Cherie Priest

It’s not enough that trash collection begins in the wee hours of the morning and goes on for several hours on Tuesdays. Oh no. I’ve pretty much grown accustomed to that. But you add to the trash trucks the tree-trimming trucks that have been parked outside my bedroom window since 7:00 a.m., and now you’re talking bloody murder. I’ve had a headache all damn day, and no amount of Advil has even put a dent in it. And all day long, outside my window, I’ve heard the raucous cacophony of bucket-seated men wielding chainsaws.

And oh yes — did I mention that when it’s windy (read: most days), my living room sounds like it sits underneath an abandoned playground? Up on the roof, the vent between the spot over our stove and the outside world has a loose flap; and when it creaks and turns in the breeze, the sound is amplified down the vent. It sounds exactly like a rusty see-saw being worried by two toddlers without a drop of rhythm between ‘em. Yes, it’s exactly as pleasant as it sounds.

This little quirk was supposed to get fixed about three weeks ago. Back when the problem was first noted, a nice older gentleman from maintenance told me what the problem was — and then he told me that all it would take to fix it is a little bit of tar, but he didn’t have any tar on him right that moment, and he was leaving for vacation. But he’d get it in a few days.

Like I said, this was three weeks ago. I resubmitted the request this morning, and it was received without fanfare — and I was given a promise that it would be forwarded to maintenance immediately. Yeah. I’m holding my breath over here.*

In other news, my word count is low again today. The reasons for this include (but are not limited to) everything I just typed above, plus a freelance gig and a few afternoon business email exchanges. I also put in my application for guest status at DragonCon; so it’s not like the day was a total loss or anything.

Today’s stats for the trashy adventure about a neurotic vampire/thief and her wealthy blind client, now with Bonus! half-Cuban drag queen and military intrigue are as follows:

Project: Bloodshot
New Year’s Resolution Status: Pass. Barely.
New Words Written Today: 950
Present Total Word Count: 25,143 words
Goal: 30,000 words and a proposal.





Darling duJour: “… My internal Panic O’ Matic was convinced that heavily armed commandos were already rifling through my underwear drawer.”
Things Accomplished: Fleeing the scene; plotting next move; red-headed floozy disguises; trying to find coffee in Seattle; 25-cents a printed page is fucking extortion; maybe it’s time to abandon this-here safe house and run like hell.
Other Accomplishments: Pleased my first reader with “The Catastrophe Box,” filled out convention applications, sorted some tax documents. Tried to decide whether or not I was childishly pleased or grown-uply embarrassed by how much (read: how little) I earned writing fiction this year.**
Stumbling blocks: Freelance gig took up all morning, well into lunchtime. No big deal and I was happy to have it; but it ate up a big chunk of my writing block. Must make up for it tomorrow.
Reason for Stopping: Headache or no, I need to get out of this noisy-ass apartment.
Total Fiction Words Composed in 2008: 49,455

I’ve mentioned before that Spain the Cat snores. No, seriously. She snores. When this 12-pound animal — who sleeps beside my head at night — really gets going good, she sounds like a whoopie cushion being sodomized by a hyena; and if you don’t know it when you hear it, it can be quite confusing. I mean, surely that godawful noise can’t possibly be coming from that cute little coil of fur? Can it?

Oh yes. Yes it can.

Anyway. So last night I was having this weird dream that Spain was talking to me. She wasn’t saying anything important, she was just very slowly saying very random words, and in the background, someone was revving a motorcycle. Hey, it’s a dream. these things happen. And at some point in this dream it dawned on me that yes, I was dreaming — ergo, the cat and I were not conversing in any fashion. So I woke up. Sort of. Actually, I woke up just enough to hear this coming from the warm spot beside my pillow:

zzzzSHOEzzzz…
zzzzPENCILzzzz…
zzzzKIBBLEzzzz…
zzzzWINDSHIELDzzzz…
zzzzCANDLEzzzz…
zzzzPARKINGSPACEzzzz…
zzzzPIGEONzzzzz…
zzzzMIRRORzzzz…
zzzzPIZZAzzzz….
zzzzBATMANzzzz…

It was the Dark Knight, what jolted me all the way awake. I didn’t realize Spainy was a fan.

In other news, my word count is lower today than it has been lately, but I have an excellent excuse: I didn’t write very much. Afternoon stats for the trashy adventure about a neurotic vampire/thief and her wealthy blind client, now with Bonus! half-Cuban drag queen and military intrigue are as follows:

Project: Bloodshot
New Year’s Resolution Status: Satisfactory.
New Words Written Today: 2151
Present Total Word Count: 24,193 words
Goal: 30,000 words and a proposal.





