Focus now, it's getting harder

I found my timeline! Or at least, the rough-rough draft of it, lol. I had almost thrown it away and when I realized what I was holding I nearly shrieked. Joy of finding it or the horror of holding it over the trash, whichever, both would apply in this situation.

Four pages, minimum, is my new daily goal. I think having a small goal set each day will help keep me from looking at the entire project and getting discouraged.

Chapter one: I have about two pages completed. I must rewrite them immediately for I hate them.

Is it a chapter or a prologue?

Well, I've been writing more recently. In truth, there's not really much to show, considering that I've now got an entire six or so pages complete of the rough draft but for me that's an accomplishment and I'm rather proud of it. Actually putting the beginning of the story on paper rather in real story form rather than a mesh of notes & thoughts I gather and connect in my head.

My next move will be to continue writing. I've been doubting myself and my ability to tell this story for a while now and while I'm not completely over my hesitations and fears, I have to at least attempt this project. I've been working on this one story for nearly six years now. Sure, the plotlines have changed over the years and it now only vaugely resembles what it started out to be but I think it's better now, which is the key point in my opinion.

I need to concentrate on what I know and not what I imagine.

I know that when I did a writing workshop at Norwescon a few years ago and submitted my ideas and the first chapter of my book, they loved it. There were, of course, some changes that needed to be made but nothing massive. Which by massive I mean 'this story has already been told' or 'you have the writing ability of a mongoose'. I highly doubt that a group of four published authors and agents would read my work, one out of fifty or more that they dealt with that weekend, and all collectively decided to blow smoke up my arse. Which is what I had convinced myself of.

I know that when I share my stories, they are generally accepted and the people who read them always want to hear more.

I know that my writing ability does not suck completely, I am apparently reknowned in the world of online RPGs (the writing sites, not FPS sites) and have been accepted before for writing projects I've done.

I know that I can accomplish my goal of completing my book. After that it's kind of out of my hands but all I can do is try. The worst that can happen is I can be rejected over and over again and since it's not public recorrd, if I really wanted to I could pretend it never happened.

I know that I can do my research and be educated on the world of publishing, agents and whatnot but that does not make me a pro.

I know I still have a lot to learn and a long way to go.

I know that if I make it, it will a lifelong dream coming true. And if I don't at least try, I will be hurting no one but myself. And I know I deserve it.

So now, I'll imagine myself as a published author. And do my damnedest to help that come try.

Fire Literally Killing Fire

As it happens, inspiration for me comes in spurts. I have moments where I want to do nothing more than write, to get those ideas out on paper, until my wrist is throbbing and my fingers numb. Other times I have lines or ideas that I just need to get out of my head (losing the random pieces of paper I've written these on is tragic) and occasionally there are occasions where I couldn't write about what I did that week, that day or even the hour before. I would like to think that the first of the three is the most promient but the biggest problem I have is that it is not.

In fact, it's a very skittish place to be. Meaning, the slightest thing can distract me and the inspriation floats away like a soap bubble, popping when I desperately reach out for it again. Last week I got five-odd pages of actual writing down, more than just synopsis or ideas but the actual beginning of the dang book, the start of the opening chapter. I think it's rather good and I'm thrilled about it but in a second it was gone. No fault of my own really and when it comes down to the facts I am immensely glad that it happened as it did.

See, I had my heating pad with me as I lay in bed writing and while I thought it was off, it was not. The cord had broken and my husband walked in and found it starting to catch the entire mattress on fire. It's astounding how envolved I can become, oblivious to even going up in flames.

So now I search for that moment again, feeling lucky to still be alive to do so and with a place to do it in.

I know once I get over the fear, there will be no stopping.

If it's remembered, it must be good.

If something comes to me in the middle of the night, either just as I'm falling asleep or a thought that actually wakes me, I will usually get up out of bed with the intention of writing it down. It could be a sentence or a mere thought or it could be the spark that cause me to spend the next several hours laying in bed writing furiously into loose leaf notebook paper until I pass out again from exhaustion. The few times that I don't get up and do this are the times I'm too freaking tired to move. In these times, I usually console myself with the thoughts that if it's that good, I'll remember it in the morning. 

This never happens. By morning light I've completely forgotten that I had a thought to begin with, much less what that thought was. This is the eternal struggle I must face; trying to be a writer with memory problems. If I give into my laziness and ignore what I should be working on for a few days I end up forgetting where ever the hell it was I left off or exactly what I was intending to do with the story. These few days stretch into a frustrating few weeks and I'm left, several months down the road, having to restart my work entirely from the beginning just so I can start where I'd left off. 

There are a few rare times, however, that it's later in the day when the thought suddenly springs into my head that there was something I'd wanted to remember. Actually, no... let me rephrase that. The thought I have that I should be remembering something comes up a lot. A LOT. It's rare that I'll figure it out. Last night I had a thought; the potential beginning of a whole chapter in one sentence. I did not get up to write it down as I had just gotten in bed and it was already nearing two in the morning. But it's now 1:30 the next afternoon and I've just remembered what it was. 

And it's pretty good, in my opinion, so I am pleased. 

But the thought of how much I've missed because of all I can't remember is daunting. Not nearly as much as the knowledge that I've screwed myself completely over the last several years with how much I tend to avoid writing (it's not that I don't love it. I do. I live for it. I'm scared to death of actually finishing the damn thing and then having to let people read it). The insanity of this thought going hand in hand with the dream of being published makes me feel like I should be locked away or tested for some sort of imbalance. 

I tried, a few times actually, to put a notebook beside the bed for my mid-sleep thoughts. I kept losing it and failed. So I've begun texting my friend Koamie who will always remind me later. She started a writing group that I've joined and she's fantastic at not only being my memory but also being HONEST. A hard quality to find in anyone. 

I also decided last night that I've been a dumbass lately... purely in relation to myself. If I want to be a published author, I need to write. If I submit something and it's rejected, then I need to write some more. Having someone not like what I write is not the end of the world. I need to accept this.

 

The thick skin that covers the rest of my life needs to be extended over this part as well. 

Or I'll never make it. 

This is my first blog post, as you can see, in the blog I've dedicated to being ONLY about my writing and the journey I've taken trying to finish this damn novel.