And then everything blows up...

I wrote about 900 words on chapter six just now, took one look at the last page, and said, "This is done." And strangely enough, it was. It's odd how chapters just end on you like that sometimes, but it did, and I'm hardly complaining. It's my shortest chapter yet, at just under 2,400 words, or just over seven typed, doubled-spaced MS Word pages for those of you who don't think word counts are very telling. But it ended where it ended, and so be it.

Faren isn't talking to me, just so you know. I lost his voice somewhere along the way (probably when I stopped talking to him all the time), and now I can't seem to get it back. I should probably go reread some of my earlier chapters and attempt to regain some semblance of character voice.

And Gem decided, apparently, to have a nervous breakdown this chapter. Which was not in my plans. And no one was around to tell her to suck it up, and Faren is too darn nice, and you know what? I really just want them to get to Kermia (Gem's soon-to-be hometown) already. Really, I do. But there's all this STUFF that has to happen before then, but in the first draft I attempted they were already in Kermia by this point so now I'm just confused. I think what I'm going to do is go back and reread all my previous chapters to get an idea of what I'm doing now before forging ahead. But still, I am proud of myself for writing so much in the past few days.

And now I should probably go call my friend who I meant to call earlier but didn't. Because I am, apparently, and idiot.

Hum de dum...

I actually made some real progress today. Almost 1,200 words, 700 of which were on Chapter Six, since I have now finished Chapter Five. I really need to start remembering the whole "show don't tell" rule. It really helps my scenes flow instead of stopping every five seconds because I'm so unhappy with what I've written. But I'm still kind of doing that, anyway. It's hard, sometimes, to remember it's a first draft and everything does not have to be perfect.

Plus, I keep getting new novel ideas that are very, very distracting. Really need to stop doing that.

Futari wa aruki tsuzukeru, ato ni wa modorenai kara

I've written one scene since my last entry.

One. Scene.

What is wrong with me? I guess I've just been busy. I've got classes at the community college to worry about, after all. I had my midterm paper for English, my midterm for US History, and a minor test in Japanese to study for. I guess I just got... distracted.

And now I've gone off and gotten a completely new idea for a story, too. Don't get me wrong, it's not really a surprise; this has happened loads of times before. Usually I ignore it, try to stay focused on the story I have now, and it goes away. But the problem this time is, I really want to follow this one. Is it maybe possible to write two things at once? Maybe switch off when I start to get burned out on one project and then work on the other one for a while?

...No, I don't think that's going to work. I used to do that with books all the time. Sometimes I'd be reading like seven things at once, but it never really worked, since I'd keep getting distracted and stop reading some books because I'd forget the plot and eventually I'd end up only really reading one of them anyway because I couldn't even remember the names of the characters in the other ones. I'd get burned out on a story because I wasn't able to focus on it. I don't want that to happen in my writing... I think maybe it's best, for me personally, to just focus on one thing in particular and then move on to the next project after that's done. So I'll save this new story for another time... but I won't forget it. I've got the basic information written down, so it's not like it'll fade away like the other ones did. I can wait.

For now, I need to focus on The Last Alchemist, and after that, the second book in the series. And then maybe we can see about doing other things.

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.