Ava revisited

I've had this little idea percolating in my brain for a few weeks now, and just last night I decided it was time to graduate it to a medium-sized idea. Or possibly more. Yes, I think it's getting to be about time to edit my novel.

(If you're new to this blog, I wrote a book - on here - in November as part of the NaNoWriMo.) I think May would be a good month for the editing project. April is a whole day shorter, and I really wouldn't be able to work on it until April 5th. It's hard to give up five days on a project of this size.

I don't know why I feel so strongly about blitzing through the editing of this in a month. Of course, it won't exactly be blitzing - at least, not at the level at which I wrote the damn thing. 62,000 words in a month; sheer insanity. I really found the concrete (and unforgiving) timeframe to be a big help when I was writing the story originally, so I guess I'm just hoping I can force myself to be super-focused and productive again.

There will probably be a lot of cringing going on as I reread it. I just posted it raw, almost zero editing, chapter by chapter. I'm sure there's some terrible writing in there. Equally sure, however, that there's some pretty decent writing somewhere in there too... If you want to check out the raw version, here's chapter 1.

dream, dream, dream

Holy stress, Batman. We're less than a week away from our biggest annual event at work, and I keep expecting to wake up and find my hair turned silver overnight.

It's days like this - especially grey, windy, lightly snowy mornings like today's - when I dream intensely of not having to work. Wake up, ensconce myself on the couch with a blanket, my soda, some breakfast, and the laptop, and spend the entire morning writing. What I wouldn't give to just have time in the day to focus for hours on my craft. That is my ultimate fantasy.

Instead, I write in my head as I drive to and from work. I write in my head while I'm at work, too, when things aren't too hectic. Unfortunately, right now they're rather too hectic. In fact, what am I doing blogging?! Okay, okay, we all need the occasional break, just to stay sane if for nothing else. Maybe I'll take another five minutes and write a haiku, just to feel like my creative life isn't totally demolished by the harsh vagaries of reality. (Who, me? Melodramatic?! Scoff.)

(early) spring haiku

clouds cover the sky
budding trees pause and shiver
the wind howls cruel threats

Snowday

Well, I don't really get a snowday, but I'm going in a little late so I can work on my story for a few more minutes. I've been revising the children's story that I only write when it's snowing; last night, I got to Chapter 10, but it's only halfway through the page count.

I also decided it could really use a last chapter, since I previously wrapped it up pretty fast. Honestly, I think I just wanted it to be over with; but with the perspective of time I see it could stand some expansion.

So, a lot of work still to be done on this one. It's funny how rarely one really gets to finish a work of writing.

grey day

I'm always so happy when it's nice and grey out. I know most people like sunshine, but give me rain and snow any day. Even just overcast is better than sunshiny, in my world.

So this morning it's grey and lightly snowing, which makes me quite happy, even though I have to go to work instead of sitting at home and writing. I have a story I only work on when it's snowing out; I'm sure I've mentioned it on here before. So many of my stories I can only write in certain settings, like the pirate story I can really only work on at the beach. I think that environmental factor has a lot to do with the songs that influence my work, too.

I succeeded in getting up early this morning and writing. I hated to stop, though. I was working on the story for my dad, largely because I didn't realize it was snowing out, or I would've worked on the snow story instead. Regardless, it felt good to start making time for my creativity again.

There's something about this morning that feels so much like the morning I wrote 'San Felipe aubade'. An aubade is a poem you write for your lover upon waking with them. It's a lovely type of poem - not surprisingly, it originated in France. This one happens to rhyme, but I like the fact that there are no real structural requirements for this form, just the quality of waking with your lover. I wrote this years ago when we were down in this little seaside town in Mexico, in a tiny little cabana on the beach.

San Felipe aubade

Sleep we here awhile, love,
the thunder low and long
rumbles ‘cross the morning
like a half-forgotten song

you pull me closer, love
although you slumber on
your arm an anchor ‘cross me
as wave and thunder thrum

the sea sings to the sky, love
white clouds blanket round
December rain washes waves
holding the patient ground

the sea recalls the words, love
the thunder lows the song
the morning drowses lazily
sleep we sweet and long

I'm still here...