Things Accomplished: Imminent peril in the form of government hackers and/or men-in-black; hot blind vampire guy confusion; nice hotels; discreet seeing-eye ghoul; our heroine must make like a banana and split.
Other Accomplishments: Brought “The Catastrophe Box” up to Draft Two status and sent it off to first reader; dragged about 50 pages of steampunk sample content up to Draft Two status.
Stumbling blocks: Accepted a quickie freelance gig that must be done tomorrow, so I fear for tomorrow’s word count and/or secondary project material too. That’s fine; I could use the money and it’s an easy assignment. One day maybe I’ll be in a position to say, “No! No, you easy gigs that eat up only one afternoon! I am a busy and successful fiction writer, with no time for such frivolities!” But today is not that day.
Reason for Stopping: Husband will be home from work soon. Am hungry. Should begin preliminary set-up on freelance material.
Total Fiction Words Composed in 2008: 48,505

I had hoped to begin this post with a video of Java the Cat — the exceedingly charming rug-roamer who lives downstairs.* But alas, YouTube is being a knob-gobbler today and it won’t let me upload the footage; and since Java can’t be persuaded to hold still without a tranquilizer dart, I only got one good photo of him. Ergo, I am forced to lead with this instead:

In other news, last night Aric and I went to see Juno. Between us, we declared it the most charming comedy about teen pregnancy we’d ever set eyes upon. Really, it somehow manages to be unflinching and adorable at the same time, and I absolutely recommend it. I regret that I have but two thumbs with which to endorse this movie.

And moving right along as if I had a transition here or something, today’s stats for the trashy adventure about a neurotic vampire/thief and her wealthy blind client, now with Bonus! half-Cuban drag queen and military intrigue are as follows:

Project: Bloodshot
New Year’s Resolution Status: Sound.
New Words Written Today: 3392
Present Total Word Count: 22,042 words
Goal: 30,000 words and a proposal.





Things Accomplished: Contact with shady military officer; hot shower and a nap; email request for info from fellow freelancer; panic attack over the word “reconnaissance” and a dead trespasser; new meeting with blind vampire client, who is totally hot.
Darling du Jour: “Depending on which frothy-mouthed internet pulpit-beater I chose to believe, Holzter Point might conceal anything from alien artifacts to Bigfoot’s sperm samples, plus a few pickled flipper babies from Three Mile Island and Jimmy Hoffa’s stomach contents. I’d like to make fun of those guys, but I had information from a blind vampire that the storage facility held details of medical experiments conducted by the military on the unwilling undead — so far be it from me to call anyone a liar.”
Reason for Stopping: Getting a headache. And it’s Sunday. I can call it an early afternoon if I want.
Total Fiction Words Composed in 2008: 46,354

Aric is out of the house at the moment, so I’m forced to amuse myself on this miserable wet cold day. Meh. He’ll be home in a couple of hours; but maybe, between now and then, I’ll wander down to the bookstore and poke around. Yes, the weather is godawful, but I’m feeling restless.

Today’s stats for the trashy adventure about a neurotic vampire/thief and her wealthy blind client, now with Bonus! half-Cuban drag queen and military intrigue:

Project: Bloodshot
New Year’s Resolution Status: Fair, but not great. It’s Saturday. I can slack a little bit if I wanna.
New Words Written Today: 1537
Present Total Word Count: 18,650 words
Goal: 30,000 words and a proposal.





Things Accomplished: Slogging through government black-slashed paperwork; vampires are not monkeys; mysterious dead trespasser slightly less mysterious, still suspicious; details of Project Bloodshot coming into focus.
Reason for Stopping: I’m allowed a smidge of laziness on weekends, right? Also, I’m cold and I don’t want to type anymore. Shall make tea, and perhaps watch a movie.
Total Fiction Words Composed in 2008: 42,962

First up, a kitty picture to initiate a good weekend for all and sundry:

And now, celebration-worthy stats for the trashy adventure about a neurotic vampire/thief and her wealthy blind client, now with Bonus! half-Cuban drag queen and military intrigue:

Project: Bloodshot
New Year’s Resolution Status: WOOTABLE
New Words Written Today: 5198
Present Total Word Count: 17,113 words
Goal: 30,000 words and a proposal.





Things Accomplished: Pet people — no they aren’t/yes they are; strange new developments in trespassing; cute and slightly, charmingly sinister little girl makes good. Broken lights, learning trendy new sports; feeding time for hungry POV vamps, hurrah.
Darling du Jour: “I’m not in the business of solving mysteries; I’m in the business of making mysteries.”
Reason for Stopping: Simple exhaustion, combined with a desire to freshen up, pick a movie, and go out for the evening in a celebratory fashion when the husband gets home.
Total Fiction Words Composed in 2008: 41,425

It’s been a long, pleasant day — but I really have nothing to blog about except for the typical slog. Stats for the trashy adventure about a neurotic vampire/thief and her wealthy blind client, now with Bonus! half-Cuban drag queen and military intrigue:

Project: Bloodshot
New Year’s Resolution Status: Respectable, if not glorious.
New Words Written Today: 1750
Present Total Word Count: 11,915 words
Goal: 30,000 words and a proposal.





