May 082015

Having recently discovered that my far-from-cutting-edge old Android phone can run the Google Docs app with only occasional (5 or 6 an hour) crashes, I’ve begun writing during my commute the last few weeks. It started with some fanfiction I’d begun awhile back and never finished, and led me back to the novel I haven’t touched in a couple of years.

This morning, I was on the Green Line rethinking a scene that wasn’t quite working for me, when the young woman sitting next to me said, “I don’t mean to be reading over your shoulder, but what are you writing?”

My very first thought upon hearing this? Thank all the forgotten Gods this didn’t happen yesterday. Yesterday, I was working on a sex scene.

I told her about my project — because, really, what writer doesn’t like to be asked about her writing? It turns out, she’s a writer, too. Poetry and superhero fiction and comic books. We shared a lovely bit of commiseration about the mid-book slog before she went back to her in-progress SMS conversation.

Nice way to start the day.

May 052007

I’m supposed to be working on my fantasy novel. But the vampire won’t leave me alone this morning, dammit.

Ardellis: Dude, it’s broad daylight. Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?!

Byron: What, you’ve never heard of insomnia? Besides, you’ve been ignoring me for months. And I’m much more fun that that smuggler over there, admit it.

Ardellis: That’s only because he’s not cooperating with me at the moment.

Byron: Take a break, then. Let him know what he could be missing.

Ardellis: Fine. But after we deal with this, you will shut up and let him figure out how to save his friend without getting himself or his kid killed.

Byron: As long as I get to see Constance Putnam’s face when she realizes what I’ve done, I’ll be happy.

Ardellis: You realize she’ll kill you.

Byron: (grinning) She’ll try.

Days Like These

 Posted by at 1:51 pm  Writing  No Responses »
Mar 042007

I am having one of those days when I am thoroughly convinced that what I am writing is the worst novel ever. The characters are completely failing to be who they’re supposed to be and nothing they do seems the least bit interesting. The words taste like cardboard. Formulating the next sentence is like chewing ground glass. I’d rather do anything else (gee, doesn’t the cat box need cleaning?).

Yes, I am smack in the middle of a first draft. How’d you guess?

Feb 272007

I’m not so sure that telling lie after lie, especially to someone who carries a sword and doesn’t quite trust you already, is really the best way to save your own life. I’m having a hell of a hard time convincing one of my characters of that, though.

Dec 062006

I’m wondering how hard it would be to make a flintlock explode in someone’s hands. You know, in a really bad way. And I wonder how much damage it would do. Time to do some research. Yay, research!

Dec 052006

We have a houseguest. Our friend Kate is in town from Providence for a local theater gig and is crashing with us for the week. Consequently, we did nothing but housework over the weekend. Our apartment is cleaner than it’s been in months, and I’m feeling guilty now because I haven’t touched my novel in three days.

I suppose the fact that three days away feels like forever is a good sign, though. It means I’ve developed of a routine regular enough that I notice when it’s disrupted. And I’ve been making enough progress that I don’t actually dread facing the keyboard. I may not have figured out yet how I’m ultimately going to handle my psychotic killer with the pharmacological Gift, but at least I’m getting him and most of my other major characters along the road to where they need to go. A bunch of them have just walked into a dangerous situation in which a lot of blood is going to be spilled (my fist big fight scene — be afraid, be very afraid) and at least one of them is going to be severely injured (maimed, actually). Even the psychotic will be unhappy with this one. Which is good, as he’s been having too much fun lately anyway.


 Posted by at 4:52 pm  Writing  No Responses »
Oct 072006

Sometimes the writing thing scares me. Sometimes things come out of my fingertips that make me wonder if I am who I really think I am. There are a couple of scenes that I’ve written for Legacies that have done that to me. Writing them was wrenching, because I really do adore the POV character who has to suffer through them. And suffer is most definitely the key word in that sentence. It scares me that my brain can actually create such stuff, that there might be that much darkness inside me. Putting that darkness into a character — giving him a name and a history and a reason for his twistedness — takes the edge off a bit. But only a bit, because I’m always acutely aware that, ultimately, I made him like that. And because, well, despite the fact that he’s the nastiest thing ever to crawl out of my head, I genuinely like him. (Or maybe I like him because he’s so nasty?)

The reason this is on my mind just now is because I’m thinking about writing a few scenes from the creepy antagonist’s POV. They may be necessary to tie the plot together in the right places. And I can’t decide if I’m excited at the idea of getting deeper into his head, or squicked out by it.