Insecurity, thy name is Nicole

There's now a fair bit of distance between myself and an extremely productive NaNoWriMo.  I clocked in at just over 50,000 words at around the 18th of November, and then I took a bit of a break.  I've been back at it for most of this month, however, and am now up to 77,326, as of today.  My intent is to cut the final product down to about 70-75k words, but I want to just finish it and then start going at it with a scalpel (or a hatchet, as may be the case).

Working toward the finish has made me realize something: I tend to get really insecure about my endings.  I don't know why I never really thought of it before but, as I look back on my writing, I realize that endings always stress me out--maybe even more than beginnings.  On the one hand, things are easier here than they are in the middle, because all of the action is moving along swiftly and the words usually flow.  On the other hand, there's the stress of trying to tie all of the threads together, trying to keep the pacing on an even keel, and trying to write a killer of an ending.  As this book is intended to be the first in a trilogy, I need to have a good hook in place for my ending as I naturally want to interest people in reading the next installment.

Today was kind of rough going because I am back in the mode of worrying.  The closer I get to the ending, the more I stress about the idea that I'm hurrying things along.  I'm not doing this intentionally, of course, but I just can't seem to shake the conviction that my newest chapters somehow feel rushed.  I think this may have something to do with the fact that the story took a much different turn than expected, so I have a lot of balls up in the air and I don't want to drop any of them.  Whatever the cause, today was one of those writing days where I felt like I needed to reach into my brain and forcibly extract the narrative--never a very fun thing.  Whenever this happens, I tend to worry incessantly that the writing sounds stilted or forced and I never, ever want my writing to feel like that.

I'm not sure that someone can understand how all-consuming writing can be unless they also write.  I think about my writing constantly, and I do mean constantly.  I think about it while I'm driving, while I'm grocery shopping, while I'm brushing my teeth.  Sometimes I walk around the house muttering to myself about it, which prompts my two-year-old to say, "What do you say, Mama?"  I'm still not sure how to respond to that one.  "Sorry, kiddo, your mom is a crazy wreck who is obsessing endlessly" seems like it might be just a bit out of his grasp.

But when you are in the midst of writing something, particularly something about which you feel very strongly, you live, breathe, and eat it.  I have to figure out how the plot will unspool, decide what's motivating each characters, dream up scenes, etc.  It's really pretty astonishing how much writing goes on inside my head before anything even hits the paper.

Once I'm finished with this manuscript, I'm going to give Scrivener a try.  I was really pleased to get a discount on it, thanks to my NaNoWriMo completion and, though I've only taken a pretty cursory glance at it, I'm pretty excited about it.  I particularly like the bulletin board feature because it makes me think that I might be able to write a bunch of sticky notes so that I can get the information in a trustier place than my good ol' brain, which has an unfortunate tendency to erase those massively awesome scenes I dreamed up just hours ago.  Maybe once I do that, I'll stop walking around the house talking to myself and worrying my two-year-old, who already seems concerned that I may need extensive psychotherapy.  Maybe, but I kinda doubt it.

***

“Any idea what Javier is up to?” Letizia asked her at lunch.

“Javier?” Dara asked.

Letizia scowled at her.  “The project, Dara.  Do you have any idea what Javier is working on?”

“Oh, that.  Uh, no, I hadn’t really thought to look...”

“Do you know how many mistakes you’ve made?” Letizia asked, and Dara knew her master wasn’t referring simply to her lapses of attention during shift.  “You cannot afford to keep on going like this.  It’s a miracle you’ve made it this far.  You must have more dumb luck than any other person I’ve ever met.”

Face burning, Dara ducked her head so that she wouldn’t have to look at Letizia’s accusing eyes.  “You’re right.  I’m sorry.  I’ll look today.”

“You need to learn how to compartmentalize.”

           She knew Letizia was right.  If she wanted to make it, she was going to have to learn how to lock her emotions in tiny boxes and hide the keys where no one could find them.  In short, she was going to have become a master at dissembling, just like her master.

NaNoWriMo Day 16: It has a life of its own

Well, I am now just over 41,000 words into the novel and I can say that it truly has taken on a life of its own.  Though I actually prepared this year, coming up with a concept and making lots of notes, the novel is turning out quite different from how I thought it would.  I liked my original concept, but I was  a little worried about how I would flesh it out and make it interesting.  Since I started writing, I've had several epiphanies, and the fact that the novel is different from how I'd envisioned it is a good thing.  I think the new ideas I came up with will actually make it stronger and better.

