Category: On My Desk Today

The 1st day of spring in Vancouver…

… looks like this:

nectarine in bloom, march 21, 2013

At least in my garden … under glass and against the south-facing wall of the house. So I’m trying to make you snow-covered Easterners jealous … but not too jealous.

———-

Photo info:
Subject: Golden Prolific Nectarine, 4 years old
Camera: Canon SLR – EOS digital Rebel XTi. 35mm camera lens
Date: March 21, 2013, afternoon

Writing update:
I just finished – like minutes ago – the second draft of the next novel, Cupcakes, Trinkets, and Other Deadly Magic. It’s an urban fantasy (adult). After I do another pass I’ll send it off to the editor, Scott, and the cover artist, Irene. YAY!!

Eating:
Mario’s Chocolate Gelato – SO YUMMY!!!!

Cats:
Only Parker is currently on the desk. Darby is surfing a sunbeam in the the kitchen, and Leo is in his box on the back counter, where else would he be at 3:34pm on a Thursday?

bits of Cupcakes, Trinkets and Other Deadly Magic

I’m working my way through the 2nd draft of my new WIP, Cupcakes, Trinkets, and Other Deadly Magic. It’s an urban fantasy. Here are some of my favourite bits from this week’s writing (unedited and unproofed, FYI):

 – from Monday:

I flung myself at the bus, attempting to not simply collapse on the stairs of the open door.

I couldn’t breathe. The driver didn’t find this particularly charming. I tried a smile, and got an answering one in return. Though I think he might have also just noticed my heaving chest. Good, maybe that would distract him from the fact that I had no fare.

“Hi … “ I managed to speak between gasps, but was becoming uncomfortably aware of the yawning darkness of the vampire-filled night behind me. “Thank you for stopping.” Okay, so it was just one vampire. He was one too many.

 – from Tuesday:

“How did you know I lived here?”

The wolf shrugged. “Smells like you.”

“It smells like me?” I echoed, because, when surprised, I tended to be an idiot.

“Yes, your magic is tasty.” This time the wolf did show her teeth when she smiled. I thought that might indicate the conversation was moving in the wrong direction … the woman-eating direction, and not the good kind.

 – from Wednesday: 

I didn’t answer. The conversation had gotten too serious, too quickly for me. My guard was down. I was feeling soft and malleable after the terrifying evening and the yoga class. I was feeling like leaning on Hudson would be a terribly easy thing to do … right before he broke and probably ate my heart … though I think, according to my research, werewolves generally frowned upon man-eaters.

 – from Thursday:

I’d protested the change of location but Sienna had insisted my living room wasn’t the right spot for an earth-based spell, and, countering my suggestion of a park, she laughed and murmured something about needing the protection of the wards.

I hated it when Sienna murmured about magic. A murmur had led to many a close call in our youth. I’d lost my hair at sixteen because of a murmured caveat. It took two months for the skin to grow back on my left hand when I was twenty, also due to a offhanded ‘foot note’ murmured by Sienna.

Why I kept following her into these situations was pure stupidity on my part, but it seemed she always caught me just at the right time — this time I was angry and needing to prove I wasn’t just worthless garbage to be left on the side of the road.

Hence the dirt that was now coating the ass and legs of my second favorite pair of jeans. The floor was actually hard packed, but still dirt rubbed off.

 – from Friday:

Gah! I didn’t end up writing Friday. Boo.

What have you been working on?

It’s the little pleasures that buoy up this large canvas of life

This week I am transcribing my handwritten 1st draft of my new novel, Cupcakes, Trinkets, and Other Deadly Magic, into the computer. Once this process is completed, I’ll have a 2nd draft ready for story editing (etc). I’ve done this for all my novels, excepting After The Virus, and I’m rather attached to the process … it forces me to write the 1st draft with little – or minor – editing … I fix everything – or expand or subtract – in my second pass.

Bear sketch business card by Jessica Gowling
The Bear holds my place patiently and without judgement of pace or quality.

