Doubtful Drafts.

It's a very odd sensation, going from first-draft writing -- where quantity presides over quality -- back to third-draft writing, where the point of it is to do it right this time. And, I have to say, it's proven to be quite tricky.

I'm not going to lie -- I'm super pleased with what I had of my third-draft pre-NaNo, but realising that I have to go back to working like that to produce those words filled me with a certain kind of nervousness that I hadn't felt before. I was honestly starting to doubt that I could keep up with myself.

This nervousness, coupled wih taking two days off for the holidays, crippled me for what felt like ages (although was actually only most of a day). The words just wouldn't fall right and the physics of the story was falling to pieces in protest of it neglect (A butterknife piercing a hardwood table, that's all you need to know!) Everything felt trite and dull, and my sentences and PoV were boring as hell. It was unbearable and I was doomed.

Then I had a walk and a bath and, at ten pm, inspiration struck. It was the coveted bolt of lightening, and it struck me hard. So hard, in fact, that the momentum of that energy has carried me well through today. As it stands, I have done 2,000 today (the most of this draft that I've done since putting it down on October 31st) and it's coming as well as it did then.

I am so so inordinately relieved.

It really is delightful, going back to this kind of draft, where every word is carefully picked and placed for the perfect effect. It's really feeling like a composition than words on a page, as the first drafts did, and I can finally take pleasure in the craft of writing again.

That's what subsequent drafts are for, I think -- pleasure of writing. First drafts are for the pleasure of the story, but it's later ones that really let you stretch your wings. I love it.

Pre-Post Jitters

5,000 words to go and I'm getting pre-finish jitters, a weird combination of manic excitement and abject terror. It's the best feeling in the world! Well, one of them.

I'm pretty sure I'll be able to condense 'Guilders' and 'Dragons' down into one, so I'm feeling better about not exactly really finishing-finishing the story. The problem with pantsing is that you end up learning a whole bunch more than you expected to and to do it justice, it really needs more words. I'm getting really excited about cutting it down and focusing it more. Doing that really did wonders with 'Moon Path', so I think that'll be the way to go. 

Yesterday I did 0 words, but I've made up for it today by getting in 3,000 pretty easily. Had a little bit of a a hiccup, but only about 500 words of one so it wasn't too bad. I've come to realize, though, that I really do need to sort out my place name because, well, I don't have any. People names are hard enough, but place names are impossible! The problem with putting off things 'til later is that later never really comes... I did that with surnames and look where that got me!

I also need to focus Aurelia. She's become completely unsympathetic and that's not her purpose at all. Whenever I put her into a scene, she just ends up arguing with everyone. I'm writing way too personally with her and I know I'm going to have to back off and be more objective in the re-write. God, it feels good to get it out though! It's freaking me out a bit how much of myself I've been putting into the story recently, but revision will bring focus and objectivity so I'm not worrying too much. 

Following my good writing morning/afternoon, I'm spending the evening rewarding myself by formatting what I've got and making it pretty. I can't wait to see it in print!

A Good Day

Today was a good day, writing-wise and personally. Made big steps in my visa application and didn't have a panic-attack when I checked by bank-account. I feel like I can breathe again. 

Writing was slow but good. It was one of those scenes that needed to be maneuvered carefully and revised a couple of times to get right, but I'm very pleased with the end product. The characters have done what they needed to do and stayed true to character, which was particularly tricky today. Very much a matter of compromise. I am both excited and terrified of my writing schedule for tomorrow. I'm giving myself the evening off to just think about it. Once I've got past this point, the rest should come pretty smoothly (maybe hopefully??)

Here's some appropriate music :)

Only a Dream by Mary Chapin Carpenter

Distractions

It's so easy to get caught up in everything else -- forums and feedback and blog-posts and keeping up with messages -- that you forget that actually, when it comes down to it, the story is the important part.

What I mean is, I've been so caught up in people recently. Talking to people about writing and reviewing excerpts etc. really does give a similar sense of achievement as writing a thousand words does. It's so easy to forget that, without the words of *your* story, none of the rest of it would exist. It's all just decoration and, at the end of the day, when you strip it all down, it's just you that's left with the words you have written. 

I love love LOVE chatting away to other writers. I love being part of an awesomely supportive community. I love encouraging them on bad days and cheering on the good ones, and I love that other people do that for me too. I love doing swaps and reading NaNo novels. I love feeling like I've played a part in someone achieving their dreams. I love that writing *isn't* lonely.

But, if the internet shut down tomorrow, it would just be you and your words. And I think that's an important thing to remember. 

Oh, did I tell you I hit my goal of 85k yesterday? That was a good time. 

Today my goal is less exciting (but it's an at-home day, so that's okay) I want to get to the end of this scene and get a good hook into the next one for tomorrow. Just a few hundred words, I expect, but that's fine with me. 

Alright, music for the day! I'm on a huge Taylor Swift kick right -- that woman is doing awesome things in the music world right now. Every day I'm more and more impressed. So here's Blank Space.

A Creature of Habit

Last year, I was pretty pleased that I'd managed to break myself out of bad habits -- I could happily scribble away anywhere with anything, setting and circumstance didn't matter. And I've been pretty good at sustaining that... until recently.

Now I find it impossible to write at home on my laptop. Which is fine on the days we're in Starbucks, but less fine on the days off. I don't know what it is -- I just can't concentrate at home like I used to :P Too many distractions, I suppose. Need to work on getting back into good habits, especially now my daily output is dwindling. 

Saying that, today's been another good day. A big reveal's on the shore and the characters are behaving themselves nicely. And words are coming easily! I think I'm still riding off the back of yesterday. Got some real nice compliments on my most recent excerpt, and good reviews are pretty potent as fuel! Hopefully it'll last!

