My Pictures Refuse to Upload

Anyway.

Here I am, checking in at the end of the week, just like I said I would. (Hi, my name is C.M., and I’m a writing addict.)

Last night I marathon-ed on the second draft of Ch 12 and got that bad boy finished. I didn’t think I’d make such progress. I’ve been home for a week, and already I’ve finished two chapters’ second drafts. Wow…*pats self on the back* Good job, me. I’m thinking of starting the 1st draft of Ch 13 tonight; lo and behold, I’ve run into the wall that says, “Oh, C.M. You know you hate first drafts. Before you do anything, go weep in the corner for a while.” …not saying I do that. Because I don’t. I swear.

…outwardly.

Moving on! Looking at the next first draft I have to put up with, I really am getting nervous again. The Best Friend tells me every time that it’s just a first draft, I know the second one will be better, you shouldn’t be scared of it, it won’t write itself, all that blah-blah. And I know all that. But I guess first drafts are like skydiving. You stand at the edge of a plane you just jumped out of, gaze down on the little people below you, and you ask yourself, “Why? Why do I climb back in this blasted, infernal machine? Why do I sit here and torture myself and want to cry every time I stare this unfallowed land in the face? Why must this process–this jumping point–be so difficult whenever it comes around again? Why–“

And then the sensible you comes up from behind and pushes the worry-wart you out of the plane. And the process starts all over again. Gliding through, the parachute almost failing to deploy, the smooth sail back down to earth, the triumphant laughter, and the climb back into the plane. This is my thirteenth climb back in, and it’s only getting more difficult.

Which is very annoying, honestly.

So, fellow friends and writers, pray for this poor soul climbing back into the plane. The heavens entice me every time; never yet have they failed to draw me into the sky, wide-eyed, only to incur upon me the vast knowledge of how small I really am. I know God has a sense of humor…but I guess I miss the punchline sometimes.

Here’s to looking for the punchline. And parachutes successfully deploying.

Every first draft makes me want to quit, but every second draft reminds me why I don’t.

What to do When Your Brain Stops Wanting to Focus

Exhibit A – Me. (Hi, how are you?)

Today I’ve been hit with a HUGE turnaround point in my series–some vital packet of information I had felt missing finally hit me like a hurricane made of concrete bricks, and WHAM. Things that had been floating in the Ether of Puzzledom fell into the picture. Some pieces (being the jerks they are) decided to get all up in my gears the VERY SECOND I sat down to work on Ch 11. (Thanks, guys.) Alas, I gave in; but this time the distraction paid off.

This Character had been bugging me today, and when The Best Friend (TBF) gave me a picture of concept art, my mind flew into overdrive. His story lay in fog until I sat down and asked him (no, I’m not crazy, I’m a novelist) what was going on. His voice came through so clearly, I’m slightly amazed and whiplash-ed all at once. Everything that had been a mystery about a certain group of scientists made sense because this one man finally revealed his story, his voice, and his own character to me.

Well, once TC had settled down, I actually got some writing done on my manuscript. Surprise! Success after a week-long drought due to Finals and all that academic nonsense. I’d been wanting to post, since after that last little round of depression-induced wordsmithing may have caused some alarm. No need to fear; I’m fine, just slightly chemically imbalanced. We can all shake Tourette Syndrome’s hand for that one. (Or, you know…kick it in the shins. Whichever you feel best about.)

Anyway! After a while, my brain just kind of switches gear without me meaning to. While this could be attributed to ADHD–and while, yes, it totally can be–tonight it was that moment where something else took hold and started floating through my head, and everything else took the background as the new gear drove me in a different direction. Thus, I’m here writing my post, on summer break, in a midnight kitchen, watching the clock tick seconds by, and thinking maybe (JUST MAYBE) I should be in bed.

But alas.

Where was I going with this? I don’t remember. Maybe it’s good to simply write out my brain’s spewings so even I know what the heck I’m thinking sometimes.

SO! People of the ‘Press. I’m aiming for a deadline I’ve made for myself. My manuscript will be edited and ready to self-publish (God willing) by the end of the summer, enabling me to set my book in the store on campus when I return to ENC in August. If I don’t have at least Ch 16’s rough draft finished by the end of this month, get on me about it. I’m serious. Harass me. Make sure I do it.

Please.

I’m counting on you, and you’re counting on me. Let’s work together, shall we?

P.S. Have you ever fooled around with the term “Civil War”? I always imagined that if a war was truly civil, soldiers would be handing each other their rifles and saying, “No, after you.” Tea, scones, bickering, glove-slapping fights, lots of harrumphs…yes, that would be a truly civil war.