204 and a Dog Named Patch

Daniel has been out in full force over the last week. Sebago Lake, Maine seems to be my place of catharsis, my zenith, my mecca of inspiration. Sitting on that porch on a balmy summer day is like a defibrillator for my creative heart. Dan and I got to 204 pages today. It's not a huge number, and I'm not half done, but it's a solid, good, three digit number that I always like to get to. At this point in a manuscript, there's just no turning back. Finish it, even if it sucks, because of the countless hours and backaches that went into the process.

Patch is sitting with me, my little writing assistant, always there to cuddle with me when I hit a road block or a particularly hard passage. He's never far away and I always know it... because his breath reeks to high heaven. Patch looks at me with those big, brown, wonderful eyes that are always saying, "Mom, I love you." I couldn't ask for a better four-legged companion as I take on my writing journey. For example, he's creeping in front of my face so I cant see the screen of my laptop. Let me tell you, his breath is PHEW! I need to get this dog some Greenies ASAP! Well, as Patch is always here for me, I always need to be here for him, and right now, he needs some lovin'.

Venting Part 2

Ever heard the expression "Guns don't kill people, people kill people"? Well, that's taken on new meaning for me as I've researched and written Daniel's story. Morbid curiosity leads me forward into the darkness, where I learn reasons people kill and the methods law enforcement use to apprehend them. The problem is, the good guys don't win as often as we'd like to think they do.

People kill other people in horrific, brutal ways, and that's just a fact of life we have to live with. It goes all the way back to the beginning, to Cain and Able. One man, jealous, smashes his brothers skull in with a rock. What kind of world is this? We fight the government, put up a fuss about health care, insurance, gas prices, life in general. WAKE UP AMERICA, there are other threats we need to open our eyes to. RAPE MURDER INCEST KIDNAP TORTURE SLAVERY DIVORCE these things are killing our country, too. Who cares about finances when our streets are bathed in blood, when we can't walk down the street without being scared when a car slows down?

Let's no forget WAR in all of this. It deserves a paragraph of its own. I'm not going to complain about the wars we're in, because THAT is not going to get us out of them. What I am going to complain about is deeper than some political decision, some disliked president, some ignorance. What about the victims? When did they become "civilian casualties"? Where are the mothers and fathers and children, the wives and husbands and friends? They become statistics, numbers, things to be seen and forgotten.

That is the real threat. People kill people, and we look the other way. Think about that.

Take a Bite Out of Crime

Yesterday was the most productive day I've had in a month. It's those days that make choosing writing as a career seem like an okay idea. I think I've identified my problem. Being motivationless is not a good life choice for someone who wants to write a novel. So far, I've stuck with the 5-10 page a day quota, and I'm going to do my best to keep it up. I hit the 154 page mark last night and did some thinking. I'm just about half way done telling the story. Daniel has so much to say!

I found this picture of McGruff the Crime Dog and thought it was a real blast from the 90s. He was THE crime deterrent for young children, and I remember him fondly. I thought he needed to make an appearance on Dan's blog. Weirdly fitting. Dan in canine form.

An Inadequacy Shared by Neurosurgeons

It's difficult to keep things straight. Despite a binder overflowing with details, facts and figures, important information is still lost in translation (or transcription). When I read the interviews of some of my favorite writers (Writer's Digest Magazine), it sometimes seems like things come easy to them-- that they have something I don't have.

For whatever reason, inadequacy is something all writers feel at one point or another. This might seem like an inappropriate blanket statement, too much of a generalization. Well, sorry to say, it's true. It's not only writers. I'm sure neurosurgeons feel it, too. Am I doing the right thing? Is this what I'm supposed to be doing? Will I ever succeed? And... what happens if I don't?" For people who have other careers and write on the side, there is some underlying hope... a plan B if the writing doesn't work out. For Creative Writing Majors (who have no interest in journalism or teaching in any capacity) there is no plan B. You either make it, or you don't. Either tuition money was well spent, or it was horribly wasted.

When I sit down at my computer, thoughts circle in my head. Who would read this? This is horrible. I can't write. And who knows? Maybe these thoughts are the truth. But in the unlikely event that they are completely false, I'm going to be there to scream "BOOYAH" at the top of my lungs from the nearest rooftop.

Vent-o-tron

I'm a little angry right now. Justifiably? I'm not sure, but that doesn't make me any less angry. I worked as a tutor for one full semester. I never called out sick, I was never late, and I always took what ever client my boss sent my way. I thought I was professional and respectful with my resignation, and my boss seemed fine with it.

And then I ask her for a reference, and she says she's not comfortable giving me one because of the way I left so suddenly...WHAT?! I'm a people pleaser, plain and simple, especially towards authority figures. Her words bruised my ego. I hope they aren't true.

Moving on to Bellamy-type things. As soon as I'm finished posting this blog, I'm going to get to work on a new scene. I have a quota I want to meet (10 pages a day max, 5 min). This quota will hopefully help me hit over 200 pages before I get back to school. I have so many scenes and details in my head, I feel like it might spontaneously combust. It isn't about the page count, though it might sound that way. What it's about is motivation. Hey, maybe I wont get to 200 pages at all, but I want to have said that I was at my computer every day, trying to find out what was going to happen next.

The Anxiety of a Christian Writer Writing a Non-Christian Book

Daniel's been going through some rough times over the last few days. Poor devil. A female serial killer with a good batting swing can do a lot of damage, even to a trained killer, especially if he's haunted by his sister's untimely murder.

I've been worried since yesterday, thinking about all of the things in my novel that people in my church, my family, and my group of friends wouldn't necessarily be crazy about. It's a story about raw human emotions, the barest form of pain and angst that comes with loss and failure.

I've kept F&%$ out completely. That's a word for shock factor, and I'm hoping the manuscript has enough of that on it's own. Also, "Shit" is out, too. I just don't like the idea of that coming out of Dan or Samuel's mouth. They're hardened investigators, but they aren't sailors. The words they do say are "hell" "damn" and "bastard". But tell me, if you're little sister and her husband had just been murdered, would you have pleasant words to describe the killer at large? Realistically, no. In fact, if anyone touched my little brother I'd have a lot more than words for them. Shank to the ribs, that's all I can say.

And, for when my brother Matt decides that reading is an A-OK idea, and Benjamin learns to read in the first place, I dont want them to have to read something I'm not proud of. So, on that note, there are also no sex scenes in my untitled manuscript. I think they are, on principle, completely and utterly uneccesary to the heart of the story. Sure, maybe there will be insinuations and allusions, but no sex, no way. I'm not a prude. I just want my work to stand on its own two feet without any sort of literary cop out.

If I remove the parts of my novel that make it true to life- the life of a non-Christian cop searching for answers, then I wouldn't be being true to the story I'm writing. I can't do that. I can't betray what I've found, or what's found me. I hope the people in my life can handle that.

Back from the Baltics

The words are finally coming. I've been waiting for a month and it finally paid off. I guess Daniel got tired of windsurfing in the Baltics (thank goodness). The problem is, real life dictates I have little time to actually sit and write. I'm not at a place in my life where I can stay home and write. If I was, I'd be much farther along in the novel.

But that's real life, real difficulties. Every page is a small victory, and I can't take much credit. Daniel is the conduit and God is the inspiration. Now I have to go to work and be an adult. When I get home, I'll have company. Writing will have to wait, Daniel will have to take his turn with impatience. His story will continue... when the real world stops knocking and gives me a moment to think.