Last December I purchased some ‘let it snow’ notecards from Jessica Gowling‘s Etsy shop, and, when I received the package in the mail, she had included this mini bear sketch business card. I adored the mini card so much I immediately put in on the magnet board next to my desk. Now I am using it as a notebook marker to hold my place after I finish a day of transcribing. I love bears in general, and this one specifically.

So, thank you, Jessica for sharing your art with me (and the world, of course).

It’s the little pleasures that buoy up this large canvas of life.

I seem to have made an error …

… in judgement. I mistakenly got up from my desk a few moments ago – in the middle of writing a scene – to grab a quick snack. By the time I’d sliced up an apple and grabbed a cookie (or two … okay, maybe it was three) this had happened:

Leo stakes his claim
Leo stakes his claim

Note how he completely ignores getting his picture taken. If he even blinked, or acknowledged my presence in any way, I might not feel as bad about hauling him off my WIP.

leo_overview
Leo from above . What can I say? The picture reveals all.

And, don’t even think about making a play for that pen. He’s backed by his gang:

thetrio_hardatwork
The trio, hard at work thwarting the writer. It’s a tough job, but some cat has to do it.

So, yeah. I was hoping to have this draft completed by the end of next week … maybe I’ll crack open a can of cat food … or crinkle the treat package … am I a complete pushover?

————–

WIP: Cupcakes, Trinkets, and Other Deadly Magic, 1st draft
On the headphones: “Ho Hey” by The Lumineers
In the fountain pen: toffee brown ink
Chocolate of the Day: 70% Madagascar, Amano

38,400 words and counting ….

… handwritten!

clairefontaine_filled_CTandODM

 

I couple of months ago I completely splurged on some clairefontaine notebooks. It was a splurge, because I just scrawl out a first draft, copy it into the computer, and never touch the handwritten draft again.  Nor am I interested in collecting such things, I usually recycle them. However, I found my hand aching – enough to be distracting – and had read that my fountain pen would be more compatible with this paper, and it totally is … smooth and lovely … my hand may still ache after a couple of hours, but not due to the pen/paper.

So today, just now – actually in the middle of a scene – I filled my first one of these notebooks. That’s 192 pages, averaging 200 words per page. So, 38,400 words completed on my newest novel, an urban fantasy, Cupcakes, Trinkets and Other Deadly Magic. I’m just beyond the midpoint, and have a habit of being more wordy in the set up than in the resolution, so I’m probably on track for a 60,000+ word novel. Super cool.

Okay … I’m off to grab a fresh notebook and finish the scene!

Some times I forget …

Sometimes I forget what it feels like to be me.

I get buried in some physical or … occasionally, emotional pain. Or a cold or illness that only time can heal no matter how much echinacea tea I drink.

When like this, it’s as if I can only inch forward … get out of bed, keep the house (vaguely) clean, feed myself, care for the cats, answer only the emails that desperately need answering … I keep telling myself this illness/pain/hurdle will pass as it always does, but it feels like lip service.

Friends and family – those who may see or know me in this state – tell me to take it easy, that I work so hard that I deserve a break, etc. So, attempting to heed their advice, I read or watch movies or whatever, but still I’m constantly aware I’m only half available, only half engaged.

But then the day comes – perhaps a rainy, cold one like today, where my office is the warmest place in the house and I suddenly feel like checking out the top singles on iTunes ­– when I turn my mind to the current work in progress. I open the file or notebook, and I take up my pen or keyboard. It just happens, effortless. I don’t even think about it. The rhythm moves me, evokes the muse before I even realize it is happening.

And the words follow. The story flows through me. And I let it. I put everything else aside. I immerse in the story. I know everything. I create all.

Then today, perhaps hungry, I paused to realize and recognize the energy, the feeling.

I’m suddenly whole once again. No gradual gain of energy or warming up. I am suddenly me again.

Sometimes I forget what is feels like to be me.

It feels damn good.