Things Accomplished: Trouble in a storage facility. Ninja trespasser with possible bio-hack enhancements.
Reason for Stopping: Following Aric’s dentist appointment, he and I took the afternoon off to go run grown-up errands (spent some time at the bank, etc.). I’ll try to get a little more work done tonight.
Other: Created full proposal for steampunk novel. Now just need to bring sample material up to Draft Two status, at which point I’ll inflict it upon others.
Total Fiction Words Composed in 2008: 36,227

Here’s a picture of a cloud that looks like a dinosaur skeleton. I like it. It’s very “Ghost Brontosauruses in the Sky.” Or something.

Hey, folks. Apropos of nothing, I hear that January’s Fangoria has a review of Wings to the Kingdom in it — but I haven’t had a chance to go pick up a copy. It’s my understanding that it’s not the world’s gushiest review or anything, and that’s fine. I still want to know what it says. Can anyone email it my way?*

[:: bats eyelashes ::]

Anyway, today I am awesome. No, seriously. Awesome. Stats for the trashy adventure about a neurotic vampire/thief and her wealthy blind client, now with Bonus! half-Cuban drag queen and military intrigue:

Project: Bloodshot
New Year’s Resolution Status: Double-Plus WIN
New Words Written Today: 4459
Present Total Word Count: 10,165 words
Goal: 30,000 words and a proposal. If I can keep up this pace, I can pull that off by the end of January. This is where I cross my fingers, hold my breath, keep my head down, and type like a mofo.





Things Accomplished: Mystery established. Case taken. Curiosity roused. Pepper and Domino introduced.
Reason for Stopping: I needed to work on other projects, too.
Other: Achieved Draft One of “The Catastrophe Box.” Began compiling/cleaning information for the steampunk novel proposal. What can I say? I’ve really got my A-game going today.
Total Fiction Words Composed in 2008: 34,527

Despite near constant interruption, today’s writing progress was actually pretty good. This one’s a quick write. I hope it doesn’t suck.* So. Yeah. Here ya go. Stats for the trashy adventure about a neurotic vampire/thief and her wealthy blind client, now with Bonus! half-Cuban drag queen and military intrigue:

Project: Bloodshot
New Year’s Resolution Status: Excellent, considering.
New Words Written Today: 3075
Present Total Word Count: 5706 words
Goal: 30,000 words and a proposal.





Things accomplished: Established the introductory meat of the mystery. Met the blind vamp’s aging hipster ghoul.
Darling du Jour: “Ian Stott pressed his lips together and squeezed out a thin smile.”
Stumbling blocks: Phone ringing off the hook. Errand running. Project juggling.
Other: I also finished bringing the sample material for my steampunk project up to First Draft Status. Now to work on the summary/outline/proposal. Likewise, I began work on revising “The Catastrophe Box,” but didn’t get as far as I meant to. Oh well. It’ll wait until tomorrow.
Total Fiction Words Composed in 2008: 30,068

Heath Ledger found dead in NYC apartment. [Edit: The NYTimes is also talking about it. And CNN, too. Damn, I guess it’s true.]

If you’ll recall, I mentioned in this post that Spain the Cat has an unreasonable fondness for the blanket we keep draped at the foot of the bed. Behold, I give you further evidence: if you are so gauche as to occupy the blanket so that she cannot, she will make herself comfortable right on top of you — just to prove the point.

What point?
Well, the point that as long as she can sit on it, it still belongs to her.
I guess. So yeah, I know my place in the universe.

This one could best be described as a trashy adventure about a neurotic vampire/thief and her wealthy blind client, now with Bonus! half-Cuban drag queen and military intrigue.

Project: Bloodshot
New Year’s Resolution Status: So far, so good.
Present word count: 2631 words
Goal: 30,000 words and a proposal.
Things accomplished: Established narrator persona, introduced new client.





Next up: Mr. Stott is going to make Raylene an offer she ought to refuse, but won’t.
Stumbling blocks: Doctor’s appointment that ate up much of my day’s middle. It’s no big deal, just a checkup and blood work. Still, I didn’t get home and settled until about 2 hours ago. Also, emergency (read: long overdue) hair dye event took a bite out of my morning.
Other: This is the only modern first-person voice I’ve written since the Eden books. I’m still getting a feel for the speaker, but I think I kind of like her. She’s reclusive and strange, mercenary and a little crazy. She’s also very, very good at her job — and she tops the list of three international “Most Wanted” lists … as a man. She’s not sure where the confusion occurred, but she’s not about to get out there and correct anybody.
First line: “You wouldn’t believe the weird shit people pay me to steal.”
Daily Kitty Picture: See below.

