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.

My back yard writing retreat:



How could I not feel inspired?

Ideas - who knows where they come from. Two nights ago I had one of my thrice-yearly surfing dreams and awoke with sore, tender-to-the-touch upper arms. It's all that paddling, don't you know.

Oh, you don't know? Hmm, well don't ask me. I've never actually surfed in my life. But gee, that water was so blue...

Last night I was killing polar bears. How awful was that? Me, a self-proclaimed bunny hugger dreaming of killing bears for food and clothing. Okay, I suppose if I absolutely had to I would but gee-sh, how messy!

And what does all this have to do with ideas? Maybe nothing, but if I know how my brain works, I think some thing's brewing.

Yes! I am immensely proud to announce that I was just congratulated on my second Honorable Mention in THE WRITERS OF THE FUTURE Contest. That's three quarters entered, two honorable mentions. Yeah, I'm stoked! Even more so because they said I have talent. Oh baby! It's all up from here.

(Thanks and appreciation go out to all INK members for their critiques, Lake & Scholes for unknowingly influencing me to explore Speculative Fiction writing, and to The Husband for inspiring the original short story.)

Today was a day chalk-full of writing goodness. Too much perhaps to sort out just yet but good nonetheless. Washougal Library group in the morning, Lucky Labs in the afternoon. Brutal, some might say, or just enough say others. My brain is full.

Three hundred words on J&T today. Most of them were fine tuning the previous eight hundred. I know where the story is going (I can't believe I know where the story is going this time!) and I'm excited but I have to slow down until the education catches up.

I'm deep into reading about story structure and style, something quite frankly, I didn't know anything about. Three-act structure? Uh, what's that all about? I get that now though I'm still struggling with how exactly one goes about accomplishing it.

In an amusing moment, I discovered what structure style I use, one completely un-taught, the one I had always gravitated toward writing: The Slice of Life. I already knew what this was called but had always been told it wasn't a real writing style. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that outside of the westernized world, it's a preferred story structure. Apparently, it's accepted, somewhat loved even, in parts of Europe proving to me once again what I've been accused of in the past; that I'm more European than American. Funny that since my family has allegedly been here in the states since the mid-1500's.

To help me internalize the traditional three-act structure, I'm going to print up a cheat sheet of steps and requirements and keep it lovingly enshrouded in a clear, plastic sleeve, here on my writing desk. And whenever I find myself straying from turning points, temporary triumphs, reversals, and final obstacles through to climaxes and resolutions, I'll slap my hands and delete all that Slice of Life nonsense...until I'm no longer a newbie writer and can get away with writing in my former, preferred style once again while getting paid for it.

The interior of Fireside is getting warm again but this time, unfortunately, K isn't here to demand, intimidate or, ask the air conditioning be turned on. Fortunately, the outside temperature isn't as warm as it was last week which is to say I'm fanning myself but less often.

Things are quieter here today. I need to remember this is writing time, not social chat time. I'm being good and chose to limit my few questions and conversation to earlier in the afternoon (though I have some for someone else if I can find the right time to ask them later). I've spent the last two and half hours writing up my critique notes for a big ms in preparation for my first Lucky Lab Rats Writers Group (LL) meeting since my audition and acceptance into their group. I have no idea what to expect with the group but I'm sure I'll be fine. Not worried yet.

Now I'm looking for the SciFi Wikipedia link I thought I saw someone post here about four or five months ago. The SciFi channel's SciFiPedia isn't cutting it. Sad but not devastating. J gave me a suggestion for the J&T story and it all revolves around author confidence. If I believe something hard enough to write as though I do, readers will be more apt to forgive something I get wrong. Just don't write something too obviously wrong. That's probably easier said than done but I think I can pull it off given the story isn't about the technology or the science (horrors!). I know, I know. I rely too much on characters. I'll try to live with myself.