—————————

Writing: Cupcakes, Trinkets, and Other Deadly Magic (Urban Fantasy, 1st Draft).

Listening: Marianas Trench’s “Stutter,” Tegan and Sara’s “Closer,” and “Don’t You Worry Child” by Swedish House Mafia.

Sipping: cool water

Eating: roast chicken sandwich with cheddar.

Cats: Darby and Parker are passed out and occupying the entire middle of the desk. Leo is watching the chickadees from the west window sill.

All is as it should be. Why can’t it always be this way? Ah, life.

I hope you catch the flow today as well.

From this week’s writing:

I am currently in the middle of writing the first draft of The Seer of The Wastelands, which is the direct sequel to Spirit Binder, and will be hopefully released this December. Here are some bits from this week that struck me as tiny pieces of gold among the dull, serviceable rock of the first draft.

Monday:

Jose stepped toward Ema. “You underestimated me, Seer,” he growled.

She shook her head sadly, “No, you underestimated the wolf.”

He glanced back at the wolf, it regained its feet with a shake of its head. A nasty cut sliced through the thick pelt of its broad shoulder.

“A second blow with finish the beast.”

“Not from your sword.”

He turned back to her, holding his bloody sword aloft. “And why not this sword?”

“Because its wielder is already dead.”

“What — ” He stumbled, and looked, rather belatedly, down at his leg. It was bleeding profusely. “But I heal,” he murmured, confused.

“Not this,” Reyes snarled, and stabbed Jose through the heart from the behind.

Tuesday:

Reyes snickered. “Let the Seer do her tricks if our host requests it. I wouldn’t personally believe a word out of her mouth.”

“A man like you wouldn’t want to believe in anything beyond himself,” the Rancher replied, calm but forceful.

Reyes narrowed his eyes as he bared his teeth in a grimace of a smile. “We are your guests,” he growled, and then rose to leave the room.

Wednesday:

As he came to his finish he whispered, “Ema,” into her neck, and she realized it was the first time he’d called her by her given name. Later, when she cried his name again and again as his fingers brought her over the edge of bliss and beyond, she understood the need to name the source of that utter pleasure, that moment of utter freedom … no matter how fleeting it was …

Thursday:

“Get out of bed, Seer,” Wyn snapped.

“They will wait,” she murmured.

“You knew they would come,” Jared said, something dangerous not well-hidden in his tone.

“Yes,” she whispered, and he moved away from her.

“You knew they were coming when you came to me last night?”

A door click indicated that Wyn had retreated into the hall.

“Yes,” she answered, pulling up the sheet to try to dampen the chill that surrounded her now.

Friday:

“We are well met, Jared Null,” she whispered. “All will be well.”

“You are dismissed, Null. Run along after your friends,” the corporal sneered, and Ema suddenly hated him for his prejudice toward the mercenaries, even though his attitude was typical and expected.

“Ema,” Jared said, her name a quiet and desperate sound that seemed to explode from his chest painfully and without intention.

She closed her eyes and repeated, “We are well met.” Then she turned away.

Hmmm, bon bons …

I just exchanged the following series of texts with Michael:

Me: Finished the final pass on LLB*. It’s pretty clean. Only minor corrections needed. I should be able to upload it tomorrow.

Michael: Fantastic baby.

Me: Yeah!! Happy.

Michael: You should be. You’ve been working really hard this year.

Me: Really? Seems like playing. You work hard!!

Michael: Still. It’s not like you have a secretary taking diction while you lounge on the sofa eating chocolate. Oops. I hope I didn’t just give you any ideas for the future.

Me: Hmmm, bon bons…

Michael: Crap. Now you’re going to work twice as hard if you have that dream in your sights.

Me: Maybe I could dictate while knitting. Or doing Pilates. Maybe someone could just follow me around and record my every word. How riveting would THAT be??!

Michael: I’ve created a monster.

———

*Note: LLB refers to my soon-to-be-released novella, Love Lies Bleeding.