriMo your heart out. Join one of those Survivor-style writing loops. Or just find a friend and up the stakes. Create a goal, a deadline, and some kind of accountability plan, and maybe you’ll find your way out of that rut.

Thanks to SP, I’m on pace to get this WIP finished, polished and off to the Golden Heart contest (which I already paid for— see, I created a deadline for myself). Kicking me out of my rut is well worth the cost of a mani-pedi.

I’m not Sven, and I certainly don’t sweat if I can possibly help it, but let’s talk about goals today. What would you like to accomplish between now and December 1?

PC

Alrighty then...

Sooo…I got a set of scores back from a contest this week regarding my current WIP. As is not uncommon when only two judges read an entry, I had wildly differing scores. I can handle that; not everyone likes my voice or appreciates my jokes.

Judge One had some good criticism and gave me a couple of things to think about. Judge Two…well, let’s just say she didn’t like it much at all.

She called my writing “stiff” and “mechanical” and told me I needed to get a good critique partner (if my CP were a cat, she’d be arched and hissing right now). She advised me to join an RWA chapter. She insinuated I needed a thesaurus. She also didn’t like my hero’s name.

O-kay….

But a good portion of Judge Two’s comments revolved around the fact that I am obviously prejudiced against an entire geographical region of which I knew next to nothing about. If I knew anything about the region and its people, I’d know these people were not “low lifes” who “swung from tree to tree” (her words, not mine).

Talk about your low blows. I've been called a lot of things in my life, but never a racist. And, just for the record, I do know a bit about that particular region (gee, I’ve even been there), and looking over my entry, I’m not quite sure what fueled her statements.

Yes, a couple of the characters may look down their noses at these people, but the views of the characters do not necessarily reflect the views of the author. (Heck, those characters would think I was a backwater barbarian who swung from a tree, and I’m not even from that same part of the world!)

Now, this same chapter the judge took so much offense to has been read by at least four people I don’t know (another contest), most of the Playfriends, my CP, a published author, and an editor (who requested the full). Surely one of those people would have mentioned if it sounded racist, right? Maybe at least the other judge in this contest would have said something?

The Playfriends are convinced the judge is simply off her meds at the moment. Counselor Shelley reminds me there are folks who will take offense at pretty much anything. The Darling Geek insists I’m a good person, and my CP is righteously indignant on my behalf (and pretty insulted herself). They all say I need to just ignore this judge and shake it off.

But I’m having a hard time shaking it off. I lost almost a whole day of my writing challenge (which I needed to catch up with SP since she’s leaving me in the dust) worrying about this. I found myself re-reading the first chapter (again, after promising myself I’d leave the first 50 pages alone and quit futzing with them until the book was finished), looking for whatever I may have said that made this judge think I’m some kind of racist. After all, if she took offense, there’s a chance someone else will. Is everyone who read this chapter secretly thinking I’m a racist and just didn’t bother to call me on it?

Yikes. Scary thought.

I’ve got to let this go. Chalk it up to… I don’t know…something and get one with my WIP. I like this story. I like the characters. And I like my hero’s name just fine.

People say you should always write thank you notes to contest judges. I’m big on the writing of thank you notes (just ask the Playfriends), but I don’t think I could quite bring myself to write one to this judge. She probably wouldn’t want to be subjected to my stiff and mechanical writing again anyway. And I’d be hard-pressed not to mention how if she wants to pick apart my writing, she should watch her own spelling and grammatical errors while doing so. (Meow.) Since my grandmother would insist the phrase “Bite me” would not be appropriate in a thank you note, I’m honestly at a loss for words.

Hey, there’s a first time for everything.

Off to write more of my offensive manuscript. I at least want to put in a good showing in this challenge…

PC

**********

Happy Anniversary to my Darling Geek! You're still the one!

Battle Cry of the Procrastinators

A little battle music to get us started...

"Dum...dum, dum, dum...dum, dum, dum...dum, dum, dum! Rising up, back on the street. Did my time, took my chances. Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet. Just a man and his will to survive! So many times, it happens too fast. You trade your passion for glory. Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past. You must fight just to keep them alive! It's the eye of the tiger, its the cream of the fight. Rising up to the challenge of our rivals! And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night and he's watching us all with the eye of the tiger..." (Survivor, Eye of the Tiger)

So we're four days into the SP/PC writing challenge. No timelimits, no minimums, just a race to 140 pages. This could take a week if one of us buckles down or six months if we creep along at our current pace. Who knows what will happen?? So far, it hasn't been too painful, at least for me. I had to psych myself into it, though. I took the last few weeks leading up to the challenge to prepare. I looked at my outline and made a list of major scenes that need to be written. Sure, there will be scenes that come along as I go, but I captured the high plot points to move the story along. I went back and edited what I'd already written so I had a better idea of how many pages I really need to write to be finished. (The goal is 140, but if one of us completes our book at say, 125 pages, the contest will end there and the person with the most pages at that point, even if not done, will win.)

