Story structuring is hard, not because I don't know what I'm going...okay, I don't really know exactly what I'm doing just yet but I'm slowly internalizing the story components needed for 3-act structuring. The hard part for me right this moment is trying to figure out what part of my story would fit well as Act 1's Turning Point, and not confusing that with the Act 2's Problem Intensifying component. I don't think I understand the difference between the two just yet other than to say Turning Point 1 has flaming red hair and Problem Intensifying has a bad case of the zits.

Then there's figuring out which plot point should wear the "Dark Moment" t-shirt (which everyone seems to want to wear) and which point should get the not-as-exciting Turning Point number 2 baseball cap.

Right now, those two are duking it out. I've switched them multiple times with Act 1's Problem Intensifying component and just when I think I've got it the whole structure down, I discover I'm missing Act 3's Final Obstacle, which seems to me to be the same as Turning Point number 2 gone bad(er).

At least I don't have a problem with Act 1's Setup. Or at least I don't think I do.

I finished most of that reading I needed to get to yesterday like a good girl. I haven't started on the two books I want to complete by month's end and I've just remembered I need to ask about getting a hard copy of another ms I should read very, very soon. It'll be hot here over the weekend and since I need to keep The Husband cool, that's as good a time as any to race through what my eyes need to see.

Because it's not hot today, I spent half an hour out back in my little piece of heaven scooping up dead Oregon grape leaves and snapping off spent day lilies. And wouldn't you know it? I thought of another angle, a different direction I could take J&T, that short story I started just before I decided I needed more writing education and less flailing about trying to squeeze out something that doesn't have a clear beginning, middle, or end. Not that there's anything too wrong with that style, I'm told. Still haven't sold anything because of it though.

So I jotted down my thoughts and then dug out J&T and read it aloud to myself and the cats (my unconditional fans to the end), added a few words here and there, and thought, "This isn't half bad for an 800 word beginning (a beginning because I'm saying it is)." But is it really the story I want to write? What about the other direction that came to me earlier out in the back yard where I seem to find really good ideas?

Well, I can write that one too if I want. Sure, twice the work but twice the stories. I can decide which one is better in the end and who knows, maybe I'll find markets for both. At the very least, I could use one for all the crappy words and save the best for the other. It's possible. I'm sure it is.

A month without exercise is a long time without, um, exercise. First it was the Husband's MS flare up, then my back went all wonky for some reason, then there was the long weekend with a toothache. No, I wasn't really feeling good today either but that's because a) I had hardly looked at the room designated as the gym here in a long time even though it's on the way to the refrigerator and the pants are getting tight, and b) I had a less-than-enthralling manuscript to get through by this evening.

Then it hit me: When faced with things I'd rather not do, why not do them together and kill the proverbial birds with one stone? I'm embarrassed up to my earlobes to have not thought of this before (actually, earlobes included if you know how easily I blush from embarrassment).

A while later and I have finished that wordy thing and got a nice workout in on the treadmill as well. In fact, I might just have to rinse and repeat later this evening because I've got a second read-thru and critique to do on two short stories due Friday. Who says I can't catch up?

True to my word (because sometimes I just know things like that) I woke up feeling fine. No pain at all where my tooth was removed yesterday. That means no pain medication either and I can get back to all those things I need to accomplish by the middle of the month. I'm nearing the end of one manuscript, have a good amount of critique notes to offer on that plus notes on two other stories. I already got back a rejection on one of the short stories I sent out last week but here's the thing: It's the best rejection I've ever received. Informative, helpful, thankful for my taking something in a different direction. How is this a rejection again? Oh yeah, no money or credit coming my way. But I'm learning, I'm being taught how to improve. I can't see this as anything bad.

It's very, very warm today here at Fireside. K asked the guy behind the counter to turn on the air conditioning after several people here complained about it. At one point the thermometer showed it was 87 degrees in here. Warm, still, dead air. I'm fanning myself nearly constantly but it's nothing that would be helped by air conditioning. It could be 50 degrees in here and I'd still be fanning myself. Personally, I think he's shutting it back off every half hour or so but that might just be me.

With all my reading, I keep thinking back to my YAWT story and how to fix things that brought about questions. I guess that's a good thing. The MS I'm reading, while confusing in sections, allows me to think of other stuff at the same time. Usually, I can't do both at once. I don't yet have that multi channel mind that some authors talk about having but maybe someday it'll make sense.

