Another May, Another Dollar

May 2

Okay, so I didn't manage to update last night, and though I had vague thoughts of updating this morning before work, my novel-writing was actually going extraordinarily well, so I didn't. I doubt any of you would complain too much about me working on my fiction instead of this concatenation of blathering and whimsy...

So. This week. Whoo. I have sweat on my brow just thinking about it.

Monday my poem "Nidhigg", latest (and best yet) in my "A Bestiary" series, went up at Strange Horizons. That morning I rose like a good, eager young writer and worked on my book. Monday night was mine and Heather's two-year anniversary. After I got home from work, but before Heather got home, I wrote a short story called "Bridge", found some illustrations, and made a little single-sheet-folded-in-half chapbook for her; a limited edition of one. The story might show up in our next holiday chapbook, though -- "The Heart, a Chambered Nautilus" was my anniversary story for Heather last year, and it wound up in Floodwater. I can't remember what we did with the rest of the night -- I think we watched Sunshine State until its boringness made us comatose. Holly made some carne asada, and the two of us ate that (mmm, lightly seared red meat) while Heather looked on in vegetarian horror. Yummers.

Tuesday morning I, again, wrote diligently. At work, my boss gave me some good advice on my novel (which he's read about a quarter of so far -- hope he likes it enough to read the rest), especially on how to make the first chapter more compelling, and how to differentiate the characters' voices. He talked about the difference between a short story and a novel -- a novel is like a symphony, with themes and variations, motifs... got me thinking a lot about how to make the book better. He also got me in touch with an agent (actually recommended me to her, which was extraordinarily good of him), and I wrote said agent a letter about my background, my goals as a writer, about Rangergirl, and about the novel I'm presently working on, and la la la. Tuesday night the lovely Susan Marie came over for our regular wine-and-Buffy fest, and told us about their search for a new fiction editor. We talked about people who'd be good at the job, but most of the people Heather and I came up with are writers who wouldn't want to lose SH as a market. We watched TV, drank wine, ate bread and pears and brie, and generally had a grand time.

On Wednesday, I again worked diligently on my novel, which is getting frightfully cool. That morning the agent wrote back and asked me to e-mail the first hundred pages of Rangergirl so that she could read it this weekend and get back to me about the book next week. All day at work I thought about the novel, how to re-write the first chapter, and so forth, and at lunch I made some notes. On wednesday night, I worked. Totally rewrote the beginning of the book -- mostly just a shuffling of chronology, but about 1500 words worth of new scenes -- then had to change things to make it fit seamlessly with the later chapters. And, of course, I couldn't resist going through the first hundred pages and tightening things up, tweaking the language, and so on. It was rather exhausting, but also exhilarating. Heather valiantly proofread, caught my typos and incomprehensibilities, and generally showered me with moral support. She's the best pook ever. Around midnight, whoosh, I sent that first hundred pages off to the agent. Maybe she'll like it. Who knows? I was pleased to see that, on rereading, I still like the book, rather a lot, especially now that it doesn't start so slowly.

Thursday, I slept in. Had a long, groggy day at work -- I had a headache, and my wrists hurt from all the cranking on the computer the day before (data entry all day at work, then my novel-typing, ugh!). Felt better by the evening, but kind of wiped-out, which is why I didn't write a journal entry -- I hardly went near my computer. I spent the evening reading (Warren Ellis's graphic novel Orbiter, which is quite good, and a couple of issues of The New Yorker) and spending time with Heather.

So that's where I've been all week. Under a pile of words, mostly. And this morning, I got back to the novel... work was work (I'm doing the photo spread for the Nebula issue -- pretty cool stuff)... and came home to a contract from Asimov's for my poem "Still Life, with Frog". $32, baby. Oh yeah.

Busy weekend ahead. Tonight I'm helping Heather outline her YA novel (helping her brainstorm, mostly, I suspect). Tomorrow morning we're looking at a used car, and tomorrow night is the A Certain Magazine Anniversary party at Borderlands Books. Sunday I'll catch up on all the work (Star*Line stuff and graphic novel reviews, mostly) I'll be neglecting on Saturday. And a la la la. But life's good. I've enjoyed all this being-busy. And there's been good news in the PrattShaw household (some of which can't be announced for a while). I've got no complaints, except that there aren't bionic RSI-proof wrists available yet...

Words written since February 1, 2003: 41,700

Words written since last entry:
5,500

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Charles de Lint says it's worth reading! Are you calling him a liar? Huh?