Having Lilo and Stitch cravings today (such a good movie don't even talk to me) so let's have some of that here!

Writing: A Solitary or Communal Past-Time?

Okay, so we all know the cliche of The Brooding Writer, who sits alone in a darkened, smoke filled room with only fifty coffee cups, each in a different state of decay, for company. The door is shut -- locked, probably -- with a large sign tacked onto the outside written in thick black sharpie:

Keep Out: Muse At Work

The Brooding Writer does not emerge for months, weeks years, not until they reappear -- hissing at the sunlight -- with a perfect first draft clutched tight in their nicotine-stained fingers, ready for press. The Brooding Writer remains in the real world just long enough to make sure no-one butchers their baby, then returns, hunchbacked, to the darkened room, ready to begin again. The Brooding Writer has no care for their readers and their opinions. Afterall, hat difference does it make? The Brooding Writer will write what they write and to hell with everyone else! The Brooding Writer likes a nice thick fourth wall between them and the audience, broken only occassionally in a fit of writers' angst. 

Now, in my time at university, I met a great many people who fit this title. Hell, I even considered it for myself once! It seemed bohemian and artistic and even a necessity to literary success.

For me personally, though, I think I have always been a communal writer. It's what comes from years of fanfiction and craving reviews such as 'Waaahhh what did you do?? More please!!" It's a high that quickly becomes addictive and I learnt the techniques to ensure maximum 'Waaahhh!!' By that I mean supremely sympathetic characters that you torture over and over with wicked cliff hangers. In retospect, I definitely think I treat each chapter - whether in original fic or fanfic - as a little bit like a TV episode.

Each part needs to feel complete and satisfying and, more than anything, have a good hook to keep people coming back for more.

In short, to be a communal writer, you need to have a good connection to your readership. If you want them to care and say nice things, you need to give them something to care about and you need to know how to play with their heartstrings. Be aware, also, of what affects you as a reader. Afterall, No Tears in the Writer, No Tears in the Reader, and I think that is absolutely true.

Brooding Writers are fine, and it's a method that I'm sure works for some, but don't ever think it is a requirment to shut yourself away from the world. I promise you from the bootom of my heart, that there is nothing in the world more satisfying and inspiring than a message from a reader that simply says, 'Wow.' Just like that, full-stop and all. Wow means 'You got me. You and your characters did their job.' Never underestimate the meaning of 'Wow.'

And if you want that Wow, you've got to get out there and connect with your readers.

It's good fun too ;)

Today Will Be A Better Day!

As predicted, yesterday's slump has not (thankfully) lasted. I am pumped, I am prepared, I am ready to get back down to business! Aww yeah! Bring it!

The more time I spend in the 'Say Something Nice About the Excerpt Above You' (Located in NaNoWriMo Ate My Soul, for anyone who wants to pop by and join the party!) the more I'm starting to think about my revision, what needs to be added. As usual, I have completely neglected Alyk in any of the excerpts I've put up, which is terrible because he is such a crucial character! It was only when someone mentioned wanting to know more about him when he was mentioned in passed that I realised that, once again, I was pretty much pretending he doesn't exist. This needs to change. I can feel myself doing it to Tamsyn too, side-lining her in favour of other characters. Its just like Joanna all over again who's been completely cut from the first first draft.

It's ridiculous, really, because I know what parts they all play and how it's going to work out and why they're important etc. etc. but there just doesn't seem to be enough words in a day to include everything. 

Oh well, at least I"m aware of it, and that's what revision's for, right?

In other news, hello all the new people following this blog! I'm completely overwhelmed by the traffic coming through here and seeing where everyone's coming from (This morning, Russia seems to be the most popular and yesterday was the Netherlands!) I've been getting upwards of fifty hits a day for the past three days, so the pressure's on to keep your attention (I expect it'll subside soon when everyone realises how boring this blog usually is!) 

Today is very exciting; finally getting around to The Big Climax. I'm still not 100% how to play it, but I'm just going to go with what feels right and not over-think it too much. I need to catch up on my wordcount if I want to order my createspace books by January! A very kind NaNo'er gave me a spare code so now I can order four paper backs when it's done :D At the moment, this year's manuscript stands at 375-ish pages and I've still got a good 25K to go. It's gonna be a brick!

This is what I'm listening to at the moment -

'I Will Find You' from The Last of the Mohicans Soundtrack. A truly haunting ear-worm.I saw the movie years and years ago, and I really do need to see it again. It's brilliant, visually, emotionally and, of course, musically. Not for the faint-hearted though! Enjoy :)

The Freedom of Dragons -- A Sample

Chapter One:

Humming softly, Laurie reached up and ran the palm of his hand down the soft, velvet, muzzle of the dragon -- Loam -- just as Kai had shown him. He smiled as he felt the low vibrations of something similar to a purr rumble through the creature, its bright purple eyes fixed steadily on his as it looked down at him, its long neck dipped so that he could reach. It had wrapped its enormous leathery wings tightly around its body as a defense against the cold. Laurie had still yet to see the dragon in its full glory -- Kai said that dragons did not do well in the cold -- but even without its wingspan, Loam was still by far the biggest creature that he had ever seen. He's read about dragons, of course, seen them soaring high up in the sky, but he had never imagined that they would be as big as this.

And to think that he would soon be riding it...

Laurie giggled and shied away as the forked tip of Loam's tongue darted out to lick his nose, the dragon's hot breath, as strong as a breeze, stirring his hair.

"Fancy yourself as a dragon dancer?"