The offending tooth has been pulled and not a moment too soon. I've got it with me (because I've never asked so much as to see any others I've had pulled over the years) and it looks horribly dark and bruised on one side. The pressure released off that side of my head the moment it was taken out was euphoric leading me to believe I had been in pain for quite some time but didn't realize it until last weekend. I have an abnormally high tolerance for pain so that would be normal.

I'll give myself the rest of the day to recover, pop a pain pill or two to mask the achy feel of the huge new hole in my head (like an elephant tusk had been pulled), and then life will be back on schedule tomorrow: Reading, Fireside, more reading followed by yet more reading.

I've been a lazy bones since, oh, I don't know, since Thursday when vacation plans were scrapped due to a neighbor's late night/early morning tomfoolery with high flying explosive devices and our tinder-dry roof. The husband was off for a forced company-wide vacation this past week and we've spent the most of it teetering on CrankyPants-dom.

I try not to get too riled by people with more money to spend on fireworks than sense in their heads; honestly I do, but I guess after witnessing seven separate instances over the past eighteen years of expensive things catching fire or being blown apart (some of those involving downright cruelty), I'm just jaded toward the whole holiday. Or in our area of the country, the entire week (or two) because, as one neighbor informed me yesterday, yes, somewhere in the Constitution it states that Fourth of July celebrations are a God given right to each and every American which can official begin on June 28th.

"Huh?" I said, after which I was pointed to and laughed at.

Can I move to Canada now? (Please don't pop my self-romanticized Canada love affair bubble just yet.)

I have tackled a pathetically small amount of that huge pile of reading I need to finish before mid-July. Part of my reasoning is due to just not feeling like it (bad excuse), part is due to a toothache. It should be noted here that I, similar to most major appliances in this house, only have breakdowns, failures, or severe aches and pains over holiday weekends when either a) there is nothing that can be done to fix it, or b) fixes are wildly, horribly expensive and usually done by angry men wielding pliers.

This time around and since the tooth dishing out the grief is a back molar I routinely have problems with, I'm going to demand it be pulled. I'm tough that way. I'm not going to baby it any longer. I've hated that thing, a crooked, sideways lump of bone in which every morsel of food gets trapped, most of my adult life. It's so out of there...but probably not until later next week at the earliest. And while I could spend the time doped up on whatever pain medication I can dig out from the cabinet under the bathroom sink until that yet unscheduled dentist appointment, that might not be the best time to read through that pile of material. Unless I like fairy tales because that's what my brain will undoubtedly transform it into. I know myself so well.

But not to let every waking moment of today go to waste, I did send a query to a publisher on an old, unheard from submission and received word back nearly instantaneously, and then sent out two new submissions. Go me, and to that toothache, just go away.

I have an ungodly amount of reading to do, most of which I need to finish before July 19th. Four books, 2 non fiction, two fiction, and two complete(?) manuscripts. You know, probably as much reading as an editor or slush reader does in four days or less. I'm not whining. I need to read more and this is the best time for me to do so.

I've come to a conclusion: My short story writing doesn't completely suck but it needs A LOT of work. Some would argue my short stories aren't stories at all but are Slice of Life pieces. I agree wholeheartedly with that but only because it was recently pointed out to me in a way that I finally understood. My stories generally don't have a beginning or end; some would say they don't have a middle either although until last week, I would have vehemently argued that yes, yes they did (because I say they do!), all of them did because my god! a story that doesn't have a beginning, middle, or end isn't a story at all and if what I've just spent the past year doing wasn't writing stories then what the hell am I wasting all this time doing?

Fooling myself?

Naw, spinning my wheels is what I'm calling it and there isn't anything wrong with that, in my mind, because I do have work to show for that spent time and it has gotten me to this point, that point being that I know it's time I pick up my game and spend more time becoming educated on the craft of writing.

I'm not beating myself up for any of the time I've spent stabbing in the dark, trying to hit the short story artery. Nor am I going to beat myself up for not feeling bad about not feeling bad. Onward, ever onward is my goal beginning with this pile of reading.

The husband continues to improve. He's back to walking without assistance from a cane and his speech is completely back to normal. He's experiencing the steroid afterglow; the slight reddish flush in his upper body, neck, and cheeks as though he's just enjoyed a week on a sunny beach. We've been through this before and in fact, had people indirectly accuse him of that. If only, I usually say and glare at those people.

