Weekend work

Just a quick note to say that apart from a spell check I’ve finally finished my draft!

Yay!

I couple of drinks tonight at the opening of Who’s Poppin I think!

I am what I eat

If I hate what I’m reading, I hate what I’m writing…

18 – done and dusted

Now all I have to deal with is the tricky new Chapter 19 – which is a quarter of 18 with some new stuff (not yet imagined, but a vague outline in process) in front.

Amusing myself with set up for this chapter and other things (like January is a heavy sleeper which is why she is always late for work. Which feels a little autobiographical at the moment.)

I think I’m going to try to do some writing over the weekend, it feels so close to being finished that I just want it done. Plus it has been harder to get up in the mornings lately – I’ve been pushing snooze two or three times. I’m wondering if my writing time is in flux.

I used to write at nights after uni/work and back then my husband worked at a bar so I had the nights to myself. Then I discovered that I could haul myself out of bed at dawn to go to the gym so I thought I could write the too.

And I have been. Just now it seems to be getting harder and harder. I think I’m naturally a night owl, but I do like to get my work done in the morning.

Maybe I should just win lotto and get it over with! Then I could set my own schedule.

Will it be all right when daylight savings start again? Or will I be getting up earlier? My memory is hazy but I swear I don’t gain an hour at either end.

Chapter 18

I was going to write the dreaded chapter 18, but I thought that would put too much pressure on it. It is not its fault that it is malformed. I suspect that it is at the very least a conjoined twin – one chapter tacked to the other because at the time it didn’t seem like a chapter in itself…

Not only do I suspect that it is two chapters but I think there maybe a chapter needed in between them; so when I do separate them (necessary so that each can grow)there will be a definite rift.

I just don’t have time to do it this morning. But I do have time to write a wee post. Priorities huh?

Wednesday is my writing day so I’m hoping if I do a little work re-reading and planning today then I can make a good crack at “knocking the bastard off” as Sir Ed the most eloquent of Kiwis would have said.

And that’s what it feels like at the moment – Everest (not that I would find myself in that position to start with. I don’t really like the cold, or sleeping on the frozen ground. And walking up a big frikkin mountain doesn’t look like a whole heap of yuk yuks to me.)

I was putting off writing this chapter but I have got to the point where I have to look at it to fix other problems down the line.

Usually I would have tackled the chapter first to get it out of the way. It is a hangover from my childhood. I would eat the things (usually vegetables, that is if I even ate my vegies) I hated first then I could enjoy the rest. At Intermediate when our classroom experimented with self directed learning I did all of my maths at once so that I could enjoy art and reading (and surprisingly given my dislike of maths, science.)

I don’t know why I delayed this. It is so against my nature. Maybe it is because I’ve been in holiday mode and the other writing was just plugging small holes not ripping things out and restructuring.

It was still like I was on holiday because it wasn’t hard work.

Back to the mines eh? Where did I leave that canary?

Back to work

I’m going back to work this morning after a week off (my birthday was last Monday and I decided that one day off was not enough).

Usually a week off work means a week devoted to writing, which usually means I’m exhausted by my “holiday”.

Last week I really took the week off. No writing even though my novel is pressing. I didn’t even think about it – which partially explains why I didn’t post anything. The rest of the explanation is that we were off line for a couple of days. I never realised how addicted I am to the net until it is taken away.

This morning I got up at dawn (thanks in part to our cat who has added staring out our bedroom window to her early morning patrol; which necessitates bouncing on our mattress pretty much where my head lies) and wrote a little scene that I would have struggled with a week ago.

I’m hoping this “inspiration” will last through the fixes of my draft right up until I tackle the character description problems. I think it maybe an ingrained thing from writing scripts where characters are just described by gender and age (and sometimes race), so that casting is not so limited. Character traits (a limp, an accent) must be crucial to he story to be mentioned. In a way I’ve done this with January. It is crucial to the story that she has eczema and so I describe it but I am loath to describe more. I guess I don’t want to limit the readers pool of players by defining too much.

Of course in the theatre you can see an actor, as a novelist it is my job to create a picture…

Yep. I’m back at the grindstone (is that why I write pulp?) and I haven’t even got to the office yet.

Thank god for the long weekend this week!

Sleepless nights

Last night I felt like a writer again.

Since I’ve been thinking about what success to me is, the less I’ve felt like writing. I’ve been far more interested in sewing, or painting, or watching crap television. In short – I want a holiday!

But I’ve also been that special sort of grumpy that I get when I haven’t written. A little bit short (it’s not my fault, blame genetics! My dreams of being NZ’s top model are dashed!), a little bit antsy, a little bit dull. Yep, a classic come down off “the writing” (perhaps that’s why I’m keen on the crap telly at the moment).

Last night as I tried to get to sleep, a little sketch of an old flatmate (actually his feet but I assure you there is nothing fetishy about it!) insisted that it be written down. Now. I did the old trick of reassuring my brain that I would indeed remember the whole thing in the morning and if it would be so kind as to power down now so I can have a little sleep…

…but it wasn’t fooled. So it played the scene over and over in a continual loop until I turned on the light and exorcised the bloody thing to paper.