My big frustration right now is with having to move forward.  I've been hopping around in the novel, adding chapters here and there as I've changed the direction of the narrative.  However, there are several chapters that need extensive rewrites and it's killing me not to be able to touch them!  I swear, as soon as my fingers finish that 50,000th word, I am going to be rushing straight to the stuff I want to fix.  Yes, I am a little obsessive!

***

“What are you trying to say?” Dara asked, tired of playing games.  She felt a sense of foreboding at where the conversation was going.  Seeing as how she had so much on her plate already, she was very unhappy at the thought that Letizia was about to heap more on it.

            “I know you don’t want me here.  I don’t want to be here either—I have no business intruding on you right now.”

            Dara knew she should probably protest, but she didn’t.  She agreed with what Letizia had said, and she was done observing form for form’s sake.  It had been a long day and she simply no longer had the energy for it.

            “Magnum is very protective of its secrets, you should know that,” Letizia said, sounding as if she was choosing each of her words with the utmost care.  “If trade secrets were provided to other Job Creators...  Well, I probably don’t need to tell you that it’s one of Magnum’s worst fears—one of the worst fears of any Job Creator, actually.”

            “What does that have to do with me?” Dara asked, her fatigue making her much more blunt than she’d normally dare to be with her mentor.

            “It means that Magnum is very meticulous about the information exchanged by employees.”  Letizia studied her intently, waiting for her to put the pieces together.

            “Are you saying that...that the conference rooms are observed?” Dara asked, horror struck at the idea.

            “Not observed, no.  But there are recording devices—and not just in the conference rooms either.”

            “But why...”  Dara allowed her voice to trail off; Letizia had already anticipated that question and had answered it.  “So everything I said in the room...”

            “Was being recorded, yes,” Letizia confirmed.

NaNoWriMo Day 11: Backtracking

As I was writing today, I began to feel like I was drawing to a close on this particular portion of my story, and I realized that I can't continue going forward, I'm going to have to go back and flesh some things out further.

Normally, I'm the type of writer who does everything in chronological order.  I write my work from start to finish.  I've been experimenting more with jumping around in the narrative, because there have been times when I've had what I thought was a brilliant insight about my novel but, because it didn't come up until later in the story, I'd push it aside, waiting to write it until I reached the appropriate point in the manuscript.  Then, when I'd be ready to write about that great idea, POOF, it's gone.  I really, really hate when that happens.  Hence, the jumping around.

Even so, I kind of hate to move around to different parts of the book.  It's just outside of my normal comfort zone, so it's something that always causes me more angst than necessary.  What's also freaking me out about it is the narrative is working out differently from what I'd plan, which is also stressful.  I do think my new idea is a better one that will make for a more solid story, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to sweat about it.

***

They walked into another concrete-lined room like the one they’d just left and, yet, this room bore no resemblance to the other.  For starters, two of the four walls were lined with wooden shelves that looked as though they’d been cobbled together with scraps of whatever someone had been able to find.  On these shelves sat rows and rows of books.  Two wooden structures stood against one of the other walls, large pieces of some blank substance balanced on them.  A long table stood against the final wall, its surface scattered with a strange combination of materials; everything from bits of fiber and fabric to containers filled to the brim with shiny objects.  Curious, Dara moved closer.

            “What the...  Are those, are those insects?” Dara asked in disgust, leaping away from the table.

            “Yes,” Tasha said, sounding rather amused.  Indeed, as Dara turned to look at her, she could see that the other girl was studying her with a smile tugging at her lips.

            “Why would you have containers full of those?”  

            “We use them for making pigments.”

            “Pigments?” Dara asked blankly.

            “For paints.”

            “Paints?”

            “Is there an echo in here?” Tasha asked lightly.  “Come on, Dara.  I mean, I know this isn’t exactly the kind of stuff that they teach you in your fancy Job Creator-sponsored school, but surely you know what paints are.”

            “Of course I do,” Dara snapped, offended.  “We use paints all the time at Magnum.  They’re meant to help seal and protect metals from corrosion.”

            “That’s not exactly what we’re using them for here.”

            “What are you using them for, then?”

