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Work In Progress Wednesday #1
So I've noticed that a number of my bloggy friends participate in WIP Wednesday, where they report on their writing status. I enjoy reading others updates, so I thought I may give it a shot as well. This week has not been productive in word count. I've managed to get 2000 words done, which is less than I had hoped. However, I had been stuck at one point in the book for a while, and was not sure how I wanted to proceed for the final five chapters. (This is the plight of my pantser plan instead of the well organized plotter way. I know where my characters need to get to, but not sure how I want them to get there.) But luckily, yesterday, I had a breakthrough and finally know what I want to do with them. Woo-hoo! So, I'm going to count this week as a success. Here is an excerpt from my very rough draft: (redacted)--oops you missed it! Only posted temporarily.
That's it for now. How's your WIP going?
The Paramour in the Pages
I found myself in a conversation this weekend with my sister and her boyfriend about "crushes", i.e. who do each of us have crushes on in the movies/music/tv/etc. Don't ask how this silly topic came up, I don't remember. (Wine may have been involved.) But, I will say a light, fun chat turned tense quickly when names started to be named. My sister (who is in a new relationship) became highly annoyed when her boyfriend offered his own crush picks.
For Love of the Bad Boy
I just recently finished reading Motley Crue: The Dirt - Confessions of the World's Most Notorious Rock Band . Even though I usually stick to fiction, I picked up the book for a few reasons. One, I'm a big fan of the band. Two, my current WIP's male protagonist is a lead singer in a rock band, so this was helpful research. I'm not going to go into a detailed review. But I'll say that I really enjoyed the book. It was an unapologetic look into the proverbial world of "sex, drugs, and rock 'n roll." So, if you like rock music, don't mind an r-rated (nc-17?) book, and can handle the overuse of the word "dude" in the Tommy Lee chapters, then I would say go for it.
Mourning the Death of the First Novel
So I finished my first novel, Shadow Falls (paranormal YA) a few months ago. (Well, my first one that counts. The one in high school, well, a novel it was not.) I toiled and tweaked and edited and obsessed. I wrote and rewrote my query, frantically checking query shark to make sure I didn't make any well-known mistakes. I went through a crisis of self-esteem before hitting send on my first agent query--the oh so attractive, sweaty, shaky, I-obviously-can't-put-two-words-together-so-why-am-I-even-bothering stage. This stage was quickly followed by the "is my email working? is my spam filter too strong? why is it not dinging with new emails from agents?" phase. Yes, I know they say to expect a response no sooner than a few weeks or months, but I plugged my ears and sang show tunes to avoid accepting that knowledge.
Why do you read what you read?
Result: A love of stories that scare me and make me laugh. This also leads to me being convinced that my room is haunted by an evil stuffed monkey that has sat on my shelf since toddlerhood. Monkey gets evicted to the attic, I sleep on the couch for six months (seriously.)
Result: My love for both fantasy and series books is planted.
Result: I develop a respect but also a wariness for literary fiction. In addition, I acquire a lifelong aversion to novels that kill off the dog. I go on a binge of R.L. Stine horror books (such as The Baby-Sitter (Point Horror Series)
)and Roald Dahl instead. I also began to indulge my budding interest in the paranormal. My science fair projects for this year: ESP and Poltergeists.
Result: Discover that romance + sexy + darkness = awesomeness
Result: Decide psychics, monsters, vampires, and ghosts are by far way cooler than normal humans.
Result: I raise the stock of the Cliff Notes company (allowing me to ace all English tests and papers) and am further turned off by the term "literary."And what do I do with the time I should be using to read my assigned books? I write my own romance novel because clearly there is no chance of actual romantic interludes in my own angsty life. A hundred and fifty typed pages of sappy teenage indulgence is born and titled Kismet. My male protagonist bears a striking resemblance to Joe McIntyre of New Kids on the Block.
Result: Regret dropping the English major. Promise myself that once I get settled in my psychology career, I will try to write in my free time.