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July 23, 2024

Read It To Me Once More…

There is no way to deny that I am a vain person. When I guest hosted this facebook “show” I would love to watch the entire episode, focusing primarily on me and my reactions. There was nothing I enjoyed more than watching myself. Or so my husband would joke.

This past weekend I competed in the second challenge of the “2024 Flash Fiction” competition. My assignment this go around was: genre – Thriller (that’s a first for me), setting – a black tie event, and item – wet suit. Initially when I read the specifics of my group… I was at a loss. I had never written a “thriller” before and… In reality they kind of handed us our stories on a silver platter. Well, there will be a lot of spy stories in the vein of James Bond. At least, that’s what came to my mind first.

In the morning, after receiving the assignment, my mind exploded with a fireworks show of ideas. Ones in which I genuinely debated submitting them to the competition for fear that someone would steal them. Which is a silly thing to think. Of course they are. There are no original thoughts left to think. Every story has been told. All that matters is style and content details. Someone can have a brilliant idea for a story, but if they lack the chops to do it then their narrative will be secondary.

At the behest of my BF I wrote a draft that day (a first for me) and then spent the drive, the following day, to Santa Barbara (to visit my niece) editing my submission. This was a first for me. Usually I wait until the hour before the deadline to bang a story out. I work well under pressure, is what I always say. And what I have since discovered is that particular character flaw is a symptom of ADHD. Fun!

While I edited my piece I discovered this feature available in the iOS Microsoft Word App. An A.I. will read it to you, like an audio book. I was hesitant at first. I thought the idea was silly. Why would I need to do something like that? Well, let me tell you, I fell in love with this feature. Hearing my own words back to me, gave me chills. And of course my first thought was “Damn, I’m a good writer.”

I joke with my BF that I got a boner from hearing my own story. Which… is true from a certain point of view. It was just a mental/emotional one.

The following day I dove head first into listening to the A.I. read my novel. Again… Chills. It had a beautiful pace and rhythm to it. What’s even more amazing is when a sentence didn’t quite work, I could stop, revise, and then have it read it to me again with the change. Phenomenal.

I’m sure I’m late to this party. Most of the time I shy away from these features because I feel like it detracts from own “skills.” However, what I found is that hearing my story from another person changed everything in terms of my future editing process.

My one complaint… The audio of the woman narrator versus the male… very telling. The woman was audibly smiling. The man sounded like a balding 45 year old with a gut and jowls.

July 16, 2024

Saga Of A Completed Manuscript

I’m sure most, if not all, have gotten tired of reading the phrase/sentiment “I miss my husband” in almost every one of my posts since his passing. At least, I would be if I were on the other end. But I’m also a heartless dick. If you are not exhausted with it, continue on.

On Friday I finished editing my novel. THE novel I have been editing and honing into a polished gem ever since I completed my first draft on my husband’s birthday in 2009. For those of you who can’t do some quick math, that is nearly 15 years working on this bitch. I have started and stopped countless times, either because life got in the way or I got in my way. The only credit I can lend to these individual endeavors is that whenever I would pick it back up, with all the enthusiasm of a teen girl at her fave artists concert, I would start in a new place. The logic being that maybe working on another piece wouldn’t wear me out or overwhelm me as it had before. Ultimately I would give up all over again from the aforementioned reasons.

At one point around 2012-2014 I decided that I was going to give up on being a writer. After each failure it wore away at my self-esteem to the point that this remained the only logical step. In addition it was just destroying my self-worth. Because I wasn’t hitting this high bar I set for myself, I thought that I was less than trash. To stop it, I gave up on that dream. I couldn’t get my shit together. Every time I tried, I failed.

Yet time does wonderful things for my ADHD brain. I tend to forget. Granted, I didn’t forget that I had given up on my desire to be a published author, I just decided that if I were to write it would be for me. To have fun! Which I did. I would enter the NYC Midnight contests for short stories or their flash fiction challenges. These little exercises tested my abilities and showed me that I may not be “THE BEST” I was still good. Published good? Maybe not. But I still had the talent.

