Saturday, September 18, 2010

It's Never Going to Stop

If I'm lucky, if everything I want and dream of comes true for me, weeks like the past several will not only NOT get better, they will get worse.  Or rather,  faster.  Time is speeding up for me, I swear.

Let me be clear(er): the past several weeks have been great.  I've been immersed in writing, reading, connecting with other writers and immensely creative people, ideas are flowing fast and furious. Ann's comments about Worlds Burn Through not only make sense, but I know which of the 4-6 current story arcs I need to whittle down to 2-3.  I know which narrative vehicles are not going to work as they are written.  I must constantly ask myself "Is this logical?  Would he/she/it really do this?" as I review every single chapter.  I have to ditch Callista's diary and the Queen of New Orleans, compress ley lines and Cherokee mythology into one magical system, and gradually transform Alexander Ravenwood III into the Emperor of Fire.  Things must speed up; characters are running out of time.  Remember that although I love Miranda this is not her story.  Accept that romance between two alien teenagers who are even more alien to each other will be awkward but powerful, especially since one of them has more experience killing than kissing, and there can be grace in that.  Oh, and I'm going to sorta kill someone major.  Sorry, but it has to be done.

While I've been figuring this out, Ann's having picnics in the outback, drinking wine and looking at stars.  This is good.  At least, I thought it was.  I thought, "Oh good, I'll have a break before I talk to her again."  I decided that I, too, could take a deep breath and a vacation.  Not to the outback, but a writing one.  I promised myself I would stop in on the little town of Whitfield, and see what kind of supernatural hijinks have been brewing while Chloe and Eliot needed my help in "The Chronicles of Nowhere" Trilogy.  You know, have a little fun.  It turns out a very very powerful being just showed up.  He's giving one of my regulars, Caspia Chastain, the tarot-card artist and brilliant barrista, a hard time.  Bad luck for him, because he's about to become very very weak, and then 'normal' Caspia will have quite a lot of power over him.  Good thing she's such a nice girl... or not.  I promised myself I would have this 50,000 word novella, Season of Heaven, posted to Kindle by Halloween.

Then things got complicated, in a wonderful turn-your-life-upside down kind of way, which will be the subject of a post all its own.  Or four.  I'll just say I think the fates, or whatever (insert fearsome deity), have their eye on me, and I'd better damned well be ready for whatever they're about to throw my way.

I promised myself I would post Season of Heaven because it's time.  It's time to launch.  I'm not sure how I know this, but we writers are weird, and something I can describe only as forces are propelling me forward.  Signs, portents, forces, and sometimes things literally falling in my lap.  (More on that later.)  So.  I'm a bit nervous about the big reveal.  Every time I start wondering how the hell someone like me can make something like this work, I refer myself to the deeply seated instinct that seems to be driving all of this.  I did warn you writers were weird, right?  It's this deeply seated instinct that's telling me to hold on to my keyboard, things are about to get crazy (ier)...

I am waaay too fond of the ellipses.  Oh well.  There are worse vices.