I've got that snippet running around my head from a Talking Heads song, the one where David Byrne sort of growls out, "I'm still here... I won't go away... well I'm still hangin' 'round askin' you questions 'cause I still wanna get LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAID!" Just seems like a great setup for the start of a story.

Not that I need a new story to work on, 'cuz lord knows I have quite a few hanging around waiting to be finished. But y'know, you've got to seize inspiration whenever it wanders through. With both hands. And your teeth. And possibly jump on it. Depends on how fleeting it's trying to be, really.

So, anyway. I've had a hard time getting back on a consistent schedule so I can be more creatively productive. Used to wake up early in the morning, every morning, and write for a couple hours before work. Lately, though, the Kitty Alarm Clock seems to be set to permanent snooze; he's no longer rousting me out of bed every morning at 5:30. This is both a good thing and a bad thing. Most people would prefer to not have their cat wake them every morning at 5:30, and I would be one of them, generally, but early morning's really the only time I can ever count on for my writing. Sure, I write mentally all day long, but that's less helpful than actually setting words to paper (or digital characters onto a word processing document - so unromantic).

I'm dealing with boatloads of stress at work right now, so you'd think now would be a bad time to start making time in my schedule for other priorities. But I think this will actually work out better; if it's important to you, it should be important no matter what else is going on, and it'll provide some much-needed stress relief from all the blah blah blah work blah blah blah mayhem.

So, I guess this means I'll have to start, like, setting an alarm clock. Or something. *heavy sigh*

So tempted to start outlining that new story idea. Or work on one of my existing stories. Too bad I have so much work to do. Better get back to it!

the dragon story

Much stress at work; so much so that I'm working from home today because I'm sick but I can't take any time off with this workload.

So, naturally, it's the perfect time for me to get back into the short story for my dad, right? Right. I don't know why, but just now I had this random flash of not-quite-inspiration, more like just a sense of it finally being the right time. We'll see. I really do have to keep working right now, though. I hope in its current fevered state, my brain's capable of subconsciously writing it for me while I deal with other stuff, so I can just sit down later and have the story flow.

In the meantime, here's a poem I wrote years ago that I've always rather liked. I don't think I've posted it before.

pen & ink

write all over me. write
on my eyelids.
write on my teeth.
write on my stomach.
write on my lips.
write on my palms.
write on my tongue,
my back, my breasts,
write on my bones.

and then

slowly

read me aloud.

blah.

Part of me wants to post this blues poem I wrote for my man the other day. Another part of me is being all self-censorial. And all of me is dying for 5:30 to roll around so I can get out of work and into the rest of my life.

I joined Twitter today, which is probably not the smartest thing I've ever done, since I'm already easily distracted & quickly addicted to random time-wasting Internet sites. But my god, what a concept. Considering that I have to restrain myself from updating my Facebook status 20 times a day, it seems like the perfect outlet for me. So, if you simply can't get enough of my random & varied thoughts/poems/whatever, go look for 'annthewriter' and follow me. :)

You know what I want to try next? A blues sonnet. No no, a crown of blues sonnets. That would be wild. I have a feeling you have to drink a lot of whiskey to write that, though, and I'm really more of a beer girl, myself. Hmm.

Happy birthday, Dr. Seuss

This morning when I logged onto my computer, the Google art was Seussian in honor of the great man's birthday today. We have a lot for which to be grateful to Dr. Seuss, not the least of which are Loraxes and star-bellied sneetches and the 500 hats of Bartholomew whats-his-face.

Seven years ago, when I was a reporter in Arizona, I covered an elementary school's celebration of Dr. Seuss's birthday with a school-wide green eggs & ham breakfast. Very cute. I wrote the article as a poem, Seuss-style, of course. It was my favorite thing I published while working for that paper.

Unfortunately, it's somewhere floating among my archives, and I cannot find it right now. But I do remember the last stanza, so here is my rather abbreviated birthday wish for the good Theodore:

So lift up your glass,
and let's all give a cheer
for the man who taught us
to be silly without fear.