Much as it pains me to do so, I think it’s time for me to temporarily set aside the “new construction” on my steampunk piece. I’ve got more than enough content to make a good pitch for it; so now I need to start cleaning up the first 100 pages (or so) of what I have — and I need to begin work on a proper summary/proposal for it.

See, here’s my Revised New Year’s Resolution:

(1). Write every day.
(2). Begin new projects.
(3). Maintain deadline on projects in the queue.

In addition to what’s already in the works — Fathom / Awake Into Darkness / Those Who Went Remain There Still — I have at least three other novels I’d like to see ready-to-sell by the end of the year. One is yes, the steampunk story; one is a campy modern fantasy-mystery; and one is an extension of the oddball hero/southern gothic short piece I sold to Apex. This means I need about 30,000 words of content each on two more books, plus proposal content for all of the above.

For those of you keeping score at home, proposals/summaries aside, that’s at least 60,000 words of spec content in addition to the (oh, let’s say) 100,000 word novel I need to write between now and July.* I’d also like to do one more short story (which may or may not happen, at this point), and I must squeeze Fathom editorial into that mix someplace (when that one comes down the pike).

So if blogging is generally light except for progress bars, well, there you go. The other day when I posted this little entry, I left out another major point about the writing life: the Ass-In-Chair / Fingers-On-Keyboard factor. Is it boring to read about? Sure, sometimes. It’s not always light and roses and kittens and WEE IMAGINATING! all over the place. Sometimes it’s a miserable slog, and it’s boring to catalog, too — but I feel like it needs to be done. I’m trying everything to keep myself moving, and if that means being accountable to and/or annoying on the internet, so be it.

Anyway. Yes.
Anticipate meter bars.

[Edited to add: And since I’ve had about half a dozen people ask in the last week or so, here’s where I get mine: the Writertopia toolbox. Lots of people also use this one over at Zokutou. I used to use it, but it kept spazzing out on me, so I gave up and moved to the Writertopia one — even though Zokutou is a bit prettier.]

Project: Steampunk Victoriana
Present word count: 46,508
Other Progress: First 97 pages cleaned to first draft status.
Goal: About 30 more pages up to first draft status before moving on to summary/pitch production.





Project: Modern Fantasy/Mystery
Present word count: 749 words
Other Progress: Noodled with summary/proposal (from a previous draft)
Goal: 30,000 words out of an estimated 100,000





Project: Mega-Hero Southern Gothic
Present word count: 4687 words (short story / already written)
Other Progress: Began a proposal for this book (didn’t get far)
Goal: 30,000 words out of an estimated 100,000







Stumbling Blocks for the Whole Bunch: Focus, focus, focus. I’m still trying to sort out what to work on next/first/etc. Right now this shotgun approach isn’t terribly smooth. Hopefully, once I get these other two partials underway, one or the other will emerge as That Which I Can Concentrate Upon For A Bit.

Total Fiction Word Count for 2008: 25,111 words

Dammit Mark.
ONE DAY I SHALL HAVE VENGEANCE.

[Possible mild spoilers to follow — but mostly just some conversation, and perhaps a couple of things that you could reasonably gather from the previews.]

So a handful of NYC young folks at a buddy’s going-away party document an uncanny critter apocalypse. It’s such a gently obvious concept that I’m surprised no one’s done it so spectacularly before: what would it really look like — from the ground — if a giant monster invaded and/or tried to eat a major metropolitan area? Two parts old-school Godzilla and one part Blair Witch Project with a dash of 28 Days Later, Cloverfield is a wild and frantic addition to the Mysterious Incoming City-Stomping Beast canon.

I do admit, this one begins with a bad case of too much boyfriend, not enough roller derby — but once that’s out of the way, the story is fast-paced, frenetic, stressful, scary, and mostly quite credible. The imperiled people with the camera run to and fro in a reasonable fashion (more or less), and there’s a satisfyingly realistic amount of sheer legwork that rather impressed me.

Often in catastrophe flicks, there’s a certain measure of hemming and hawing about all the dashing around from scene to scene, but in Cloverfield the grueling aspects of a survival scenario aren’t given short shrift. These people are exhausted, and battered, and scared shitless, and the hideous slog of simply moving from place to place does not let up. Rubble collects in piles the size of city blocks. Skyscrapers lean against one another and threaten to topple at any moment. The military cuts off corridors by necessity. Subterranean avenues are dark, cluttered with monsters, and wholly uncertain. Prepositions are far from simple; there’s no easy way up, over, out, or through.