Edit note: Also finished another polish of YAWT and am considering asking LL if I might be able to submit this for critique sometime soon. Next up, reread my audition piece in case I'm asked questions about it. Even though it's only been four or five months since I finished that story, it seems like a lot longer.

"I'll take a little bit of everything, thank you. Hold the drama," I asked and received.

Had a good INK meeting last night and accomplished more than usual. Our group, renamed INK-Lite for our summer schedule, critiqued, talked, read, and listened to workshop files. If time had slowed just a bit, we had a couple other things to explore but those will have to wait for another time.

Today, I dove into book reading and sure enough, before I finished one chapter, I was struck with J&T story ideas. The Husband and I closeted ourselves indoors since heat was predicted for the day but by mid afternoon, I was annoyed. Not with the heat or staying inside but with pets who demanded constant attention (with claws and drool and after spending the entire morning and lunch hour on the floor with them lying all over me) and with household activity that seemed to interrupt every time my brain was nearing a complete and total earth-shattering understanding of some complex science-y thing crucial to my story's thematic point.

So I started and stopping writing half a dozen times before I gave J&T one last shot. I started with 810 words, added about 600, moved around about 400, edited out rambling sentence after sentence, polished some words, add a few more, and deleted a small section. I ended with...810 words. But they are much better words, I swear!

The good thing, no, the great thing is whereas I knew where I was going with the story but didn't know how I was going to get there, I sure as heck-fire do now. And I'm terribly excited about it. If I can do this right, applying what I'm slowly learning about story structure, this one might end up being downright terrifying.

But now it's research time. I need to look up a bunch of stuff that I can only hope to get right. Space stuff and their effects on Earth. I don't plan on putting much of the stuff in my story, but I need to understand it in order to not come off sounding clueless and uninformed. Where's an astronomy/earth sciences professor when you need immediate access to one's brain?

Didn't write today (Hey! It's still early. Kind of.)

Finished most of my research for the J&L short story which made me think of another story idea, though naturally without an end. Geez, that gets old. My brain just has the worst time figuring out endings! But I think I've got a title this time around, a real title even!

Gained another rejection last night. No worries. It was another nice one. Haven't sent that story back out yet. It's home doing laundry as I type this. A big load of mismatched socks I think. Might take days.

Meanwhile, I've still got a few stories out there; one overseas for an anthology that I haven't heard a peep on since last October (a very reputable author told me keep writing and not to worry or query until it hits the one year mark), a couple are in slush piles (I hope), and a couple are getting the eyeball treatment by some more reputable authors.

Come November, I'm attending OryCon 30 in Portland, Oregon (I'm running the late night Open Read & Critiques actually, like last year). A couple of weeks ago I committed to attend next February's RadCon 5a in Pasco, Wa (Go RadCon!), am still toying with attending RustyCon in January (the weather and expenses at the time will be a factor for me), and this morning I confirmed my attendance and booked a cabin at Rainforest Writers Village put on by tbclone47 up at Lake Quinault next March.

After that, I'm probably going to have to lay low for a while to recharge my energy and restock the wallet. But still, Rainforest Writers! Sure, it's not Viable Paradise, or Odyssey, or Clarion West even but it's a start and I feel, the next logical step for me at my stage of writing.

Rainforest Writers Retreat sounds low-key (please let it be low-key) and productive. Doesn't sound scary like VP, O, and Clarion sounds (to me anyway) and I can just afford it. Now all I have to do is not freak myself out over going between now and next March. Yes, I can do goofy things like that sometimes.

And finally, since I'm here under the microscope, I'm afraid that sometime soon, for my own sanity, I'm going to have to come to terms with what genre I'm writing and want to continue to learn to write. I still balk at anyone saying I write fantasy (That's flying unicorns and talking dolphins writing! Or is it talking unicorns and flying dolphins? I get those mixed up.). I still haven't given myself permission to write true horror, other than one or two short stories, and might never, and I've never been a SF nut (Okay, so I loved "2001, A Space Odyssey," after the third time. Does that count?). Looks like I've got several months of pondering to do and most of the summer left to do it in.