Both boy and dragon turned their heads to see Kai leaning against a wooden beam, watching them with a sleek smile.

The hay carpeting the wide stables *crunched as Loam maneuvered its long body carefully in one-hundred-and-eighty degrees -- Laurie had to duck quickly as the broad pointed tail swung around, nearly knocking him over -- and padded across to whuffle in Kai's hair and clothes, hoping for treats. Finding none, it harumphed in disappointment and flopped down, laying its great head at Kai's feet and looking up at him plaintively.

"Oh, don't give me that," said Kai, crouching to scratch the dragon between its long, curling horns. "You think I don't know about all your fans that have been coming in giving you titbits? If you eat anymore, you won't be able to stay up in the air, my friend."

The dragon huffed and clamped its mouth around Kai's leg and, with a dragonish smirk, floored him with a quick tug.

"You're lucky I like you," Kai informed him with a laugh, lying back in the hay with his arms behind his head. "Bloody dragons...Now listen here," he said, beckoning Loam closer so the dragon's wide ear was right up by his mouth. "You don't give Tamsyn any nonsense, okay?" The dragon's ear twitched. "I know you don't like her much, and she don't like you even more, but she doesn't like anyone. You know that. Right?" Loam blinked in understanding. "You like Laurie though, don't you? So you look after him. You get them both back home safely. None of your usual nonsense with Tamsyn because your new friend, he's not used to it. And you don't want him to stop liking you, do you?"

The dragon swung his head around to peer at Laurie, as though double checking that what Kai said was true. Then it licked Kai's nose in agreement.

"Good," said Kai, standing up and brushing the hay that had stuck to his hair and clothes and everywhere in-between. "I'm glad we understand each other." He looked up at Laurie. "Feeling ready?"

"No."

Kai laughed. He laughed a lot, Laurie found, and smiled even more. Life was a game to enjoy playing to him. "Just don't panic," he advised, moving around and running his hand along the dragon's spiney back. "Trust Loam, and trust Tamsyn. She doesn't fly much, but she knows what she's doing. If you feel yourself freaking out, just close your eyes and pretend you're dreaming. You can do that, right?" he asked, cocking his head to one side. "They didn't get you yet, did they?"

Laurie shook his head. "Not quite."

"Good." Kai nodded approvingly. "That'll make it easier."

"What about Dakin? He won't be able to--"

"Don't worry," said Kai raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I figured it would be better to sail over. Take it steady, you know? It'll take longer but I wouldn't want to risk flying."

Laurie nodded slowly, sucking his lip. "I really think I should stay and come with you..." He knew it was useless bringing it up again, it had already been decided and he had already reluctantly agreed to it.

As predicted, Kai shook his head, his dark hair falling in front of his face. "The sooner you go, the sooner the captain and I can work on getting Dakin out of the City. We already know where he is. It's just a matter of working out how."

Laurie's expression hardened. "If you know where he is, why is it taking so long?"

Kai regarded him, then sat down on Loam's leg. "You know the big wall around Guilders' Square?"

"Yes."

"Well, they've put guards at every hundred meters. Dakin is in the Palace of Sapphires which, even on a good day, has pretty heavy security. And I expect they've got him held in the extra guarded ward reserved for Dreamers and delinquents. Because you know what the Empire does to people who don't quite fit into their nice little mold? They pump them full of chemicals and break and reform them until they do fit into that mold. That's what they're doing to your brother. That's why it's going to take time, and that's why you need to get out of here. Alright kid," he said before Laurie could question him further. "Take these. You'll need them more than I will for a while." He tugged off his fingerless gloves and reach over to pass them to Laurie.

"What're they made of?" he asked, running his fingers over the coarse, green-brown material.

Kai smirked. "Dragon hide." He laughed when Laurie pulled a disgusted face. "Relax, kid. There's going to be a lot of things you're going to have to get used to. Dragon leather's going to be the least of it, I promise you. Anyway, you'll be glad of them when you're five miles up in the air. Dragon scales are not the most pleasant thing to hold onto for hours at a time. Those spines are sharp and if you slip, and they catch you the wrong way, you're going to lose fingers. You don't ever get on the back of dragon without being fully prepared. That's lesson one." He held up a finger to prove it. "Lesson two --" a second one was flipped up, "-- is you don't ever, and I mean ever, try and make a dragon do what a dragon doesn't want to do. Do that, and you'll end up floundering in the sea. And it'll probably serve you right, too. A dragon always knows best. That's probably why them two -- Loam and Tamsyn, I mean -- struggle to see eye to eye. Stubborn as mules, both of 'em." An affectionate smile slid across his lips. "But you're not like that, right?" He reached over to ruffle Laurie's curly hair. "You'll know better than she does, and this one'll respect you better for it. Not much else to it, really. Dragon knows where to go. Just a matter of holding tight and staying on. Got it?"

Mute with nerves, Laurie swallowed and nodded.

"Once you're through your first flight, and you've come off the other side in one piece, you'll have completely forgotten why you were nervous in the first place," Kai assured him as he watched Laurie's complexion pale and then tinge with green.

"Were you nervous the first time?"

Kai considered this carefully, then shook his head. "Not really. Maybe on my first solo flight. I grew up with dragons, you see. They were just always a part of life. This one here's been with me since I was half you age." He patted Loam's haunches affectionately and the dragon swung its head around with a docile expression in its purple eyes. "Long as you know how to treat 'em, long as you're used to each other, you can trust a dragon far further than you can ever trust a person." He spoke with a casual practised ease that Laurie knew better than to take at face value.

"Where d'you come from?" he asked. "Not the Empire."