            “For painting, of course,” Tasha said.  The amused expression on her face was making Dara even angrier, and the other girl must have noticed because she stopped smiling and looked seriously at Dara.  “Damn.  I sometimes forget how little people on the inside know.”

            “We know a great deal,” Dara said stiffly.  “In fact, Magnum’s known for the top-notch education with which is provides all of its students.”

            “They all say that, Dara,” Tasha told her gently.  “What they don’t teach you about is artistic expression.  That’s what we use the paints for.”

            “Why would you waste your time with useless pursuits?  There’s so much to be done and so few resources that...”

            Tasha held up a hand and sighed.  “Look, I don’t want to get into philosophical arguments with you at the moment.  What I’m trying to tell you is that the reason why Mal, Raj, Letizia, and I know each other is because we and other...like-minded people sometimes gather in safe places, where we can pursue our interests.”  Tasha gestured around the room, and Dara followed the arc of her hand.

            “How did you get these things?  I’ve never even seen a book before,” Dara said, walking over to the shelf.  She reached her hand out, but found that she was too afraid to touch the books, and so she pulled it back.

            “We gather them, whenever we find them.  But a lot of what you see here—especially when it comes to the books—are things people have had hidden away for years and years now.”

            “They should be recycled,” Dara said.  She couldn’t say why, but she found that she didn’t like the way she sounded, as if she were some sort of scolding schoolteacher or something.

            “And that’s why they’re here,” Tasha sighed.  “No one here will try to recycle them.”

NaNoWriMo Day 8: Lesson learned; write early, before carrying around furniture

Today, I resolved to tackle NaNoWriMo in the afternoon.  While I usually listen to music while writing, when I get into my zone, it fades into the background and I barely notice it.  Still, I rarely write without music, but considering there was already a cacophonous orchestra of saws cutting though wood, I decided not to add more noise to the mix.

At first, I found the racket from upstairs to be rather distracting but, fortunately for me, I had a few idle moments this morning during which I realized what I needed to do to get my novel moving again, since I kept feeling like it had stagnated yesterday.  This meant that I got to start writing an action scene today, so the words just flowed like crazy, and I was able to write 3,939 words today.  I'm pretty pumped about this, as my goal has been to break 4,000 in a single day, so it feels good to approach that.  I am now just over 19,000 words into the novel and, because I am almost to the halfway point, I've realized that there needs to be a lot of movement from here on out.

I'll just say up front that this novel is the first in what is intended to be a trilogy.  Since I've never written anything other than standalone novels before, I found the idea of doing a trilogy to be somewhat daunting.  I've read many wonderful series, but I've also read some where I had the sense that the author should have just made them one book, and I don't want to fall into the same trap.  I was pretty sure I had enough story to fill three books and, the more I'm writing this, the more I realize that it does look like a trilogy will be the way to go.  As long as I feel I have a deep, rich story that has enough to offer a reader, I'll continue to shoot for the trilogy.  If I feel like I'm starting to spread things thin just for the sake of stretching the story out to three books, I'll go back and cut the superfluous bits and write fewer books.

So here is a taste of some of today's action sequences.  I'm pretty exciting about this as I feel they may be the most enticing bits from my manuscript yet.

***

“Dara, look, I ...” Letizia began, but stopped short when the transport began to emit a series of beeps that quickly became shrill alarms.

            “What’s going on?” Dara asked.  The transport gave a sudden, sickening lurch, and Dara braced her hands against the sides of the vehicle as it began to jolt violently.

            “Some kind of mechanical failure,” Letizia said.  Her fingers were moving rapidly over the vehicle’s console.

            “What kind of failure?  Can we fix it?”  The vehicle began to lose speed and Dara looked nervously outside her window.  Between the darkened night sky and the haze that had thickened since they’d been in the meeting, the view from the transport was impenetrable.

            “I don’t know.”  Frustration was evident in Letizia’s voice.  “The transports are controlled remotely, so there’s limited functionality within them.  We’d have to go outside in order to access any of the important systems.”

            “It’s pitch dark out there,” Dara said, feeling panic begin to rise within her.  “Even if we did go outside, and even if we could fix the problem without any tools, we wouldn’t be able to see a thing.”