Another hundred words done on J & L, my newest short story. Last evening, I pondered the possibility of creating two stories out of this one, and it may still show that it's open to go that way, but I'm going to focus on just one now, I think. J & L will undoubtedly be a dark piece with a slight smidgen of humor stirred here and there.

And then I contracted a huge case of the yawns.

I awoke with my back not hurting much at all this morning, a very welcome departure from the past ten days or so, and fairly rapidly after I had announced I would make a doctor's appointment for early next week if things did not improve.

I guess I showed it who's boss.

Since the house had fallen apart since The Back Ache (not really fallen apart but I sometimes like to make it seem I'm more important around here than I am), I took advantage of my fluidity and vacuumed, did laundry, and cleaned out the entire pond.

You know, all those easy tasks.

Then I wrote for an hour and a half. One hundred one words in an hour and a half. Okay, so most of it was editing what I coughed up yesterday. The point is I like what I have now for the most part. Like this Darling du Jour:

"Dead branches swayed before a bright orange haze like finger bones flexing against the sun."

Yeah, okay. So I guess you'd just have to be here. . .

It's warm in here at Fireside Coffee Lodge this evening. The temperature outside should only be in the mid-seventies but the southern wall of windows looking out onto a busy, rush hour laden Powell Boulevard is reflecting back the heat from the pavement or something. Almost everyone is complaining about how warm it is in here; everyone but Jay who isn't feeling temperatures yet like the rest of us.

700 words tonight on a new short story that I'm going to call J & L for the time being. This WIP is going in two separate directions at the moment and I've half a mind to try to create two separate versions of it - one dark and downtrodden, one with a humor bent like YAWT turned out to have. The dark one is a good release for some angst I've felt pent up with for a while. The humor version is the one I really want to write. I had so much fun writing YAWT, a piece full of voice and character peculiarities. I want all my short stories to be that fun but I know I'd get tired of it eventually, and probably, my readers would too.

I haven't sent YAWT out yet. I'm saving it for a late year submission. What better reason than to create another one along the same lines for earlier submission elsewhere, right? But I did resubmit my previously created short, the one that was almost bought. So close. Not a humor piece at all but well liked. If I'm lucky, very, very lucky, the dark version of J & L will turn out as good as this one and then, I will have fulfilled my personal goal of six new shorts for the year. And with half a year left to go. Sweet!

I think the stress I went through a couple of weeks ago has gone to my lower back. Is that possible? There's a song that talks about someone who died of a toothache in their heel (Old Susanna?) so why can't it be possible to get stress in ones lower back? Don't think too hard on this. Humor me.

For the record, I haven't dug in my yard for three weeks so that can't be it. Haven't vacuumed in a couple of weeks (Husband has done it recently), haven't lifted any furniture, planted any trees, or beat up any neighbor kids (though if it were legal I assure you I would). Nope, I think all the mental stress settled into my lower back and thank gawd I've got non-barfy pain medication should I need it.

Which brings me back to a discomforting, dark story idea I've tossing around for about ten months. I think I'm going to have to give myself permission to peck away at it little by little because that original totally awesome Working Title story just won't work itself out.

Note to self: Please find time soon to completely dissect Working Title since obviously the basic premise won't vacate my head.

Looks like summer-like weather might actually have arrived around here. Picked half a dozen alpine strawberries out of the hanging baskets this afternoon and noticed my blueberry bushes are bent with lots of green fruit. Around this time last year I began what I called my garden story though gardening wasn't what inspired it and in fact, it had little to do with any actual gardening. I'm terribly pleased with myself for picking that one back up, dusting it off, and making something out of it. Hopefully, I'll hear something good on that one in a couple of months. If I can do the same with the dark story idea that's languished mostly forgotten in my idea file, I'll be one story away from completing my shorts goal for the year...not that I'll stop because of that, but I do need to get back to The Car Novel that hasn't seen eyes since early May.

