I don't know why writers always talk about how great it is to write the last chapter or last scene of a novel or story. For me, it's the worst part, because just as I'm reaching the end, I start to realize how many things I fucked up in the previous "xxx" pages. It usually takes all my self-control to push through to the end, and not start revising and chopping away, or simply abandoning the whole mess. I'm now at the last scene of my novella, and sweet baby jebus is it all such a craptacular mess. But if I don't make myself write it, I'll never finish this damn thing. And I want it done and outta here.

In other news, I have good news, but I can't blab about it yet.

And last: I thought for about 1/8th of a second about writing a pirate story for one of the many kajillion piratey projects floating out there, but that was as far as it got. I have no desire to write about pirates. Pirates don't interest me. Now, if someone wants to create an anthology about scientific/exploratory expeditions to Pacific islands, African countries, or Hyperborean climes that go horribly awry, I'm there. Pirates? Not so much there.

However, in that 1/8th of a second, I did consider rewriting my trunked steampunk novelette "The Girls of the World" into a steampunk pirate piece. It already has ships and water and hostile takeovers - plus, I'm lazy that way. Making it a pirate piece won't work, I realized, but it did give me an excellent idea of how to fix it. So maybe there's some good to contemplating pirates, after all. Arg!

Labels: revising

I cut two thousand words out of the story last night. It didn't hurt as much as I thought. It didn't hurt at all, actually - it was quite liberating. Now, finally, it's the story I wanted it to be.

I've come to realize that you can't truly call yourself a writer if you write. You can only call yourself a writer when you EDIT - and I mean really rip the holy living shit out of your work, not just add and subtract a few words. Writing isn't a skill as much as a reflex, IMO. The skill comes into play when you go back and objectively look at what you've written, and then shape it into the thing it's supposed to be. I supposed a good analogy would be comparing someone who digs up a stone and someone who cuts and polishes it. Both people have specific and necessary skills, but only one of those people can rightfully say they're making a diamond.

Mind you, I'm not creating diamonds here. That won't happen for a long while. But whittling this story down and down and down has caused some kind of shift in how I view writing in general, and how I view my writing, and my skills. I can't quite articulate all of it yet. It's just a feeling, though, that something significant is happening.

Then again, it could just be the last traces of NyQuil talking. :)

Labels: revising

I sent out "The Unattainable" to two beta readers, and received great feedback from one already. Although I'm still cringing over all the spelling/grammatical mistakes and clunky word and sentence choices (because there's always more than I think there'll be), there was confirmation that such things as "plot" and "character" are working (although there are improvements to be made, naturally). I feel much better about the story now. I'm still not happy with the length, but it is what it is. I'm just not an under-4k story writer.

Once I sent it out next Monday, I'm going to clean up and get the edited, final version of "At the Edge of Ellensburg" ready to send off to a "best of" erotica anthology. Then I'm starting in on my outlines for both the Tacoma Steampunk novellas and the novel The Cemetery Queen. Those two projects will take up the first half of 2007, so I need the outlines finished by the end of December.

I know, I know. This is all so very boring. Sorry about that.

Labels: revising

The story is now 8800 words - I swear, I'll spend the next seven days agonizing over what words to cut. It's not about "killing my darlings". With me, it's about repetition. I tend to say something, then repeat it in a smarty-pants "poetic" image. It's quite annoying, to say the least. However, my erotica tends to be more lush in general than my regular genre fiction, so I usually go for the poetry, even if it's a bit over-the-top. Erotica is the one genre where I feel justified in indulging my love of purple prose. I do try to keep it at a minimum, but I can't help myself. When you're writing about sex and all its attendant emotions, sometimes a little excess is the way to go.

Below is a small snippet from "The Unattainable" - this is a paragraph that I think I'll end up cutting. I'm on the fence. At any rate, it's completely work-safe. I'm posting here, because this has become, once again, The Blog That Nobody Reads (my popularity lasted only a day, lol). If I post it on Livejournal, I'll get tons of critiques and quibbling about how crappy it is. Really, I don't need or want that. Ok, yes, it's overblown and poetic. It's the end of a sex scene in an erotic story. Just enjoy the language for what it is, and nevermind that it's not Hemmingway. ;D

***
He wraps himself around me, sinks into me again, and I'm the one who drowns. Liquid-limbed, I sink into delicious half-sleep, floating through half-formed dreams. The land lies all around me, with me, and I am the Cascades, ice-capped peaks covered by his star-shot skies. And somewhere in between, three words thread their way through the night, a radio whisper of the heart drifting from one slumbering body to the other. Let me submit. I reach the black lands of sleep, a frisson of fear pushing its way in with me, as I realize I don't know where the words came from--from me or him, from the mountains or the sky.

Labels: erotica, revising