            “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that then.  Maybe...”  But whatever Letizia was about to say, it was cut off by a loud clunking sound, and the vehicle suddenly dropped to the ground.  Dara’s teeth slammed together, and she was infinitely glad that her tongue had been out of the way; she felt pretty certain she’d have bitten it clean off, the force of the impact was so great.  There was a stunned silence for several seconds, and then Letizia let out a slight moan.

            When they had hit the ground, the internal lights in the transport had gone out, and Dara couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face.  She groped around the vehicle, looking for Letizia.

            “Letizia, are you all right?” Dara asked.  Her panic lent a shrill note to her voice and she winced.  If Letizia was hurt, the last thing she needed was for Dara to lose control.

            Dara heard another groan and then a gasp of pain.  She continued feeling around until she connected with something.  Running her fingers over it, she could tell that it was the fabric of Letizia’s suit, but she had no idea which part of Letizia’s body she was touching.  Disentangling herself from her seatbelt with her free hand, Dara held onto Letizia’s fabric and slowly made her way over to the other woman, bumping into several unknown objects as she went.

            “D...Dara?” Letizia asked, once Dara was beside her.  Her voice sounded thick and strange, and Dara’s sense of panic increased exponentially.

            “Letizia!  Are you all right?” she asked.  Gingerly, she felt her way around the fabric and found that it was part of Letizia’s right sleeve.  She moved her hand slowly up the other woman’s arm until she touched her shoulder.

            Letizia’s only response was a groan, and Dara paused for a few seconds, taking several deep breaths in through her mouth and letting them out through her nose.  This took the edge of the panic and, once she felt more in control of herself, she let her fingers continue to move up Letizia’s neck and up the other woman’s cheek.  When she neared Letizia’s hairline, she felt something warm and rather sticky.

            “Hold on, Letizia.  You’re bleeding.  I’m just going to...”

NaNoWriMo Day 3: Why all writers are crackpots

Have you ever seen an interview or read an   article in which an author talked about their writing as if it's a living, breathing being?  Have you ever heard them speaking of their characters as their children?  Well, they do this because it's true.  As insane as it sounds, anything an author writes really does have a life of its own.  It doesn't matter how meticulously an author plans, or how confident they are with the direction their work will take, it will always end up going off in at least one unexpected direction.

This is precisely what I'm finding with my novel.  I made pretty extensive notes before I started writing, in which I outlined everything from the social structure of the society to the characters to the setting.  I knew where it was going to go and who was going to be in it--or so I thought.  So what has happened?  Well, a totally unplanned for, undreamed of character has not only manifested and asserted her intent to stay, she has also announced herself as a pretty major character.  As usual, I find that I don't own my material, it owns me.  It humors me by letting me think that what I'm writing is my idea but, really, it lacks fingers, so it is reluctantly allowing me to type it out.

A cookie to the first person who correctly guesses this character's name!

*** 

 By the end of the day, Dara was convinced that Andersen either hated her or thought she was completely incompetent—or both.  By the time her shift ended, it was all she could do to smile serenely at him and wish him a good evening.  She wanted nothing more than to run from the room as quickly as she could and dissolve into tears, but she forced herself to walk at a dignified pace, her back straight.

“Dara!” Letizia called, walking up a corridor to Dara’s left.  “How was your first day?”

Her mind cast about frantically for an appropriate response and she finally settled on a bland, “There’s so much to learn.”

Letizia peered at Dara’s face and her expression softened.  “You know, at lunch today I heard Head of Engineering Andersen telling Chen that you’re one of the most promising apprentices he’s ever had.”

“Really?  That’s not the impression he gave me,” Dara said, the words tumbling from her mouth of their own accord.  She was absolutely horrified, and she looked around semi-frantically, afraid that someone else had heard her—as if it wasn’t bad enough that Letizia had heard her.

“Head of Engineering Andersen’s methods are rather...Socratic,” Letizia said quietly.

“They’re what?” Dara asked, confused.  She’d never before heard the word ‘Socratic’ and had no idea what it meant.

She was flabbergasted to see a look of alarm momentarily mar Letizia’s magnificent features, but the other woman quickly recovered and smoothed her expression into a light smile.  “Sorry for the confusion.  I have no idea where that came from; it’s been a long day.  What I meant to say was that he likes to challenge his apprentices, likes to test the flexibility of their minds and the depths of their engineering knowledge.”