So much to do, so much to accomplish. Now you see why I think the stress has gone to my back?

Yeah, I know, doesn't make much sense to me either but that's the story I'm sticking with today.

Yesterday the husband went back to his first full day of work after his bad MS exacerbation two weeks ago, except he was only supposed to stay half a day. Reason? A little bit of 'superman syndrome,' a little bit of 'the boss implied it would be in everyone's best interest for me to work a full day.'

Stress? No, me?

Really, I'm trying to get the creative writing flow back on track. Had half an idea or two a couple of days ago. This time I was smart in that I jotted them down. I just can't make sense of them at the moment.

We had a discussion today in which I effectively kept myself from bursting into tears while driving (because I do most of the driving nowadays and I've learned that the two don't generally mix well) about channeling my stress, frustration, and anger over his MS things into my writing. I had to admit I don't want to go there just yet, if ever. It's a black, horrific place and frankly, the thoughts have terrified me. I'd have to give myself permission to write about that. Afterward, I would have scared myself as badly as I did last year when I granted myself permission to write about a particularly dark incident in my childhood (but wait! It was fiction, right? Right??). I was scared half out of my mind to let my writing group read it and even then, I felt I needed to prepare them for what they were about to lay their eyes upon. Not for the squeamish. That story, btw, is still out, overseas, since last October in fact, for a horror anthology, and I'm still hoping it'll be bought sometime this year.

So yes, someday I may venture into that world of frustration. I guess I could look at it as a writer's growth spurt, that permission-granted area that isn't all kittens and butterflies (not that I have or most likely ever would write about kittens and butterflies and not to imply that there's anything wrong with such). But for the time being, I think I'll stick with expanding my writing brain with things like goofy buddy characters and rocket-cars and flying machines and accidentally invented inventions 'cause right now I'd rather laugh than cry while I can.

Irate neighbor apologized today to the husband. I would have gouged his eyes out and knew I would so I locked myself upstairs with the cats who also would have gouged eyes out, probably without much prodding. All the usual excuse cards were played: "My medication, the economy, my unemployment, the kids, the dog barking down the street. the weather..." I nearly yelled down from the luxurious cat abode upstairs how much I liked the weather but kept my tongue to myself. The husband was very accommodating even if he was barely able to get a word in edge-wise yet again.

I'm still not going to trust the neighbor who seems to pull one of these hissy fits once or twice a year. He's a sneaky one; all apologies one minute, carving knife and fork set in the back the next. Avoidance at all costs is the new rule around here...

...unless I need more fodder for my character file. I'll just make sure I'm wearing chain mail if and when I re-open that dialog.

193 words written this afternoon on a piece that won't see the light of day anytime this year. Just had to capture my emotions. Missed the aura of Fireside and my writer friends there.

What an interesting evening! Husband was called a derogatory name to his face (literally screamed at) by an irate neighbor who was manipulated by his seven year old daughter. Again. All over a ball thrown into our back yard. Again. And without letting us get a word in edge-wise, we were told to move "if we didn't like it." Neighbor kids then flipped us off through our clear front glass door for the rest of the evening. This is like reliving grade school.

We outrank this guy in this neighborhood by five years. We ain't going nowhere. And he's publicly known as an overly medicated loose cannon by his own admission. Knowing this guy, one of those kinds who exists by suing anyone and everyone over everything, I'm expecting papers to be served within the week. Ah, drama. I'll keep my doors and windows locked anyway.

Yep, I just might have lots of character-driven stories cropping up this summer.

The husband and I struggled half the evening on the quest to find a title for YAWT (Yet Another Working Title), looking for something that hasn't already been used for something way much bigger and better than I'm likely to ever write (Arthur C. Clarke-level, Issac Asinov, etc). YAWT is done, as done as it's going to get before sending it out for an extra special invitational critique...which can't happen if it doesn't have a name.

Argh! I hate naming things. People, pets, inanimate objects; fine. Stories? Like pulling teeth, with grass clippings and a spork.