No writing today though I thought about that and writing groups in general a good portion of the day. I'm spending the evening, in bed, with Chris Vogler's "The Writer's Journey," a book I'm convinced will help me sort out Working Title, a longish short story I stuck myself on (like a deceased bug on a pin in a glass box) back in January. The problem is, I didn't understand the book the last time I tried to read it though I will admit I was in too much of a hurry to get back to writing something else. Or was it I kept coming up with story ideas?* It was one of the two; can't remember exactly now.

And that's another thing: I haven't come up with any story ideas since April. Nothing, nada, el zippo. Now, the husband will remind me that's how I seem to operate. Just when I'm certain I'm not cut out to be a writer, something decent will pop into my head and I'm off on a tear. It's those dry spells that bother me to no end. I wonder if anyone else goes through the same thing, and the same worries?

*If indeed I stopped reading "The Writer's Journey" the first time because I kept coming up with story ideas, it would serve me well to stop typing this very minute and get to reading with notepad and pen in hand, I think.

Plodding, that's what I'm doing. Not writing, reading a little, and stressing about an outdoor project I really *really* need to get done before the sun goes nova later this week (okay, not really, just upwards of 95+ degrees F. for a few days and there is NO WAY I'm going to dig out and lay a 6x6 ft cobblestone patio in that!).

I don't know why I'm not writing other than to say I just don't feel like it, today, yesterday, or last weekend for that matter. I've got a couple of chapters of The Car Novel to print out and get feedback on (that's fairly difficult with the work schedule and lack of attention span before sleep takes over thing that's too often the case) and YAWT is still got my butt in a sling while dangling an end carrot that I can't see.

I guess I should be glad I'm reading, what with some five two dozen books to get through, but I still feel as though I'm plodding along through life and I don't like it one bit.

My reading is over. It went...eh, okay. I wasn't as nervous as I thought I would be. Lots of walking hours before hand burned off the energy it would take to be nervous in front of a room full of anxious listeners. There were six listeners, then eight. It helped me feel better like it was an intimate gathering instead of the throngs of people, clammering, screaming, begging for more from me, an unknown at my very first reading. It would seem nearly everyone is reading a humor-laden story this year and here I am, reading about...something not humorous. The perfect world scenerio running in the back of my head of an editor or two or ten rushing the table and waging a bidding war on the spot for the chance to buy my story did not happen. Silly me. And now, the evening is over. Nothing left but listening to music, avoiding the creepy guys hanging around the computers, and wandering around looking yet trying not to appear to be looking.

On a whim, I jumped on an impulse I wanted to act upon for a year. I joined Broad Universe. But there's more behind it than simply wanting to join this organization, a group that seems to fit in everything I am. That was another whim; that of participating in a reading at a convention.

Someday I hope to be able to participate in a panel, or group of panels and it would be ever so cool if they just happened to be on a topic(s) of which I might actually know something about. But what's just as cool to a newbie writer like myself?

Why, getting up in front of Gawd, Gnu, Zoot, and a bunch of people I won't know and reading some of my work.

That's right, I may have scored a reading for Norwescon as part of the Broad Universe Rapid Fire Reading session Saturday at 6 p.m. thanks to MKHobson. I'm unbelievably happy and excited!


*SQUEEEE!*


Now that that's out of my system (that's a big fat lie btw) I know all the readers in the BU group will have between five and seven minutes to read. You know how hard it is to chop down a story that was already short to something that will fit under seven minutes read out loud? Grueling, but my edit-happy friends would be proud.

I took a 1600 word story which if you have never read a 1600 word story out loud, you might be surprised to learn that it takes about ten minutes to read, pared 300 words out of it hoping to keep enough for it to make sense, and I still come in at six and a half minutes reading it out loud. If I stumble at all, I'm sunk.

Practice, practice, practice.

Just so you'll know what I'm spending my weekend doing. But would I want it any other way? No way! I love a challenge!

I'm good at whining. Whining mostly about how I'm all worried that I won't find an idea to write about and how I won't be able to reach my short story goal this year.

All a load of bull-pucky.

Mid January I did the same thing and less than two weeks later I had a story. It came hard and fast (whoa there Nellie) and it just would not let me have a moment's rest until it was on the screen, rewritten eight times, and finally down on paper.

