Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Gods and Pages

Tentative writing is happening! I have been tiptoeing into my story. I realized I had several scenes in mind but hadn't quite got the whole of the plot mapped out. (Still don't, but I trust it'll come. Probably.) I finally decided to just start getting those scenes out, almost stream-of-consciousness style.

Did you know that is my favorite phrase in the English language?

stream of consciousness

When I started to jot these little vignettes down they led to others, and even a beginning. I still have sheer mortal terror of how to write an ending, though. I struggle to end a blog post, much less a structured story. But the slow, bite-size writing has been good: Fiction is a little less overwhelming now. 


Part of the impetus to write came from reading American Gods again. I liked it best this time of all the readings. I feel like I understood it differently in some subtle way, and I can't remember if I've read it since Molly was born. That would explain the perspective shift.

I took it with us when we camped at Lake Stephen, and it rained a biblical purge all over us. The tent leaked, and when I woke up the first night, I discovered my book had fallen into the floor of the tent. It wasn't completely ruined, and I actually approved. I told the paperback, Now you look like a Neil Gaiman book. I think it's my third copy. The hardcover is in my studio somewhere, maybe. Which is to say, lost hopelessly.


While I was in the woods, finishing my warped and wrinkly book and listening to the then-gentle rain and Molly and Shane playing with Finn I was in a fuzzy haze of perfect contentment. I felt very much then that I need to create a story that honors the human need for tales. And because my story is set in Appalachia, camping under the towering oaks and ashes by the lake made me feel really close to the mood of the story. 

When I finished the novel, I read through the acknowledgements and that pushed me to write, too. There are so many people involved to help a book be born. My story isn't nearly as complex as Gods but it was reassuring anyway to look at all the names of people and start to dream about all the resources I can find to help build mine.

I'm starting an online creative writing class next week that includes a lot of specific exercises I need help with, and I have a lovely writer friend to work through it with me. I'm going to do NaNoWriMo this year. I don't know yet if this story will be novel length or if I'll work on something new in November. I'm looking forward to it. And I'm looking forward to school starting for Molly. And I'm looking forward to Guardians of the Galaxy. And to Halloween because why not throw that in, too. 

(I am, of course, ALWAYS looking forward to Halloween.)

Be well, and may your books be so well-loved they almost die.

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Dreams & Demons

I have a serious new fictional crush: Azhrarn the Demon Prince of Tanith Lee's Night's Master has stolen my heart. He is deliciously evil and swoonworthy. And I'm taken with Ms. Lee has as well- her writing style is absolute perfection. It's effortlessly elegant and storyteller-ish. I have no better word than that, but it's very like listening to an oral story. There's a vibe that's not unlike Neil Gaiman, that sparks a feeling that she's telling the story aloud to an intimate audience. And like my ever-beloved Mr. Gaiman, she makes me want to write fiction.

Here's the link, if you like. It links to my affiliate account, to support my hungry addiction.


I'm going to spend some time on my story today, after relating my dream here and probably while taking breaks from illustrating. I have won permission for an orgy and some dirty satyr sex and I am as pleased as you'd imagine by this.

So I woke this morning from a dream of my mom, and Drew Barrymore, and the collapse of the United States. Only the country was actually my high school. My recurring anxiety element of a malfunctioning telephone appeared- I was trying to reach my mom to pick me up from school, but I couldn't reach her. I have that dream often, either failing to reach Mom or Shane usually. Eventually I made it out of the suddenly civil-warring country/school and then home to the apartment I shared with mom and my brother, above where he and my aunt still live- and mom was very blasé, though I was hysterical with relief to finally see her. She'd been missing for months in the dream. (Admittedly that's much preferable to her being dead for more than a decade, and also to the zombie undead mom nightmares I used to have.) We ate delicious beans and rice that my brother had made and Jessica Simpson lived with us, inexplicably.

Simultaneously it seemed, in a parallel time stream, I had escaped instead to some posh apartment where Drew Barrymore (a crush who is a far more logical and welcome dream star than Jessica) and there was going to be some hot Drew sex but I had just learned I was HIV+ and didn't wish to be unsafe. It just popped into my head at the last minute. A terrible pity to be so close to a sex dream and miss the mark, but at least my dreamself is a responsible partner.

And then I awoke and watched The Pirate Fairy with the little one while I had my coffee. We planned some crafty activities but she was invited to the neighbors' and I have a quiet afternoon to write and draw. She wants to make a book with a hidden hollow piece, which sounds delightful to me, so tomorrow we'll make that. 

Off with me now. I have a date with a demon or two, some horny satyrs, and many evil trees. 

Friday, June 20, 2014

Summer Solstice


Here is a shift that's happened in my late thirties: Summer is now evil. The hormones that have turbocharged my libido and turned my PMDD up to eleven have made me a feverish sweat volcano, even when it's cool. When it's hot like this, I believe I'm splitting atoms in my pants. By way of apologizing for that imagery, please accept a sunshine doodle.

And now I have a satyr orgy under a grove of evil trees waiting for me. 
... For me to DRAW.