Kai chucked. "No, not the Empire. Not really anywhere, really. Just sort of drifted here and there until Logan offered me a home. He's like that, you know. He likes to take in strays. Most leave after a little while, but some stay, like me and Tam."

"Where did she come from?"

Kai hesitated. "I think you should let her tell her story. Not really my place, you know? She'll tell you in her own time."

"Didn't your parents miss you when you went to Logan's? Or weren't they very nice."

"Oh, I never knew them. I don't think so, anyway."

"You don't know?"

"Well, I grew up in a circus that traveled across the world. People were always coming and going. I suppose my parents came and then they went too. And I suppose they left me behind. I never really thought about it and it's never really mattered. That was just how it was. There were always plenty of people around, and we were always too busy to have time to worry about things like that."

"Why did you leave?" Laurie asked, sitting down cross legged in the hay. "How old were you?"

"Eleven, maybe?" said Kai, frowning as he tried to remember. "Something around there. Anyway, I, ah..." He gave an awkward little laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. "Got into a bit of a... disagreement, if you like, with the Master. Then I decided that was that and... that was that. Took my dragon and left. We traveled around for a bit on our own, freelancing and scraping enough money to eat. 'Course, not much money to be made with a one-man, one-dragon show. So I branched out, got myself into trouble, and was lucky enough to come across Logan. Or, more precisely, that he came across me. Took me on as an assistant type thing -- although, I'm pretty sure he only wanted me for my dragon; a useful transport, you see -- and the rest, as they say, is history." His smile broadened, showing just a little too much teeth. "I was the first, you know, of Logan's strays," he told Laurie with a glint of pride. "Tamsyn hates it. She wants to be special. She's not as competitive about it as she used to be -- it used to be awful -- she's chilled out a lot over the years, but she still gets funny when new people come along. Don't take it personally, though. That's just her way. Once she stops seeing you as a threat, she'll be fine."

In The City of Guilders -- A Sample

Chapter One --

“Ah, fuck it...” Robyn muttered, throwing her pen down in disgust and leaning back with her hands clasped behind her head. It bounced on the ledger spread out in front of her, clattered across the table and then dropped to the floor and rolled out of sight. It was the last straw after a particularly arduous day. Gritting her teeth to keep herself from swearing anymore, she held her breath and closed her eyes, counting backwards from ten -- a method she always taught her patients right from the beginning. ‘Focus on the numbers,’ she told them. Numbers were nice and objective, but never count up. Always down. If you count up, you’re liable to never stop. The most important part of recovery is to have a simple, attainable goal. Counting always did the trick.

“You alright?” Her assistant, Trystan, glanced over from his own desk, his brow furrowed in concern.

Robyn sighed and nodded, still keeping her eyes tight shut. “Yeah, fine. It’s been... a long day. That’s all.”

Trystan laughed and breathy, easy laughed. “It has that,” he agreed. “We’ve been here, what? Getting on twelve hours now.”

“Mmm hmm. Twelve hours in this damned room and still no sign of a break- through. Dammit!” Her hand slammed down hard on the table top, making Trystan jump and more stationary clatter to the floor. “Dammit! I had really thought we were getting somewhere.” She ran her fingers fretfully through her long, dark brown hair once, twice and a third time just because. “I was certain that this would be The Week.”

Trystan shot her a lopsided grin. “You say that every week.”

Finally opening her eyes, Robyn glared at him. “That’s because I believe it every week. Because what’s the point of it all otherwise? It’s out there, Trys, and it’s within reach. If I could just...” Her fingers flexed unconsciously, and then she deflated. “Ah, fuck it,” she said again, more defeated this time. “Tomorrow’s another day and next week’s another week. Let’s call it quits for now and get out of here.”

So saying, Robyn shoved her chair back, cricked her neck and stretched out her limbs. For almost the whole twelve hours, she had not moved from her position hunched over her ledger -- searching and searching for the clue in the formula that would finally lead her to the breakthrough she knew she was capable of. And now, she ached. “I’m going to have the longest soak and the biggest glass of wine I can find,” she muttered, sweeping the remaining contents of her desk into her bag and swinging it over her shoulder. “I think I’ve deserved it, don’t you?”

Buttoning up his own jacket, Trystan laughed. “Of course you do.” He was always laughing and smiling, Robyn reflected, flicking off the light as she lead them out of the little room. He was the most easy going person she had ever met. She was thankful for it, too. She needed someone like that to keep her sane. The powers that be had probably designed it that way.

Walking down the long, deserted corridors of the Sapphire Palace, Robyn smiled to herself. As much as she complained, she wouldn’t change any part of her life for anything in the world. It was a good one, and it suited her. Here she was, in the most beautiful city in the Empire, and she was making a difference and working hard to improve the lives of all the Empire’s citizens. And she had worked hard to get there. It was a good life, and she deserved it.

What more could she possibly ask for?

As they approached the main doors which lead out to the Guilders’ Square, Trystan shivered and wrapped his arms around his body. “Wow! It’s freezing!”

“Mmm.” It certainly did seem colder than usual, even despite it being so late. Temperature fluctuated very little in the land beneath the Ever Risen Sun, a few degrees here and there at the very most, but the breeze floating in from the outside made Robyn feel as though her blood had suddenly frozen.

A cold dread settled in her stomach, the dread that could only be brought on by the unknown, the unprecedented, the incalculable. “Trys...” She put out an instinctive hand to stop him and he paused obediently at her touch. “Wait here,” she said. “I’m going to go see what’s going on.”