Then I went back to Working Title, a short that's been kicking my butt since November. It's half done and only recently did I start to feel I knew where the end might be hiding. But because I'm still not terribly certain, get out the 'Woe is me' card. Boo-hoo, sniffle, sniffle, I'm a loozer.

I should know better, really I should. After all, I did just have a brief, little chat with Steve on exactly this topic less than a week ago.

So the other day, I dug out a story I wrote late last year. I really didn't like it, no, I'll say it: I hated it. El Suck-O and all that. But I got it back out and reread it and didn't barf or anything so just maybe, I figured there might be hope for it.

After reading it, I gave it one day to form solidly in my mind (like a mozzarella cheese ball rolled in granular cat litter) and this evening, much earlier this evening which is actually yesterday evening as I typing this and just glanced at the computer clock and...

OH MY GOD, IT'S NEARLY SIX A.M. and I haven't even gone to bed yet!

I can proudly say I have a new story, complete even, second draft and maybe best of all, I like it!

I'm playing catch-up this weekend because lots of things have been put temporarily on hold either by forces beyond my control or because I drank too much. Most important note to self: Key Lime Cream Liquor only sounds harmless; never so on a stomach half-filled with Thai food.

Last week, an area less than twenty miles from us was hit with a rare tornado. We could see the line of dark clouds and was hit with heavy rain and bits of hail but were protected, as we generally are, from the high southwestern winds.

Just before the day of the tornado, we decided to upgrade our entire home server system to assure we've got a ridiculous number of backups of everything we write. Last year, we had an unusually high number of computer-related meltdowns it seemed and we're certain it was just a matter of time before we lost important things, like stories and other WIP. While the initial server set up was easy, transferring files and getting all computers networked has been long and laborious.

But it hasn't kept both of us from getting some work done on our current works in progress. In the coming week, we've got a sizeable chunk of reading and reviewing to do, a couple of stories to pound out, INK FAQ questions to write up, an OryCon meeting to digest and discuss, and I must, must, must begin reading "The Terror" by Dan Simmons so I can have it finished long before Norwescon in March. So much to do, so little time.

Second note to self today: Shut up and get to it!

Sunday evening. I've taken a week off from writing, partly due to frustration, partly due to...oh, I don't know. Let's call it a lull and while we're at it, let's call it over.

That's not to say I haven't been thinking about the stories in my inventory, what changes I could make to them to perhaps get them to sell if I can ever get completely over my distaste for rewriting (ugh), and I've been reading. In particular, I've been reading several Nebula nominees, trying to figure out how the stories work and sadly, I still don't see it.

It's times like this I feel like I'm back in the fourth grade, playing a game my teacher used to play wherein she'd say a word out loud and wait for someone to answer with some other word. She never did explain what relationship the words had to have to one another, citing that would give it away. Obviously at the time, most of the kids got it. All I know is I was the only one in the entire class of thirty-two kids who never figured out what words she was waiting to hear. For the life of me, I never could figure out the connection.

Even today, some forty years later, I still think of that game and that teacher and wish I knew what the Hell kind of words she was looking for.

Every day, at 3:40 in the afternoon, a dust mote will fly into my right eye. I'm sure there's a story there somewhere but it's not fiction. It's the truth.

Last Thursday, at 3:40 in the afternoon, I was watching something on TV (no, I wasn't writing...shut UP!). I turned my head at something Steve said and something flew into my right eye. Something that felt like the biggest dust bunny on the planet, like someone had poked me in the eye with a fuzzy car. And after that, it just wouldn't stop itching.

I wear a contact, yes, only one and yes, in my right eye. I am convinced that wearing contacts, and in particular, wearing only one contact, automatically attracts all kinds of eye irritants. It's like the contact becomes a vacuum or maybe the loopy side of Velcro looking for the pokey side.

Within the hour, I had removed my contact, flushed my eye, cleaned my contact not once but twice, re-flushed my eye, washed my face, twirled on the toes of my left foot while making coo-coo-ing bird sounds and everything else I could think of to make my eye stop watering up, tearing over and itching to the brink of madness.

Needless to say, I wasn't able to put my contact back in for the rest of the evening.