If I were forced to furnish a gripe, it’d be one I’ve often trotted out before when it comes to horror movies: there’s simply no good reason (at several crucial plot points) why nobody thinks to grab a weapon. Sure, there’s not much for a tire iron to do against a creature the size of the Eiffel Tower; but all the wee subcreatures go down with just a couple of swings — and our heroes are shown as having access to a variety of Level One weapons. An enormous (nondescript) metal bar, a crowbar, and a fireman’s ax all put in an obvious and useful appearance, but nobody ever hangs on to the object for more than a few minutes. I mean, come on. We’re all tool-wielding primates here, right? We’ve got a big monster that we can only survive by dodging, and a host of smaller monsters that (a). look much like spiders and (b). are the size of German Shepherds, but you can beat the bitches back without too much trouble. So what do you do? Do you abandon the pickax in the skull of the critter you kill? No. No, you do not. Do you leave your crowbar down in the break room? No. No, you should probably keep it with you.

But anyway. Minor quibbles aside, when all is said and done Cloverfield is a gritty, exceedingly good study of how dreadfully personal a sweeping disaster can be. This is as fine a monster movie as I’ve seen in quite some time, and if you’re a fan of the genre, it’s definitely worth watching.

In other news, my New Year’s Resolution remains intact, but I’m feeling rather ill at the moment and I can’t be bothered to dig up the stats. Likewise, I got out and did stuff last night — and I even took a few pictures* — but Richelle has a better write-up than I’m prepared to provide.

Have a good evening, everyone. I’m going to have some 7-Up and lie down, I think.
Stupid movie popcorn and stupid too much fake butter.
Stupid stupid stupid.

Grr…

In some ways, our cat has always been a conscientious little beast. Oh sure, she’ll eat any potentially deadly item that isn’t nailed down; and yes, she has a tendency to playfully stuff her paw up your nose while you sleep, but by and large she’s a wonderful cat. One rather peculiar way in which she manifests her awesomeness is the way she never, ever barfs on the bed.

If this doesn’t seem like a stunning accomplishment that’s worthy of accolades, do keep in mind that this cat spends roughly 3/4 of her time on that-there bed, with a remaining percentage of time spent barfing up hairballs and kibble. You’d be well within reason to expect some overlap. But 99 times out of 100, she gets the urge to purge and immediately leaps down off the sleeping zone … and dumps it on the floor. Good kitty! Sorta. I guess.

However, last night something must’ve snuck up on her while she was napping, because I found her sitting in the middle of the bed, staring mournfully at a pile of puke at the foot of the bed (her usual spot of choice). Luckily, even in this faux pas she was spared — for she unloaded her guts on the extra blanket.

No, this is not an extra blanket for our toes. This was an extra blanket for the cat, because she loves this blanket. She would never barf it up deliberately, I’m sure of it. Even so, the blanket had been barfed upon and it could not be left in place. So I removed it. And WOE. WOE TO THE KITTY. She wouldn’t go near the bed all last night or all day today until I’d finally hauled all three loads of clean, dry towels/bathrobes/foot blankets up from the laundry room* and restored her precious blanket to its position of honor.

Then she rolled around on it for several hours. And now she behaves as if it’s been Velcroed to her nipples. If you try to relocate her in any way, she bicycle-kicks your head and then shoots you with lasers for good measure.

Poor Aric. That’s gonna leave a mark.

Anyway, my fine and lovely readers — if you are in the greater Seattle area, you should join me and the crew for a reading at the University District bookstore. There, you shall find my buddy Richelle Mead joined by Lilith Saintcrow, getting wordy together starting at 7:00 p.m. this very evening. I think Kat Richardson will also be floating about, and probably Mark Henry as well. Heck, you never know who you’ll run in to!

And now, the daily metrics, before I fling myself into the bedroom to change clothes/freshen up/nab supper before heading over to the bookstore:

Project: “The Catastrophe Box.”
New Year’s Resolution Status: Solid.
Present word count: 6719
Goal for January: Let it sit and revise it in a week or so.
Things accomplished: Full Draft Zero, well within my established wordcount perameters.





Other: In addition to this draft, I now have almost 80 pages of Draft One content for the steampunk piece. Also, I have 3 loads worth of clean towels. Go me!

“The Catastrophe Box.”

New Year’s Resolution Status: Solid.
Present word count: 4119
Goal for January: Draft Zero by end of workday tomorrow.
Things accomplished: WOE. Also, some peril.
Reason for stopping: Time to get a little editorial done on the steampunk project now.





Stumbling blocks: None, really. Once it got underway, I made pretty good progress.

Maybe it’s just that time of year or something, but over the last few weeks I’ve received several emails from high school and college students who want to talk turkey about writing as a career. That’s cool. I’m happy to talk about it. But I often come away from these interviews/conversations feeling like I’ve discouraged the writer-in-training, and that’s not my intent.