I've also started going to bed about twenty minutes earlier. I choose a scene and lie in the dark, thinking out how it would go. I fall asleep with the scene in my mind and wake up ready to write it the next morning. Instigator has always written her scenes out of sequence as they come to her. The thought of this has always made me crazy, but I'm trying it now. I'm writing the scenes that seem the most alive to me at the time. I'll go back and string them together later. This may not be the best method, but I'm getting words and scenes written, so I say don't knock it till you try it. I have to go back and layer a bunch anyway, so it doesn't matter. The pages don't have to be perfectly revised and submittable to win, but they do have to be clean without gaps, etc., so I'll have to do all that before the race is done.

Of course, it takes the threat of public shame and financial burden of losing to movitate me, but that's ok. I say whatever works at this point. I haven't quite gotten my method down as a writer, so challenges like this force me to work through my issues and get books written. That's the whole point, right? Someone said you have to write a million words before you get to the level that you should be published. That comes out to 12.5 80k books for me. So far, I've cranked out 5, so I still have a way to go.

As of Thursday night, our numbers stand at:

SP:6,500 / 35,000 (18.6%)
PC: 3,750 / 35,000 (10.7%)

There's a long way to go until the mani-pedi is awarded, but I think we're both off to a good start. Is there something in your life you could use a little movitvation to start or finish? Share with us and maybe we can give you a boost to get going.

SP

A Friendly Competition (with a side of Shame and Greed)

Every now and then, you’ll hear us talk about “writing challenges” here on the blog. You challenge yourself to write X number of pages in X amount of time. Usually it’s a daily page total. You let the others know your goal and check in with your progress. A great idea, right?

Well, there are two flaws to the average writing challenge:

1) If you don’t make your goal for the day, there’s no real penalty.

2.) The pages don’t have to be any good. You can write garbage and still get credit for meeting your page goal.

So, while they're a good idea, the shame factor is relatively low and you're not really competing against anyone but yourself.

Smarty Pants and I are obviously having some motivation problems. WIP issues we don’t know how to fix, life issues that need to be dealt with, and confidence issues of feeling we suck have all worked together to stall out our manuscripts. Something must be done or else these books will languish forever.

Saturday night, we hit on something that should kick our butts in to gear. A competition. Well, more than a competition or a writing challenge. More like a bet. A down and dirty bet.

We have the same goal—140 pages. (That’s not an arbitrary number—we have reasons for that page count). However, they must be 140 GOOD pages. Not pages of “blah, blah, blah, I’ll fix that later.” Not pages of crap that must be massively edited to be presentable. The goal is 140 pages of good, “ready-for-prime-time” stuff. That may mean rewriting. That may mean going back to page 13 to change something and having to deal with the ripple effect though all the pages that follow. (Critique Partners, brace yourselves.) We’re going for Quality as well as Quantity.

There’s no set time limit, other than First One to 140 Wins. But it is a race. No dawdling and fiddling around.

And there will be a prize. In addition to gaining bragging rights and avoiding public shame, we decided there needs to be a tangible prize. Something we want. Something we wouldn’t want to lose. Shame and competitiveness will only go so far. We’re going for the baser motivations like greed as well.

That’s where we’re stuck. We need y’all to help us come up with a prize. Remember, it needs to be tangible and it needs to be good. We’re avoiding cold hard cash or really expensive things (partly because I’m a kept woman these days and feel bad about betting too much money I don’t actually earn). Manual labor can be involved—the painting of each other’s offices did come up in negotiations. We’re not into public humiliation beyond having to admit on the blog that we lost. Nudity is also out. Y’all know us pretty well by now; what do you think a good prize would be? What would you want if you were in our shoes?

Give us your ideas for the Grand Prize (If it’s what we chose—or leads us to the final choice, I’ll send you an awesome prize pack of your own.)

The start date has been set for August 13, so we have less than a week to come up with final terms. Help us out, then be ready for a ring-side seat as PC and SP go keyboard to keyboard in a no-holds-barred race to 140.

Knowing us, this should be interesting...

PC

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PS: Our first MOANday winner is Ellie! Email Angel for your prize.

PPS: In a late-breaking addition, erotica writer Colette Gale will be here tomorrow!