Friday was a no-go as well. Same thing; felt like I had somehow dropped my wet eyeball into one of the cat's litter boxes and let them roll it around for a while. In fact, the itchiness was worse....and then got a bit better but only around 3:30 in the afternoon. In fact, I was thinking of going up and trying to put a new contact in when suddenly, as I was standing in the kitchen, an Italian salami hit me in the same eye. Or at least it felt like an Italian salami, you know, one of those extra-garlicky ones with the oily exterior.

I glanced at the clock with my good eye, my right hand clamped over the irritated one. 3:40 p.m. I kid you not. We can safely assume no writing or reading was accomplished that day either.

Saturday morning, I absolutely had to get some reading done and so, I rummaged around and found a big, plastic magnifying sheet I had bought last year for some reason that eludes me right now, and got a little reading in. Hoping that overnight my eye would rid itself of the irritation, or the salami or dust bunny or whatever was causing the problem, didn't seem to be in the cards. That's when I remembered a trick I used once earlier in the year.

I dug through my boxes of old, unused contacts and found one that had several lesser strengths left, back when my eye was only a little weak, and put one in my good eye. Within an hour, my vision cleared enough that I could type and read anything directly in front of me (distance beyond twenty feet is still an issue and will be until I can get a contact back in my weak eye).

Today, I'm reading and typing and yes, writing a little. My right eye still feels a little "off" so I'm not going to rush it; choosing to let it rest and heal. Late tonight I'll try a fresh contact in it again and see how far that gets me. I'm going to Seattle tomorrow for New Year's Eve and kind of need my eyes for driving (I enjoy it and do most of it). Either with one contact in or the other, you can be assured I will write and read while I'm there because not having the ability to do either is...well, irritating!

My cold is finally moving out. Fear my Neti pot, you dasterdly cold! But really, if I’m going to get to lie around in bed for days on end, I really need to learn to enjoy the time away from responsibilities. Steve kept the house emaculate despite a rough work week. Oh why not say it outright, it’s been a rough work year for him. I’m amazed at what he’s accomplished.

INK is getting together here Saturday evening and hopefully, our first speaker, local author Jay Lake, will be joining us. In the SF/F/Speculative Fiction world, he’s a pretty big celebrity around these parts and a hoot to listen to. Selfishly, I’ve wanted to sit and talk to him about his various writing processes for about a year, and I really missed hearing him at any real length at OryCon. But if I don’t get my fill here, maybe I will at RadCon in February or maybe at Norwescon in Seattle in March. So many cons, so much writing I have to catch up on.

I finally got through the current Apex Digest and am wrapping up the last of Matheson’s ‘I am Legend’ anthology. I put Palahniuk’s ‘Rant’ back on the shelf for after the first of the year after reading the first couple of chapters. Being sick for ten days means readjusting my reading schedule. Between tonight and Saturday, I hope to finish off yet another short anthology, finish up the rewrites of ‘Bumblebee’ and ‘Convention #482′ and perhaps use a light hand in the first rewrite of ‘Feeders’ before diving back into Follett’s ‘Pillars of the Earth’ (a personal favorite) before I tackle his follow up ‘World Without End.’ If I’m good and I stick to it, I ought to be back to reading short story anthologies by mid-to-late January and resubmitting my rewritten shorts to fresh markets. After that, I’ve got a minimum of six new ones to create in 2008. 2008 is going to be a fun year!

*Note to self: Move 'The Terror' up in reading que.

Despite use of a Neti pot and eating/living healthy, a cold has found me. I really think I caught it last Friday evening at a corporate dinner Steve needed to briefly attend. That's funny since I figured I would have caught one at OryCon a couple of weeks previous but no, I catch something from a bunch of people wearing tuxedos and dripping with sequins.

I've stayed in bed for two days now trying to keep my throat from bursting into flames. The Breathe Right strips work reasonably well I've discovered unless I want to sleep whereas either my throat wants to close up completely or my sinuses want to drain clear fluid right.this.very.second to make a mess on my pillow. I really can't complain too much about draining. I'll take that over a stuffed nose any day. A stuffy nose for me means drainage into my lungs and the risk of asthma attacks and bronchitis and hospital stays. That hasn't happened in a few years and I hope to keep it that way.

Unfortunately, this illness has cut into my writing time. I can't concentrate much at all though I was finally able to finish reading "I Am Legend." My woozy head made for interesting viewing of "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer" last night. I've only seen it thirty or more times but for the life of me, I couldn't seem to keep up with it. I'm sure there's a story there with an alternative ending but I can't think straight right now so that will have to wait.