For whatever reason I returned to my work in progress (WIP) a few years ago, right around when Charlie was diagnosed. I don’t remember the reason. All I know is that while on a road trip with my polycule I forced them to listen to my WIP. As my bf and I took turns reading it, I was astounded how much of it was already complete. Had I really done that much, I kept asking myself. Clearly I had. It was all there in black and white. Just a few short minutes before we got home I finished reading it to them. I felt this sense of pride. It was good. There were still inconsistencies and a couple chapters that needed a lot of work, but overall it was nearly there. I could see the finish line, however fuzzy it may have been.

When we finally got home, my husband said the one thing that, out of all of our wonderful memories of us together, this one shined the brightest. My husband looked up at me and said “Your story is really good, dear.” It came from nowhere, unprompted, and nearly knocked me off my feet. I said “Thank you” not sure if he was being nice for nice sake (he was DYING afterall…) and he reaffirmed “I mean that. You need to finish it.”

On July 12th, 2024 (12/7 the reverse of when I finished my first draft on 7/12) I finally finished editing my manuscript. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe it. I was elated and in disbelief simultaneously. I have dedicated so much of my identity into this ONE story that it was weird that it no longer existed in it’s original form. Immediately I wanted to call and tell my husband. Then… it all set in. Instead I told my BF and then my brother-husband. They were proud of me, but it didn’t fill the void I craved. So, I shared it on all my socials to lackluster response. My own high expectations ruining it of course.

To “celebrate” my achievement, I decided to leave work early and pick up my pre-orders from the Star Wars Unlimited TCG. On my way… I hit my husbands speed-dial on my car and called him. His familiar voice answered and I immediately cried. The line beeped and I barely got out “Hey punkin, I finished editing my book.” I was a mess the entire way to the store. Thank Taylor that it’s so hot, at least that gave some excuse to why my face was wet and red.

Now, I am left with the next step: writing a query letter. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

At family dinner on Sunday, I told my in-laws and they asked what was next. I told them the auto response (as shown above) and then told them my dream scenario. I said, that if I did magically get it published I would want, more than anything, a blurb on it with my husbands quote. “It’s really good, dear.”

June 27, 2024

Renewed-Reinvigorated Revisions

It occurred to me the other day why, in the previous attempts to edit my novel, why I would stop at (around) the same place every time. I had assumed it was because of the monumental task of working out the logistics of one of my bigger plot twists. Yet, in one of my pursuits over the last 14 years I HAD gotten them squared. So, that was no longer a factor. Now I was just left with writing the chapters. For wanting to be a writer and loving it when I do in fact write, I certainly was terrified of that undertaking.

It is here where I thought was the crux of my problem. The resolution, obviously, being that I just needed to push forward and put thoughts to words. Simple enough, right?

This time I have done just that. In doing so, I have found myself becoming so invested in the process of writing that the time has literally slipped away from me. It’s been truly incredible. It’s as though I picked up “the writer me” I left in high school.

Feeling so energized, I have started looking to the future when it’s completed. How will I go about putting this into the world?

Here is where I discovered the true culprit of my fears rested. The fear that caused me to cease any effort into editing my manuscript.

The other night I was bored and wanted to watch some television. However there is a drought in original content so instead I scrolled over to YouTube and looked up “how to write a query letter.” Listening to these young ladies talk about the process caused me so much anxiety. I have no clue how to boil my plot down into four measly sentences. Overcome with immense dread, I stopped midway through the second tutorial.

The next day I had the hardest time committing my attention to writing. Instead I actually worked, can you imagine such a thing?! I could feel myself slipping away from my project. Like every time before.

I took the day to relax and that evening was recounting these same details to my brother (formerly brother-husband).

“I’m at the point in my book when I give up,” I had said.