Licking her lips, Robyn approached the swinging doors with deep trepidation, her heart hammering in her ears. She honestly couldn’t remember ever being so frightened. Even as a child, she was able to rationalise herself out of any encroaching fear. But this... she swallowed hard, reaching out to push against the frosted glass. This was something else altogether.

Gathering her courage and telling herself sternly to stop being so silly, Robyn leaned in and pushed with her entire weight until she almost stumbled out into the night’s air.

A gasp escaped her lips, her eyes widening in shock and wonder.

The world seemed to have turned a dusky orange; the light from the sun-lamps muted and distorted, spreading out like fog. And all around were flurries of white.

Robyn held out her hand and watched, amazed, as frozen flakes settled then melted on her outstretched palm, each one leaving the tiniest stinging kiss on her exposed skin.

Rooted to the spot, her mind whirred, unable to properly determine whether the appropriate action would be to run and hide, or revel in the glory of this bizarre occurrence. Evidence was beginning to suggest, however, that -- despite the chill and the sting of the cold -- this flurry was not dangerous. Just weird.

Thrusting her numbed hands deep into her armpits, Robyn called back to Trystan who was hovering by the door. “It’s alright! It’s cold, but it’s safe. I think.”

Trystan approached her cautiously, squinting up at the sky. “Wow,” he breathed, the hot breath coming out in a large cloud of steam. “What is this?”

“Haven’t a clue.” Her ears and the tip of her nose were beginning to sting. “I don’t think we should stand around in it for too long, though. Not without knowing anything about it.” The tangent seemed to suggest that the longer they exposed themselves to it, the less pleasant it became. It took, on average, twenty minutes to reach her home from the palace, and Robyn was reluctant to find out what would happen to the human body if they stayed out for much longer than that. “Come on,” she said, starting off across the courtyard in long strides. Perhaps she’d be able to make in fifteen today. That would be nice. Motivated by the thought of her nice, hot bubbly bath, she picked up her pace, forcing Trystan to trot along after her, one hand held up to his brow to keep the snow from falling in his eyes.

They always walked home from work together, every day for the last couple of years, ever since he had first come to work with her. Luckily, the path they took through the streets of the City of Guilders was so well worn and ingrained into their memories, it hardly mattered that it was almost impossible to see three steps ahead.

Robyn and Trystan flitted from street lamp to street lamp, lead by the pale orange glow of the trapped sunlight. Conversation had been made impossible by the chattering of teeth, which grew louder and more uncontrollable with every passing minute. Robyn was beginning to despise this weather. She did not do well in change -- good or bad -- and every part of her ached fiercely. The streets of the city were completely deserted, which was partly understandable as it had long passed the hour in which people normally retired to their homes, but the thick blizzard and the unusual quality of the light made the lack of life particularly eerie.

If she hadn’t felt so frozen she was sure her bones would snap, Robyn might have considered making a run for it. But it was too far, and she simply couldn’t risk getting lost. Her senses were already becoming dull, distracted to everything but the bitter cold. She almost found herself praying -- that was how bad it was -- that this weather would pass soon. Although, in the most hardened, sensible part of her heart, she knew perfectly well that this was not something that would simple vanish over night. This was something that would have consequences. And severe ones at that.

But there was no point in trying to think about that now, she reasoned sternly with herself. She had to stay in the moment and just focus on getting home and warm and dry. For such tiny flakes, they certainly managed to soak you to the bone!

Less than five minutes away from her front door, Robyn paused to say goodbye to Trystan, who turned a sharp corner and jogged to his own home, leaving her alone in the blizzard. Part of her wished he had walked her to her door, but this was their routine and it wouldn’t have made sense for him to stay out any longer than necessary. Still, her steps felt heavier and the street felt longer now she was alone, and her mind was beginning to play tricks on her.

She could have sworn that there were figures in the fog, shapeless and indeterminate. And voices too; whispers carried along on the sharp breeze and burying themselves in her ears. Shaking her head, Robyn soldiered on. The sooner she got out of this, the better. If she stayed out any longer, she’d start dreaming again, and where would she end up then?

The image of herself in a hospital gown, gaunt and wide-eyed like one of her patients sent a shiver down her spine, distinctly different and much less pleasant than the chills from the snow. If nothing else, the deepest fear of ending up on her own ward was provided more than enough motivation to always be the very best she could possibly be. She did her best for them -- for each and every one of them, no matter how undeserving they were -- and they were fortunate that there was treatment available to them. Never grateful, though. Not until much much later when, finally, the right strain had been found and administered. They always seemed to labour under the impression that they were better off as they were. Robyn couldn’t understand it -- didn’t want to understand it. How could anyone choose to be like that?

Dreamers were a liability, to themselves and to every other hard-working citizen of the Empire.

Why would anyone choose to be that selfish?

Turning the final corner, Robyn could see her home in the distance and the sight of it filled her heart with a flood of warmth. Thank you thank you. Then, down a tiny side-alley, a movement out of the corner of her eye made her stop and turn and peer through the blizzard.

This indistinct figure was not like the other ghosts that had followed her home. This one was corporeal. Solid. She could reach out and touch it, if she chose to.

Swallowing down her need to be inside, Robyn’s physician-instincts kicked in. No-one should be outside in this.

“Hello?” she called, her voice swallowed up by the snow. “Hello? Do you need help?”

At first, there was no reply except for the roar of wind and the pounding of blood in her ears. Then, as thin as a needle, a voice called back to her. “Hello?” A child’s voice.

Her stomach lurched and all sense of danger for herself was forgotten as she ran towards the voice, kicking up snow behind her. “Where are you?” she shouted into the fog, her hair whipping around her face as looked this way and that, searching for the owner of the voice and hoping against hope that it hadn’t simply been a product of her frost addled mind. “I’m a doctor. I can help you.” She wondered vaguely if she still had her bottle of Somnium Interdit. She had a feeling that she might need some after all this.