Interestingly it was a description of my former flatmate without it being a description – we know that he is a drummer and a chef because of what has happened or is happening to his feet. So it is, perhaps, an oblique practice run of my description of January and Mae.

I was also surprised at how much I remembered about that flat – our first in Wellington (and not far from where we live now). Mainly because we spent a lot of time stoned…but I guess it is a long term memory now!

I’m happier this morning having remember why I write. It is not fame, fortune but actual need. Otherwise I’d never get to sleep.

So little work, so much time…

Strike that; reverse it (thanks Mr Wonka).

I finished reading the third draft of my novel about an hour ago and I’m quite pleased with it. Not enough to send it to Phil yet, but not vomiting in my mouth. Which is always a happy event!

What surprised me the most was that the ending which I had thought too twee as I wrote it resonated well (although I do need to work on setting up some things earlier for it to come off the way I really want it to.)

So there is much work ahead. Today I’m going to concentrate on the little things (missing letters, sometimes whole words! My tendency to drop into past tense when I’m impaitent to get to the next paragraph.) and then map out the big things.

Like where I have written “passage of time” in the margins. I am tempted to write “cut to” but I know that won’t work and it might be an opportunity to work on some descriptive passages which seem to have been ruthlessly cut out in my quest for a clean story ( meaning clear. There’s still insanity and sex…)

I’ve also noticed that I haven’t physically described my main characters (except to say that Mae is old and that January has green eyes) and although I don’t want to write a passage that is that expositionary – January stood straightening her 160cm frame and brushing her shoulder length black hair from her green eyes… - I think it is important to have a sense of a character; what do you think?

I’m also not sure if this is work to be done now or to wait until someone else has read it. My gut says that I should do it now – but my brain (who still wants to be on holiday) says it can wait, it can wait…

But can I? It is the time of the year when I start blocking time for projects and I was hoping that this year the novel wouldn’t be as greedy as it has been for the past 3. At the moment I’m giving it from now until June ( this of course is flexible for diversions rewrites of short stories and films for various competitions this year, and for other people’s schedules too). I am determined that it will be done this year.

After the novel I’m hoping to rewrite Kiwiana Charlatan and to start a draft of my new project (still not sure if it is a film or a play yet)…

Is it possible to feel this overwhelmed by the year already?

I think I need a cup of tea and a lie down.

She works hard for no money

Happy new Year everyone!

I had a lovely time not doing anything for a couple of weeks except for napping and eating. I eased back into the writing thing with a rewrite of the voice over for my short film.

This week I’m reading my third draft of my novel to see if it is ready for other eyes to read yet or if there are a few more tweaks I’d like to make. So far, so good – I’m actually enjoying reading it at the moment and it seems race along which may be a problem (but perhaps it is because I know the story so well?)

I was motivated to write this post after reading this by Rachael King. It reminded me of a conversation I had over my break about writing; a friend mentioned that her sister wanted to become a writer and I said that she should because there’s great money in it. After Cameron and I recovered from the laughter, I asked what she meant by becoming a writer. I’ve said it before, but my definition of a writer is someone who writes, and this woman (I was told) had drawers of scripts and drafts – so to me she was already a writer.

So what is the definition of a writer? Is it someone who is published? Famous? Rich (!)? Is that what it means to be a successful writer?

I would love to say that the intergrity of the story is all that matters; that if I wrote a “perfect” story that I would be satisfied; I don’t need any outside validation or the approval of others. But I think I do. Otherwise I’d be writing all of this in a diary tucked under my pillow (if I bothered to write it at all, the threat of an audience is very motivating!)

I’d like to say that the thought of fame does not appeal – and on one level it doesn’t; but it would sure make selling tickets/books a bit easier. Which of course leads to money (every little bit helps they say!)…so does that mean my definition of success is being paid?

This year I think I’ll be thinking about success and what it actually means to me…

Britney, Christina and Paris

A.K.A

Ho! Ho! Ho!

Just a quick post to wish you all a Merry Christmas!

I’m taking a few days off from writing (I started in earnest this week…)so I’m not sure when I’ll post again.

See you all in the New Year.

Nice work if you can get it

“You’re so lucky,” she said “To be able to write.”

I said that luck has nothing to do with it; that writing is just plain hard work.

Sure, sometimes there are lucky breaks – like when a producer asks to see the features you’ve written. But without the hard work that went into writing those scripts in the first place then it wouldn’t be very “lucky” at all.

It riles me; the idea that some people seem to have that writing, or any of the arts for that matter, is “easy”. That all I do is sit down one day and out the words flow perfectly. They are blind to the early mornings, the frustration in finding the right word, the seemingly endless drafting process.

Perhaps I should be more gracious when people say that they wish they could be a writer, instead of saying that if you want to be a writer then write.

The writers I know have to do it; they’ll fit it in around their jobs, use their annual leave to write a draft or (like me) give up (full-time) work to write. Sacrifices are made because there’s basically no other choice.

Because a writer writes.

“How do I become a writer?”

Pick up a pen, a pencil or fire up your computer and write.

I can help you up to a point. I can say “How’s that story coming?” or give you some writing exercises. I may even give you a critique; but I can’t write the bloody thing for you (unless you pay me a nice fat commission).

As to how you become a rich and or famous writer…you’ll have to ask Stephen King!