In a moment of pure inspiration it dawned on me. Every prior effort, I was so enthusiastic about my progress I would start looking ahead to when it’s completed and ready to find an agent. The process of which I find absolutely daunting and truly terrifying. Like most people, I don’t handle rejection very well. And in that journey I have to remain strong in the face of potential repeated rejections until I get a yes. With that impending fear marinating in my brain, I stop myself. I stop writing entirely. Instead I resign myself to “wanting” to be a writer instead. Scratching the itch, periodically, with my online blogging.

With this crystal clear, it finally occurred to me that I need to not do that at all. (I mean… really.) At least, not while I am deep in the midst of such a monumental undertaking. Or… what has become my mantra through all things husband related “We’re not there yet.”

What bothers me is that took me so long to understand. How had I been so blind before? I guess I was weaker then, and gave in too easily to my fears.

Then the second piece of knowledge came to me: this time IS genuinely different.

After I had forced my polycule to endure my rough draft on a road trip to Salt Lake City (don’t ask), my husband told me, “Your story is really good, Dear.”

This was one of the only compliments he had ever given me. Not because he didn’t believe I was a good writer, but that this was the first time he had ever actually experienced my novel. Sure he had read everyone of my blogs, and had listened to my short story competition entries… But this had been something I had tried time and time again to do but failed because I didn’t believe in it or myself. His compliment, as small as it was in the moment, has meant so much to me now.

Whenever I begin to doubt myself I just repeat that moment in my mind. I’m once again renewed and I keep going.

When I become discouraged by the time this has taken me to edit, the years wasted, I tell myself that a lot of what is in the book now (that was never in the original draft) only came about because of my experiences over these lived experiences.

January 28, 2019

#WriterProblems

I am almost certain I have come to this fork in the road once before, when I attempted to edit my novel in the past. Evidently though I chose not to do anything about it and keep it the way it was, for whatever reason. Maybe I thought, “Well I’ll just fix it after I revise the whole thing.” Which is downright ridiculous because the changes required ripple through the rest of the story. Jesus, I really hate myself sometimes. Past Josh was an idiot, to be quite frank.

Here is my dilemma, my novel takes place in the mountains northeast of Boise, Idaho on New Year’s Eve and there is absolutely no snow.  The things that occur very much show no snow and adding it would make things difficult for both me and my protagonists.

When I was editing my Chapter 9 (‘yay’ for making headway) the question that came to mind is, “Wait, could this actually happen?” In this chapter I describe a broad green valley cut in two by a stream. Green… In January… In the mountains. Naw, girl. That doesn’t sound possible. So I did a quick google search and discovered that snow covered 99.5% of the landscape. So, you’re telling me that there is chance of snow. Then that information made me wonder if there would even be a stream.

Luckily I have a buddy who moved from my hometown to a town in Idaho. So I started asking him these very questions. And that kicked me back to the beginning.

When I originally wrote this book I did not have this particular plot point about an alcoholic father and it being New Year’s Eve.  I added that AFTER the fact to answer another couple questions that arose that needed clarification. However, because of them, this has created quite the conundrum.

How do I solve this issue? Do I go back and add in the snow and change the action to handle the new dilemma OOOOR do I just move the date of the story to a spring month? My one hang up is that it would seem too forced for the alcoholic father to have a HUGE change of heart in regards to his substance abuse. With the “New year, new you” mentality it fits better, in my mind.

The other option I had was maybe move it up to May, and make it a birthday thing. Like “Now that I’m 40…” And it could work but AGAIN another plot point comes under attack in the forms of a character that HAS TO put on a jacket. (That is 100% non-negotiable.) Is she still going to ask for a jacket?

Oh, writer problems.

My husband is such a dick. He’s making fun of me by saying that I’m going to be eighty years old still working on this book. “I just need to add one more thing.”

Anyway, I’m probably just going to go back and put a winter layover. I just don’t want to do it.