“Here. We’re here.”

We?

Her feet carried her reluctant body onwards, spurred on by a distinct sense of duty. As she approached, the figure became clearer and more human until Robyn found herself face to face with a boy. A teenage boy, judging by his gangliness.

He stared up at her, shivering, from behind a mass of curly chocolate-coloured hair; his big, brown eyes hard and fierce and tinged with fear. He hugged himself with arms that seemed a little too long in a useless attempt to keep out the cold. Robyn might not have been dressed appropriately for the weather, but this boy was even less prepared, wearing little more than a flimsy shirt and trousers that looked as if they had been soaked up to the knee. Truth be told, she was amazed that he was still standing.

“What’re you doing out here?” she asked. “Where do you live?”

The boy’s eyes narrowed, then he reached out with thin, frozen fingers and tugged at her hand. “You said you could help,” he insisted, urging her to follow. “Please. Help us.”

“Who’s ‘us’?”

“Me and my brother. Come on. You have to hurry. He’s sick.”

Robyn gave in and jogged after the boy, wondering what on earth she was getting herself into. “What’s your name?” she asked breathlessly, trying to concentrate on How To Be A Doctor. “How old are you?”

But they boy rebuffed her questions with a sharp, “That doesn’t matter right not.” And Robyn was too cold to argue.

Soon, the boy stopped and pointed to a second figure -- his brother -- huddled on the ground and propped up by a tall, brick wall. This boy was older, although it was impossible to give an accurate estimation in that position, and had a man’s coat draped around his shoulders. Lank, grey hair fell across a pallid face and dark blue eyes stared unseeingly ahead through frosted glasses. At first, Robyn feared that the boy had succumbed to the cold and had frozen to death but, on closer inspection, little clouds of steam puffed from between chapped lips. His breathing might have been shallow, but at the very least he was alive.

Robyn crouched down on her feels and peered at him closely. Only the faintest flicker across his features gave any indication that he was aware of her at all, although when she reached out to feel the pulse in his wrist, he flinched and drew away.

The younger boy crouched down beside her. “It’s okay,” he said, his voice low and gentle as though speaking to a small child. “She said she can help. We can trust her.” He glanced sideways at Robyn. “Right?”

She nodded emphatically. “Right. Look, my house is right around the corner. Why don’t we all go there, now, and warm up a bit? I think that’ll make everyone feel better.”

The older boy hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip as he stared *questioningly up at his brother as though seeking permission. Then, when it was given with a nod and a smile, he allowed Robyn to take his arm and help him unsteadily to his feet, slipping on the snow covered ground and leaning on the wall for support.

He was tall, Robyn noticed now, and at least in his late teens, if not older. But there was something, in the way he moved and in the way he held himself, that made him seem almost child-like in *countenance.

Whatever was wrong with him, though, one thing was certain; a warm house and a hot drink would certainly bring at least some degree of improvement.

Success

I did it.

I hand wrote a novel.

190 pages.

Approx. 65000 words.

And it's good.

Like, I know it needs work and tightening... But it's good. I am very very happy with it and I can't stop smiling. I really think I'm going to be pleased when it's finished. Which is, as I'm sure you know, a super big-deal. It's almost impossible to please yourself. And I really think I will.

I've started plotting Book 2. I can't help myself. I've been writing solidly for the past week, like, 3,000 words-ish a day and I can't stop. I was supposed to take a fortnight off and not even think about it, but I can't. Maybe it'll get easier, but today's been tough. It's like going cold-turkey on an addiction. I just *need* to *pick up my pen* and *write*

But I can't.

I won't.

I do need space from it.

The last twenty pages did me in emotionally, and I think I've got physical symptoms from it. About an hour after I finished last night, I got a nose bleed and my stomach hasn't felt good for the past few days. I guess I've been internalizing everything my characters have been feeling. Which is a lot. Like, a lot. The only way I could express those feelings was to write, and by god did I write!

Anyway.

I'm taking a week off.

I am taking a week off.

And I'm going to read and play video games and limit myself to making notes if I absolutely have to.

It's going to be torture, but I need space. I need recuperation.

I am so excited to go back though, and that's a relief because I didn't think I would be. I thought it would be a pain to have to start over and type it up, but I know the story and the characters and my themes inside out and I can't wait to do them all justice.

I can't wait!

This is a song that really inspired the original NaNo Draft, and I think it's still very pertinent to the story -

I've got a lot more to talk about, but I'm still feeling quite dazed, so... later potater!

A Busy Couple of Months

And it feels like so much longer!

It's been pretty intense, being in St Louis with all that's been going on. Even though we're twenty-miles away from Ferguson, knowing it's just down the road is terrifying. There have been loud bangs going off every evening and no-one seems to know what they are. No-one seems very concerned either, so I'm just trying to follow their lead.

I thank God that Britain isn't pro-gun, I really do. It's another world over here. It's another world twenty-miles away. But the scariest thing is that it isn't another world at all; it's real-life in which people are being gunned down in the streets by rampant, militarized police. We're living in a dystopia.

My own little world has been taken up with writing and visa-applications. One is going well, the other is making me want to rip my hair out. Objectively, it's all going to plan, but I can't seem to make my brain accept that. I'm terrified of it being rejected and wish I could run away from it, but I can't. Once it's done, it'll be the best feeling in the world.

