Here it goes again...

Last couple of days have been bad for writing. I finished plotting out my book using note cards and a bulletin board, though, which I suppose is an accomplishment in itself. But now I have to, you know, write it. Which is the hard part, obviously. Because though I at least have a general idea where to begin now, actually beginning still seems like a task well beyond me. Well, if you want to be annoyingly technical, I've already begun; I have four chapters and a fifth on the way (it sounds like I'm talking about children. Well... not a bad analogy, really).

But yes. Writing is the hard part. I feel like I need... oh, maybe five months where I can just cut myself off from reality and immerse myself in fiction. But that's not how writing works (well... not for first-time novel writers with no publishing agreement and no definite monetary prospects, anyway). Maybe someday I will be able to afford to live like a hermit for a few months and finish a book that way, but for now that's simply not possible. So I guess I just have to get used to writing on a daily basis with a myriad of things going on around me. Luckily, my room is a relatively quiet and secluded place where I can remove myself from the going-ons around me. I find opening a window helps. It lets a bit of noise in, yes, but that's not so much a distraction as an inspiration for me. I can hear the wind (and the rain if there is any), and my room quickly fills with cool, outdoors-scented air from outside. It lets me escape from my usual atmosphere of dreary interior reality.

So. Tomorrow begins the actual writing of my book. I feel... excited, but there's a sort of dread too. What am I going to do now? There's nothing else TO do except write, nothing else to concentrate on but silly make-work note taking and researching that I can do during the writing process rather than before. And let's face it: I need to write. I've wasted too much time delaying already; it's been eight years since the original idea. It's time to write it, and if I hit roadblocks, I'll deal with them then. I'm setting off now, even if I must go without a map or even a reliable compass (mine tends to spin every which way at its whim). But I'm going.

It's time. I'll do this or die trying. And since it's rather rare to die from writing a book, I'd say the odds are definitely in my favor.

Oh the things you can do with index cards and a bulletin board

Well, I haven't done any actual, you know, writing, but I do now have 24 index cards pinned up on a bulletin board in the corner, if that counts for anything. My mother came in while I was doing this, gave me a look like I was totally insane, and didn't even bother to ask what I was doing (though she did ask me what I was chewing on. I said a thumbtack, and she said something about catching horrible diseases. Whatever. I chew on things when I'm thinking). Somehow, I get the feeling that my entire family many have finally gotten used to me staying up late, and perhaps most of them no longer want to know what exactly I am doing. All the better for me. For the record, I was plotting out my book using index cards. A very useful technique, all things considered, though I think I may do it digitally next time as opposed to going through a large stack of actual index cards and pining them to a bulleting board with an irritating habit of falling down and scratching the furniture.

But it really doesn't matter. The point is, thanks to index cards and a bulletin board, I have now managed to plot out quite a bit of my book from where I left off in chapter four (because honestly, after that I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to happen). Granted, there are still huge gaps I need to fill and scenes I need to squeeze in, but for tonight I am satisfied.

Chapter Four = Complete

Success! I have, in the past hour, managed to write over 900 words, thus finishing chapter four. Huzzah. Gem is about to be introduced to her new pet. Well, not really so much pet as companion animal. BUT. I have managed to write a scene in which them finding said companion animal actually, you know, works. Yay for me.

In the area of not-so-good news, it is now past one in the morning. Which means I am extremely tired and have to go to bed. Such is life. No, wait - such is writing.

Introduction to Me

I am a woeful writer. Woe is me.

I'm kidding, of course. I'm actually not terribly woeful. In fact, I'm usually a fairly happy person, in my own way, which typically involves staring off into space creating characters and worlds in my head that I won't remember the next day (but will probably pop up five months into the future in what I will think is a sudden burst of literary genius). But anyway, the title of my blog isn't important (or at least I hope not, because if it is I'm kind of screwed at this point). It's the content that matters. After all, if you're only here for the title... why bother?

Drat. I'm being wordy again. Oh well.

Anyway, on to the important point: my writing. I am a writer with a wide range of interests, which leads to a wide range of formats for my writing. I write poetry (which is horrendous), short stories (which never seem to go anywhere), single page scenes from stories I may or may not write someday (which are usually okay), and novels. Well, a novel, really. Or, more specifically, the first book in a quartet. It is called The Last Alchemist (the title of the quartet, if you were wondering, is The Stone Quartet). Yes, I know, this is a rather precocious (or presumptuous, if you'd prefer that word) undertaking for a "beginner", but since I am cocky enough not to see myself as a beginner, because in actuality I have been writing for eight years, though admittedly not very well, I do not particularly care.

The plot of my book is not easy to explain, mostly because I am horrible at plot summaries and partly because it keeps changing direction on me. But I shall make a valiant attempt.

The book includes a girl, who is the main character. Geminia Neerica Samari (pronounced gem-ih-NEE-ah NEER-i-kah sah-MAH-ri). Also known as Gem. You may have noticed that I have stolen my online name from her. That is because she is loosely based upon myself at 13. Which, by the way, is her age in this book.

The book also includes a boy (because I happen to like male characters more than female ones. Perhaps I'm sexist. Perhaps I just identify with them more, even though I am a girl. We may never know). No, he is not a love interest. His name is Faren (pronounced FAIR-en) Grey. He is also thirteen, and is the secondary main character who is present throughout all of the books in the quartet. Well... kind of.

This story also includes magic, a wide variety of magical creatures (some purely from the imagination of yours truly and some taken from old folklore and legends, as most magical creatures are), a couple of worried parents, a stone, a boy with a secret and bright blue eyes, a walking lizard, an annoyed not-sorcerer, a small dragon, an overly-formal elf, and a tree-dwelling race of pacifists. Among other things.

It's fantasy, in case you couldn't tell.

I thought up The Last Alchemist when I was eight years old. In the shower, if you must know. Granted, back then it was called The Stone (now the title of the series), Gem's name was Monea (or was it Monia?), Faren didn't exist, and the plot was considerably different, but it was the seed that grew into this huge, annoying tree with too many branches. Which isn't a very good analogy, but you get my point.

I have, over the years, attempted several times to write this monstrosity, and each time I've had to start over because I simply grew up too much and didn't like what I'd written when I was younger. But now, I feel ready. I have three full-fledged chapters, and seven more already sketched out using the old drafts that need so badly to be rewritten. But after that, it's the edge of the map and I have only the faintest clue where I am going. In fact, for many things, your guess is as good as mine. But I am looking forward to the journey, and hope to record it within this blog. Which is why I made it in the first place, of course.

Now that this overly long introduction is complete, I suppose I'll be going until I have some writing news of actual merit to report. So, until then, happy living.