But success at last! We found one I like, one that doesn't appear to be currently in use anywhere within the reaches of a Google search, and it's good to go.

Typing in title. Checking spelling just to make sure. Save as. It's done.

But then, the questions start cropping up. YAWT is vastly different from anything else I have ever written. It's got humor. I usually write dark stuff. I don't know if I want to potentially blow my special critique shot with something completely different. But I do think it's the best short I've ever written. Should what I think matter for this particular circumstance? Or ever?

I could drive myself bonkers worrying about this, and when have I ever been afraid of what anyone else thinks about my writing?

Never.

Okay. Fine. I'll send it.

Any minute now.

Any minute...

Rechecking ms formatting.

Okay.

Rechecking alignment.

Okay.

Opening email program, new message, entering address, cc myself, add subject line, short introduction and blurb.

Rechecking ms word count.

Checking personal info.

Adding a second email address to cc.

Running out of excuses.

Add attachment.

Okay...3...2..

Rechecking spelling in email.

Finger poised over Send.

3...2...*gulp*...

*click*

Yesterday (Tuesday) was a good day. A long one, but good. Husband out did himself with being mobile and helping out around the house. He really does seem to be feeling better but I've ordered him to take it easy for the rest of the week.

I spent the late afternoon and early evening hours at Fireside with Jay (who looks fabulous, btw), David Levine, and Karen Berry (both who look fabulous every day I'm certain). Edited YAWT per my recent INK critique and added about fifty words to Working Title. Again, Fireside and the great writer-vibe of the place came through for me.

Received two pieces of promising news regarding my writing this week. Nothing I can talk about as of yet. Let's wait and see what might happen together.

I am not writing much this week because I'm back to playing caregiver to my husband who has Multiple Sclerosis and who is going through a rough patch. I'm not feeling sorry for myself; we received his official diagnosis eight years ago, plenty of time for me to get over myself. But there are days when too many things seem to pile onto one another.

Thankfully, writing is an outlet for me and when I have a moment or two for myself, I vent on paper. I'm sure my normal creative writing pattern will return next month, and since happily finishing YAWT last week, my original Working Title short will then receive the attention it deserves.

( Vented vague details of everyday life with MS behind cut because there's no time for love, Dr. Jones )

First review of YAWT went well and I immediately rewrote several passages twice before the end of the evening, more importantly, before the man's eyes began to droop. I'll give it a day of rest before rereading it again to make certain tenses and feel are good to go.

Still hunting for a title and I think it's safe to say this one is going to get a 'fun' title. Topping the list this morning, before coffee consumption, is "Utah Pete Hates Dogs."

Yeah, well, guess I ought to hit that coffee pot, huh?

After some much appreciated comments from the LJ hive-mind on flashbulb spots (a thousand thanks to Josh English, Kami, criada, and Ramblin Phyl) and a hopeful and very welcome email from a pro market, I set to work today finishing YAWT (Yet Another Working Title).

The short story, a fantasy/speculative piece, has been rewritten the least number of times of anything I've written to date. Is that a good or a bad sign? I don't know. The story's got big voice and touches of humor throughout. I've never written humor before. I'm not sure of the ending but then again, I rarely am. Yet I'm calling it done. In addition, I'm calling it my favorite piece of work yet.

It's been printed and will stand before the man this evening, perhaps during dinner, preferably without wine accompaniment. Don't know what's for dinner yet so that may or may not impact this first review. But during, we'll discuss the ending, argue about red-marked sentences misunderstood and seemingly taken out of context, and I'll wonder again if any of this is worth the trouble or at the very least, if it's straining our marriage. I'll come away feeling like a better writer with a greater love of the work and the process and respect for what he says. I'll fix what I can, fret about the rest, and send it to the next level, my writing group, after which I'll start the emotional process all over again.

And then, maybe, just maybe, I'll figure out a real title. Titles, yeah, there's an ongoing problem. Gotta suck poorly at something, right?