Writing is going very well. I've gone through the 50,000 words mark (!!!) and I've hand-written 147 pages. It feels like an achievement and the closer I come to the end, the happier I am. I know there's going to be a huge amount of work at the other end, but I'll be starting in a place I can be proud of.

Every time I sit down to write, the story and the characters take me off into completely different territory that I could never have planned. All my plans have fallen along the way, but the story as it stands feels right. I'm going to have to take them in hand when I start typing up, but at the moment I'm content to let it develop as it wants to. I've stopped being afraid of giving up - if something's not working, I re-work it until it does.

It's going well.

I've started developing my 2014 NaNo playlist and have rediscovered Brain Crain. Beautiful music, and I especially love his piano/cello duets. Recommended for tranquil writing time.

A Brit in America

One of the best decisions of the year was the decision to hand-write this story. For one thing, you don't get hung up on word count or formatting, or distracted by the internet, you just sit down and scribble. It's brilliant. I did my first rough word-count a couple of days ago and was amazed to see that I'd gone over the 30,000 mark! It's really coming together, and I couldn't be happier.

However - and it's a big however - I ran out of paper. Which, in itself, is fine - it means I've written a tonne. Which is good.

What is not good is the face that America has vastly different paper to us with three punched holes instead of four, and they don't even align so I can't put the new content in with what I've already done which means I have to get a new folder, and I'm reeaally struggling not to let my Writer's OCD take over... I mean, I've been going between A4 and A5 anyway, so one more size shouldn't matter too much, and nothing is pristine. I'm much less pernickity than I used to be, just like I don't believe in writers' block anymore. It's just another excuse not to sit down and scribble.

It's just very frustrating.

The fortunate thing is that it came right at the end of writing Part 2, so it's a very neat split between types of paper. I'm estimating that I'm about half-way done, so - if I keep going as I am - I should be finished with this draft in a couple of months (scary!)

I'm starting to feel pleased with myself and I can see the end and I don't hate it! It's going to be a good book.

Dizzying Circles of Novelling

I have reached page 84 of my rewrite and crippling doubt has kicked in. As far as the actual content goes, I'm pretty pleased with it, but I'm worried that it's all been useless (I know, logically, that it isn't - even if I end up not using this material, it's helped character development, world building, focus etc.)

My problem is that the part I'm writing at the moment just feels like an enormous info dump. It's important - very important - but nothing much is really happening. I'm also starting to feel that including all this exposition as it's happening will make the future less interesting. In the original, I quite enjoyed having this element as a bit of a mystery, and I'm starting to think that I might go in that direction again. 

The thing is - or the things are - I want to jump forward, if that's the direction I'm going to take it, and start from that point, but I know it's useful to continue writing out my exposition, but I'm getting bored by it because I'm doubting it's usefulness. The other thing is, or really a continuation of the same thing is, every time I sit down to write - something, anything - my character development is such that is almost always impinges on the larger plot, so if I jump ahead and write where I want, I'm going to miss out on a lot of that. 

Eh bleh bleh. 

But then if I do my magic time jump, where will it end? How much of what I've got now do I include, if any? I've said it before and I'm sure I'll say it again - I'm a sucker for backstory, but it's tripped me up and sent me faceplanting the pavement, and now my nose hurts. 

I often find myself going around in circles; wondering how to make my story better, changing it in my head, and I always find myself back at the exact point I started at. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not... It makes me dizzy, that's for sure! 

What am I doing? But actually??

In other news, I am rediscovering my love of Kelly Clarkson.

Big Emotional Climaxes Are Scary

I have often found that the element of the story I am working on that has been in my head the longest is the one I find hardest to commit to paper. I have imagined it time and time again; the imagery is as clear as though it were playing on a screen. I know precisely how my characters feel, I have choreographed their every move, but I cannot for the life of me bring myself to write it down. 

In the past year, I have heard the phrase 'no one can write your story but you' repeated very frequently across the interwebs, and I believe there is a great truth in that. But, as such, I feel the increased pressure to get It Right. Because if I don't - if I fail to express myself perfectly, or fail to paint the picture I have in my imagination - that's all that's going to be left. No one else is going to correct it, no one else is going to make it better. And that is bloody scary! 

I think that's probably why I find it easier to get out the words in my ghostwriting - it doesn't matter so much; I'm not going to be judged so harshly on that. They aren't my stories, so they aren't tied to me in the way that my own work is. My novel is what people will look at to judge me, and so it has to be the best I can make it. Nothing makes me more self-conscious, and that sucks because I am not a self-conscious person. I couldn't care less what people think about me in any other aspect of my life, but I care deeply about what people think of me as a writer. 

Blergh. 

But it's going well, I think. I've started my second second draft (I've been stuck in some sort of Groundhog Day and the missus has finally banned me from starting again, so I need to make this one count!) and I've got thirty-four pages. It coming much more smoothly now I've scrapped my experimental style and gone back to a more simple form. I like it much better - I can go from character to character without it being a bother - and they don't feel as pathetic now. But I've just got to the first Big Emotional Climax and it's making me nervous. It's the turning point of the whole story and I need to get it right. 

Commitment issues, that's what it is. Oh so many commitment issues. 

This is what I'm listening to to try and get me into the zone - I Gave You All by Mumford & Sons

Re-Evaluation Time and Some Music Recs

I've come to the conclusion that the more you think about a project, the harder it is to execute. I'm at a complete block with Bonsai; I know exactly what needs to happen, it just isn't. So I'm going to step back from it and, in a few weeks, start plotting properly. When I was ghostwriting my NA novel, it was extremely helpful to have a scene-by-scene plan, so I think I'm going to make one of those. At the moment, it's very much lacking focus, and I seem to have been sacrificing plot for style. I think I'm going to rewrite in a less experimental way. One of the aspects I was most please with regarding The Moon Path was that it read like a book - it wasn't trying too hard and it flowed well - so I think I need to go back to that.  