Something felt off about Letizia’s dismissal of the term she’d used, but Dara ignored it for the moment, sure she’d stumbled on something important.  “Were you also Head Engineer Andersen’s apprentice?” she asked.

Letizia’s smile widened, and she leaned in close to Dara’s ear.  “Yes, and I survived, so I know you can too,” she whispered.

Dara couldn’t help but smile.  She didn’t know why Letizia was being so kind to her, but she was grateful for it.  Though she’d been very excited to become a contributor, she knew that it could be a very cutthroat world.  It was comforting to think that she might have an ally, though she cautioned herself not to trust too easily.

“Well, that explains it.  I thought he kept questioning me because he thought I was an idiot,” she confessed.

“No, Dara.  Trust me when I say that he was actually quite impressed with you, which is a very good thing.  You want to stay on his good side.”  Letizia’s face was suddenly gravely serious.

They came upon a cluster of people getting ready to funnel through one of the exit doors, rendering Dara unable to ask Letizia what she’d meant by her last comment.  Though she liked the other woman, Dara had to admit that she also found Letizia a bit infuriating.  She had a habit of saying strange things without explanation, and it gave Dara an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“It looks like your friend is waiting for you,” Letizia said, pointing toward Jonathan, who was a good three inches taller than most of the other Magnum contributors who were streaming past him.  He caught sight of Dara, and his face lit up.

“Yes.  He’s walking me home tonight.  He and I...”

“Oh, I know,” Letizia said, lightly.  “You and your young man have garnered quite a bit of interest.”

            Though Dara was already aware of this, it made her feel strangely unsettled to hear Letizia say it.  What was it about this woman that made Dara want to be on her guard?  How could she find her so simultaneously likable and troubling?

OMG, This is why I shouldn't procrastinate!

So I have exactly two days until NaNoWriMo starts?  I can feel the panic setting in.  I had such great intentions of outlining and creating notes and all that good stuff and, well, procrastination, thy name is Nicole.

I mean, I did actually write some notes, so I have some things fleshed out.  However, I didn't get as much done as I wanted to get done and now, naturally, I'm kind of starting to panic.  Because, you know, tomorrow is my birthday so chances are not a lot is going to get done then.  I mean, I have cake and ice cream to consume.  Priorities!  And then the following day is Halloween, which means I will be spending most of the afternoon at my daughter's school followed by rushing home to shovel in some dinner before herding the kids out the door to go trick or treating.  Oh, have I mentioned that the painting of my first floor will also commence on Monday so, you know, I'd probably better make sure to keep the little guy far, far away from open cans of paint and stuff.

Why do I always do these things to myself?  Well, I suppose it's because, in all honesty, I work best under pressure.  That's all well and good, but the problem is that it causes a heavy dose of sick anxiety, which isn't so fabulous.  Unfortunately, I never seem to be able to break this cycle.  I always swear that I'll never procrastinate again, but then I procrastinate about ceasing to procrastinate...  I think you can see where all of this is going.

Of course, I think a lot of it also has to do with my anxiety about my pretty ambitious project.  The truth is, writing isn't easy and writing something that falls outside your normal comfort zone is the most difficult of all.  I am worrying endlessly about spectacular logic fail in the universe I'm creating, I'm worried about making my main character likeable, I'm worried about...  In short, I'm worried about everything.  I don't know if every writer feels this way, but I suffer from a lot of anxiety about what I write because I think I'm always convinced that the only person who will like it is me.  There are so many things a person could be doing that I want to make sure any time they spend with my work will feel like time well spent.

At this point, you may rightfully ask why I am doing this.  The truth is, I'm trying to push myself outside of my comfort zone.  I want to shake my writing up a bit, attempt to tackle things that are new and seem scary.  I feel like this is the only way my writing will truly grow and, more than anything, I want my writing to continue to improve.  I want to broaden my audience and engage my readers, want to create stories that they will absolutely love.  If I could do that, then I would feel like the most successful writer in the world.

Now that I've got that all out, I think I'll take a deep breath and spend a little quality time with my notes.  If that doesn't help, then I'm sure I'll find a way to convince myself that I'm overthinking things and that I just need to let the words flow.  Or maybe I just need to do some hardcore thinking about how I can bribe my muse.  I still haven't figured out exactly what it is that fickle thing wants.