Here’s the thing — it doesn’t matter what creative pursuit you’re chasing. To succeed as a creative professional you must permanently exist in a state of contradictions. You must simultaneously and thoroughly believe that you’re brilliant and unstoppable, but you’re ignorant and clueless. There’s no substitute for bull-headed persistence, just as there is no substitute for humility in the face of (informed, intelligent) critique.

The trick comes in balancing your pride with the absolute certainty that you have infinite room for improvement. You’ve got to be stubborn and self-confident enough to keep plugging away at it, but smart enough to learn from people who are wiser and more talented than yourself.*

That’s all there is to it, really. That’s the best observation I can offer.

So now I’ll conclude with a smidge of advice, since these undergraduate interviews always close by asking for some: Nothing will improve your output like improving the quality of your input. If you’re a writer, this means reading better books. Read lots of them. Eventually it’ll sink in. Yes, there’s more than one way to do it right; but there are more than a billion ways to fuck it up royally.

For lunch, I met up with Kat at my favorite Ballard joint, Bad Albert’s — where the fish sandwich is absolutely to die for, and the company is always good (since I almost always go there with Kat). But on either side of that exceedingly pleasant break, I did verily Accomplish Things.

Granted, little of that productivity had anything to do with the west coast steampunk Victoriana book with zombies, air ships, toxic gas clouds, mad scientists, dead folk heroes, secret criminal societies, and extended deleted scenes from the Civil War; although I did select and excerpt my sample material, and begin the joyful process of cleaning it up.

My new goal/guideline for daily workflow shall be thus: when I have writing projects other than my steampunk tome, then I will devote composition time to the former — and editorial time to the latter. This way I neither abandon it altogether nor sacrifice productivity time on more pressing gigs. The more pressing gig of the moment is a short story I’m working on for (the hopeful/potential inclusion in) an anthology.

Tentative title, “The Catastrophe Box.”

New Year’s Resolution Status: Safe
Present word count: 1181
Goal for January: Draft Zero by next weekend or sooner.
Things accomplished: Introduction of characters, setting, etc.
Reason for stopping: Exhaustion. Headache. Etc. Husband will be home from ninja class soon.





Stumbling blocks: The simple fact of getting started on a new short is usually the toughest part for me. I noodle around with all the details in a notebook, trying to sort out character names and general conflict elements; and sometimes this takes me days before I have enough material to start typing. I don’t usually write from an outline or anything, but I do need a place to begin.

Flattering and intimidating, this sort of thing is.

I don’t mind admitting that I’m intensely proud of this project, and that I too am looking forward to it with great enthusiasm. But boy oh boy, those rudimentary place-holding amazon pages are almost painful to look at.

And for what it’s worth — for you eagle-eyed readers out there — yes, there were some last-minute changes to the manuscript, including a swap-out for one of the family names. The reasons are complex and varied, but the short version is this: we don’t want to get sued by Disney, and my back-up historical documents did not come through as I’d hoped. These Kevlar panties* do exist, but I’m not in a position to get my hands on them, so oh well. It was less trouble (and money) to do a find/replace in MS WORD than to fly to Kentucky and spend a few weeks rifling through rural libraries, hoping to replace the missing paperwork.

Oh well.

Okay. Time to freshen up, brush my hair, back up some files, and head out to Ballard to meet the divine Ms. Kat for lunch.

[Edit: Speaking of Ms. Kat and my Seattle-area writer peeps, this Friday Richelle Mead is putting out a new book at the University District Bookstore. She’ll be showing you some naughty bits from her novel Succubus on Top, and sharing table space with Lilith Saintcrow. Go here for details!]

Oh, such progress has there been! Granted, this progress didn’t translate to much of a word count, but I still feel like I’ve had a productive day thus far — and it ain’t over yet.

In addition to my regular resolution slog through the word count mines, I finished reading my assigned book and wrote/handed in its review; I jotted notes re: the short story I need to write; I did some research and answered some emails; filed an invoice or two; and oh yes — I frolicked with Spain the Cat.

I’d like to call this, “The Last Thing a Camera Strap Ever Sees.”





But anyway. Today’s progress on the west coast steampunk Victoriana book with zombies, air ships, toxic gas clouds, mad scientists, dead folk heroes, secret criminal societies, and extended deleted scenes from the Civil War:

New Year’s Resolution Status: Intact.
Present word count: 46,005 words
Goal for January: As much progress as possible before February, when I begin working on my next Tor project.
Things accomplished: We have a plan.
Reason for stopping: 46,000 words is a nice round number, and I want to begin my short story this afternoon, if possible.





Stumbling blocks: Other gigs. General exhaustion. Distractingly adorable cat.