Basically, I need to treat it like a ghostwriting project and distance myself from it. 

In other news:

This is what I'm listening to at the moment - 

Lana Del Ray - Gods & Monsters It's taken me a while to discover Lana (yes, I know - I'm super slow!) but now I'm hooked! She has a fantastically unique style - pop-y and hypnotic all at once. Also very keen on Dark Paradise from the same album. 

I have also discovered Taylor Davis - an amazingly talented violinist who popped onto my Tumblr dash a few days ago with her own cover of the Doctor Who theme (see embedded) I thoroughly and passionately recommend checking out her whole Youtube channel, especially her covers of Now We Are Fee (Gladiator)  and Promentory (Last of the Mohicans)

A General Update

I feel like a lot has been going on this past week - nothing big, just a lot of it. The air smells different, and everything has shifted slightly. 

• Last week, I was dropped from a project I was becoming very immersed in. It was quite a jolt back to reality. It's hard enough finishing something, but being pulled out of a world unexpectedly is even worse. Thankfully, it was nothing I had done, but I wish that I'd had some warning in preparation. The story was by no means one of my favourites, but the world and the characters were finally becoming solid in my mind and now they've been taken away from me. I miss them very much, but I have no rights to them. That's the worst part of being a ghostwriter. 

• I've finally been given the go-ahead to start the sci-fi/fantasy novel, and it's going absolutely fantastically. It's coming very naturally to me, and I really think I'll be able to create something beautiful, something I would be proud of to call my own, out of it. It's going to be incredibly tough to give it up, but I'm not going to think about that until the end. I'm just going to enjoy it.

• For my own writing, I'm going back and forth between my fanfic and Bonsai. Both are going reasonably well, although I have days where I cannot bear to look at either. I am thankful that I have so many different projects on the go, so if I hate a couple there always something else to work on. I can't not be writing - it makes me irksome. 

• My partner and I have finally sent of for my fiancee visa. Very nerve-wracking. All the fingers crossed. 

• I am falling hard for Veronica Roth's Divergent. I am trying to resist, but it's a big struggle. If I was still in my days of deep fandom, I would be ficcing the hell out of it! As it is, I am reading and learning and using it to inspire my own writing. I wouldn't call her a brilliant writer, but she has a very easy, very skilled way of immersing the reader deep into her world and into the minds of her characters. I am very impressed. I've fallen a little bit in love with Tobias Eaton, but I suppose that was unbearably predictable. I'm a sucker for a hard-luck case. 

(Almost) A Week Down!

And 8,750(ish) words in! As I am handwriting the whole thing, I am roughly estimating that I write 250 words per page - sometimes it's more, sometimes it's less, usually depending on how much speech there is. But progress is happening, and I'm very pleased with how it's going. 

My characters and my setting feel much more solid this time around; I feel that I now know them as intimately as I do my fanfiction world, which is a big achievement for me seeing as I have struggled for so long to find something of my own to connect to in this way. I always find that I'm making fewer notes, and consulting my notebook less as everything is becoming much more solid in my head. The actual process of writing this time around feels much more organic than it did in November - then, I was writing to prove a point to myself, this time I am writing to get the story out of my head and onto paper. 

I've fallen hard for my characters, although there are only three or four of them so far as opposed to the vast cast I had first time around. I am looking forward to introducing the rest of them, but it's also really nice to give each one the attention they deserve rather than chopping and changing every thousand words or so. I think (hope) the finished product is going to be much more satisfying the second time around! 

Here's what I'm listening to today - Florence + The Machine: Never Let Me Go. If I were to give Dakin a theme-song, this would certainly be it. 

Day the Third, and the pressure begins!

I  always knew this day was coming - the day when NaNo starts to conflict with work. Now, before you get too excited, nothing dramatic happened; it wasn't a Sophie's Choice moment, and I didn't get fired or anything. Just a little note in my inbox from one of my lovelier clients asking how I was getting on.

To problem is, I haven't been getting on. Not even a bit. 

The problem with falling absolutely in love with a project - as I have with 'The Moon Path' - is that that becomes all you want to do with your time. An hour in the evening isn't enough, five hours in a coffee shop isn't enough. A whole day isn't enough! I want to be writing it twenty-four hours a day, three-hundred and sixty-five days a year for the rest of my life! Of course, I cannot wait until it's the finished polished piece in my hands, but, equally, I'm dreading the day when it's over. What will I do then? 

This is exactly the reason why I am loathe to finish anything. It isn't laziness (well, maybe a bit!) it's the very real phobia of leaving something behind. Every time I finish a piece - my diss, my november NaNo, a ghostwriting project - my body goes into shock. It's quite terrifying. I've spent so long with that piece, and wrapped myself so completely up in it that it has become my entire world that, for an hour or a day, I struggle to function in a world without it. 

I'm the kind of person that likes having several projects on the go, doing a bit here and bit there, and never committing to finishing anything (my fanfiction.net profile is a key example of this). I struggle with endings, writing them and dealing with them. I am never satisfied. That's why fanfiction has been so liberating - it means nothing is ever finished; there's always prequals and sequals and What If oneshots. 

But real life, and real writing, doesn't allow for that - the purpose is to finish and move on. Let it go.

I don't think I'll ever learn how to do that without my body going into shock.

In other news, this is what I'm listening to today - Christina Perri's Human

  It feels pretty appropriate for my main character. I really like coming across songs randomly that just seem to fit.