Due to a convoluted series of events, I am not booted out of my apartment after all, and I am free once again to use my shower. To make a long story short, the folks at the tub and tile company screwed the pooch; and I, for one, couldn’t be happier. You can’t see the damage to the tub’s finish because I threw a big bathmat down over it, and therefore, I had no burning desire to spend the next 2 days with all my windows open — letting all the toxic refurbishing fumes out, and all that frigid, wet January air in. Yeah. Screw that.

I have no idea why the landlord wanted to have this taken care of at this time of year, when I specifically told her that there was no freaking rush. So I rescheduled my appointment with the company directly … for the end of April.*

Go me!

Today’s progress on the west coast steampunk Victoriana book with zombies, air ships, toxic gas clouds, mad scientists, dead folk heroes, secret criminal societies, and extended deleted scenes from the Civil War:

New Year’s Resolution Status: Satisfactory.
Present word count: 44,738 words
Goal for January: As much progress as possible before February, when I begin working on my next Tor project.
Things accomplished: Achieved the introduction of Lucy O’Gunning, the one-armed bar owner with a clockwork hand. I love Lucy. She’s the mama bear of the underground Square district, and now she has a new cub to look after. If anyone can help Briar find Zeke … well, it might not be Lucy, actually — but now Briar has a solid ally, for the first time since before her son was born.
Reason for stopping: I need to get some reading done for a book review which I must compose tomorrow.





Stumbling blocks: I’m still learning about this time management thing. I spent the morning doing research for a story I need to/ have to/ get to write, and jotting down some notes for it. Then I spent the middle of the day and the early afternoon on this project. Now, I’m going to read until Aric gets home, and see if I can’t finish this door-stopper. Following that: supper. I’m getting hungry.

RAR.

Today’s lazy-ass (but not altogether embarrassing) weekend-style progress on the west coast steampunk Victoriana book with zombies, air ships, toxic gas clouds, mad scientists, dead folk heroes, secret criminal societies, and extended deleted scenes from the Civil War:

New Year’s Resolution Status: Safe.
Present word count: 42,767 words
Goal for January: As much progress on this novel as possible before February, when I begin working on my next Tor project.
Things accomplished: Exposition, baby. Now we know (sort of) what’s up with the mysterious Dr. Minnericht*, and we’re all aware of the hypothetical possibility that he’s not who he claims to be. Briar has found her way to the underground tavern in the old pioneer square, but she hadn’t had a chance to talk to anybody yet.
Reason for stopping: Husband came home with food. For him. No food for me. Granted, I did not ask him for food, so I am hard-pressed to hold a grudge; but the fact is, he’s got a big fat juicy cheeseburger and it smells fantastic, and I wasn’t even hungry until he got here. Now it’s driving me to distraction.





Stumbling blocks: Laundry.

Tomorrow’s stumbling block is much more interesting — or at least, gruesome — than laundry. We’re getting our busted-ass bathtub refurbished with disgusting, not-what-I’d-pick, smelly chemical spray-on finish. This process is apparently going to oust me from my home/office until the evening, which sucks in about eighty different ways, but such is life when you don’t own your own property, dammit.

Of course, the cat must be likewise ousted lest she consume the fumes and go even dumber or battier than she already is; and that means that I’ve thrown myself upon the mercy of the Ellen — who is generously donating the use of her bathroom for Spain the Cat interim housing. Poor, poor kitty. Poor, poor me, too. I’m going to be listening to her howl all day, hurrah. At least Ellen has cable (which we don’t, up here at chez moi.)

Anyway, here’s the song that’s embedded in my head today, reposted here because it makes me irrationally happy.** Have a lovely evening, okay?

* Yet another awesome name I’ve been stashing in me notebook for months.
** Yes, I know what game it’s from. Yes, I get the jokes in it. Yes, I know it was written by this guy. Yes, I know he also wrote The Ikea Song. This footnote brought to you by the dozens of people who would otherwise crawl out of the woodwork to educate me on this subject.

Today’s progress on the west coast steampunk Victoriana book with zombies, air ships, toxic gas clouds, mad scientists, dead folk heroes, secret criminal societies, and extended deleted scenes from the Civil War:

New Year’s Resolution Status: Safe.
Present word count: 40,961 words
Goal for January: As much progress on this novel as possible before February, when I will begin working on my next Tor project.
Things accomplished: Briar is more or less forced to trust the large and scary and somewhat capricious Mr. Swakhammer.
Reason for stopping: Went to go out and play with Maudelynn and her sweetie. Was marvelous! But I ended my writerly productivity around 2:00. It was totally worth it, even if I didn’t clear a thousand words. It’s a Saturday. I can slack a smidge if I like.





Stumbling blocks: In real life — no stumbling blocks, per se. Just an afternoon spent doing other things. In fiction — Briar’s gotten a lead about where her son might’ve skedaddled off to, but following him is going to be tougher than she thinks. Mr. Swakhammer may or may not be a reliable guide; zombies still lurk outside and above, on the streets; and Briar’s incurred a small injury that’s driving her bananas.

Sometimes I really hate Ikea. See, a year or two ago Aric and I bought a bed from that hit-and-miss establishment; and with this bed we were compelled to purchase roll-up bed slats in lieu of bedsprings. One by one those bed slats broke.* Therefore, as we had grown tired of the increasingly lumpy night’s sleep, I picked up some higher-quality slats to replace the craptastic ones.

Sure, I’d rather just buy a new bed that didn’t originate from Ikea, but that’s not in the cards right this moment, so, yeah, oh well. New slats.

Now, perhaps you’d assume that something as simple as “wooden slats upon which to place a mattress” would not require all morning to assemble and install … but if that’s what you’re thinking, then clearly you have never purchased anything from a Swedish warehouse of flat-pack furniture. Aric likes to say that the corporate motto ought to be: “Right color, right design, right price. Pick two.” I would add to this assessment: “Right hardware, right instructions, right pieces. Pick two.”

Long story short, I had to rig the thing in a manner inconsistent with the instructions, because those instructions were inconsistent with reality here on planet earth. This took most of the morning; and the rest of the morning was occupied by my attempts to lift a queen-sized mattress, prop it up out of the way, and install the slats underneath it. If I’d had any idea what an ordeal this would turn out to be, I would’ve waited until Aric got home from work and enlisted his help. But noooo. I gotta do it myself. Because I’m a moron.

Eventually I got the whole shebang set up, put together, installed, and the bed re-made — thereby completing the illusion that a pair of civilized adults live here. And now … ah, now. Now the bed/mattress is about 2 inches taller than it was before, and Spain the Cat is Not. Having. Any. Of. It.

Spain: OMGWTFBBQ SOMETHING’S WRONG WITH THE BED!
Me: There’s nothing wrong with the bed. It’s just a little taller now.
Spain: NO! NO! IS CURSED! IS WRONG!
me: Oh calm down, you dumb cat. Look — I’ll turn the electric blanket on for you.
Spain: NO! NO! IS LAVA FLOW OF THE DAMNED ON GIANT TOO-TALL BED!
Spain: GIANT TOO-TALL BED IS MADE FOR MONSTERS!
Spain: (from the closet, where she’s still hiding) MONSTERS WHO PROBABLY EAT CATS!
Me: [:: facepalm ::]

Yet believe it or not, I still managed a healthy (or at least, respectable) word count on the west coast steampunk Victoriana book with zombies, air ships, toxic gas clouds, mad scientists, dead folk heroes, secret criminal societies, and extended deleted scenes from the Civil War:

New Year’s Resolution Status: Preserved.
Present word count: 40,218 words
Goal for January: Short-term word count goal met. Proper summary/outline/proposal forthcoming.
Things accomplished: I realized today that I have overshot my content requirements for sample material by about 5000 words. This was a very good feeling, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to stop writing on this project. It means that now I’m going to shift my productivity attention more firmly to the short projects in the queue, and in a few weeks, I’ll go back and begin editorial clean-up on this long one. Impatient though I am, it’s important to wait. I need a little distance from the early material before I can treat it objectively.
Reason for stopping: Husband will be home soon. Must prepare to go out on the town.





Stumbling blocks: Ikea. And to add insult to injury, I had to assemble my own damn stumbling block.

So here’s something fun, about which I had completely forgotten: a podcast interview with yours truly and Brent Hartinger, recorded at the trade show back in September(?). Apparently Tor only just now posted it. Heh.

God love it, that was a hoot and a half. We (Patty the Publicist, Brent, and I) kept wandering from room to room in the hotel, trying to find a spot that was quiet enough to muster some recording time. And when we finally found a suitable conference room, things had no sooner gotten underway than a very strange man decided that NOW WAS THE TIME to begin unloading LARGE PIECES OF OFFICE EQUIPMENT from the closet behind the table where we were RATHER OBVIOUSLY trying to work.

At one point, Patty actually stopped things and explained to the guy that we only needed just a couple of minutes of quiet and would that be okay? He said, “Sure,” and then continued working as if not any given word of her very polite question had registered.

So if the first half of this interview sounds a little stilted and awkward, well, there you go. We were desperately trying to ignore this dude and his heavy lifting activities. But things pick up and get giggly in the second half, so I still recommend giving the podcast a listen if you’re idly curious about working writers, blogs, cats, etcetera.

I keep listening to the first bit over and over because it thrills me mightily to be part of something that’s introduced by George Takei.*