1500 words before breakfast.

Last night I mapped out, in detail the final chapters of the book.  I am right there.  I can guess I have roughly twelve to fourteen solid writing sessions left until this book is finished.  I’m wrapping up quite a few of these storylines very soon.  One character has already had her breakthrough moment in her character arc.  I just need summer not to take over my life and get in the way of finishing this book.  So, this morning, I woke up and found time to pound out 1500 words before 7am.  The book has infected my mind and I am letting the pus out as quickly as I can.  I really just want this book to be done.  But, I still have to take my time and not rush the ending.  So many pieces have to fall in just right.  There’s so many threads in this book that I never originally intended, but they are beautiful and it’s going to be a great run.  

Now, I am tired.  I’ll probably fall back asleep now.  

Also.  Here’s my lady with a chicken.

Advertisements

What a long, strange, trip it’s been.

This has been a weird week.  Summer time and writing usually don’t work well together, but I am trying my best.  Luckily for me, after having about four or five days in a row without writing, I was able to pick up my story today where I left off with great fanfare and wonderful ideas.  I am eighty six thousand words into Alice the Fiftha no still have quite a ways to go.  86,000 words has translated into roughly 425 pages.  I’m truly glad that after my real life has taken over me and kept me away from her that Alice so graciously has let me back in.  Man, what a wild chapter.  I spilled out roughly 4,000 world today alone, which as a novel writer is a feat in and of itself.  It feels fucking fantastic and I’m looking forward to see where ALice and Abigail take me next.  


Aside from that, I do feel particularly inclined to share a rather embarrassing and stressful, personal anecdote that ties up the last weekend.  Again, I don’t normally blog about my personal life, but this incident is too precious not to comment on, write about and document for posterity.

On Saturday night, Jilian and I were left at home with no children.  My boys were at their mothers’ and her daughter was at her dad’s.  We had a night alone.  Both of us had worked later into the night and felt like blowing off some steam after work.  We settled ourselves in and decided to go down the street to the local corner bar and have a few drinks.  That night in and of itself was rather uneventful.   We had a few drinks and headed home.  

When we got home, the dryer was buzzing.  It was announcing to us that it’s contents were drye and that wee needed to circulate said laundry.  Jil went to the dryer and popped the door open and this fell out:
We both looked at each other in confusion and horror.  That’s a drug baggie.  Nothing comes in those tiny ziploc bag as aside from drugs.   We were panicked and lost.  We sorted through all the clothes in the dryer, since we knew that none of our clothes had little baggies in them with little tiny mushroom caps in them.   That meant one thing.  My boys, one of them, at age twelve or age fifteen, had shrooms in their pocket when we did their laundry. 

It’s 1am.  We went through the house and flipped mattresses like prison guards searching Andy Dufresne’s cell in Shawshank.   Which kid had fucking shrooms in the house and where the fuck were the rest of them?

After about an hour, we gave up and went back to bed.  I barely slept.  When I did sleep, I awoke ten minutes later concerned and stressed.  One of my perfect angels was doing drugs.   My heart was broken.  My trust and faith corrupted.  My life was suddenly upside down for the first time.   None of this made any sense whatsoever.   My kids wouldn’t do something like that.  Yet, here was the evidence, fresh out of a spring scented fresh load of laundry that consisted of 83% one child’s clothes and 17% the other’s.  We did the math.
I got out of bed around 5am.  My sleep wasn’t getting better and I couldn’t tolerate it anymore.  I got up and started sending the photo to friends to get second opinions.  Not a single person said that these were something other than mushrooms.  So, that meant, later today, when I [icked my kids up around 7 PM that I would have to sit down with my kids and figure out who the drugs belonged to.  

Not my idea of a good day.

I needed to occupy myself.  Which we did. We took a wonderful day trip to the water and went a small little boat tour.   


That worked for a few hours, but not nearly as long as it needed to.  As we drove home to pick up the kids, I felt that my heart was going to fall out of my chest.  I was more than certain that the entire contents of my stomach was going to spill directly onto the passenger seat of Jil’s car.  And, I wasn’t entirely unsure that my hands weren’t going to fall off from shaking so much.

Eventually, and finally, I was able to get the boys back home.   Once the little one was situated and the others gone outside, I confronted my oldest with that little baggie in my hand.  As much as I hated to believe it, there was no explanation.  I held up the baggie and asked him about it.  His eyes went black.  They filled with tears and I felt horrible, but I needed answers.  Who brought drugs into my house?!!  

He denied it.  He had no idea what they were.  I couldn’t tell if he was truthful or lying.  I wanted to believe him, but no.  It couldn’t be.  These mushrooms couldn’t belong to my youngest.  Are twelve year olds doing mushrooms now?   I know that he’s had issues, but shrooms?

The youngest was across the street at the neighbor’s.  He had to be called back.  Which, he was.

“Now, son, can you tell me what the fuck this little baggie is?  We know what this looks like.  It fell out of the laundry.  We just need to know who the fuck it belongs to and why the fuck it’s in my house and where the fuck did you get it from?”

That’s what I wanted to say.  That’s not exactly what came out, but close enough.  

“Oh, those are silver dollar seeds.  Mimi gave them to me to plant,” he says.  

Silver Dollar Seeds.

The other son googles it and shows us, “Oh yeah, they are, look”

Mother fuck.

Messages were instantly sent to my mother.  “Please don’t send my kids home with bags of seeds that come in little drug baggies.  It’s really inconvenient, Mom.  I just scared the fuck out of my fifteen year old.”

My youngest laughed his ass off while the older child cried.  

And that, that’s being a dad.  

The First Weekend of Summer

Wow.  This was a long one.  It’s hard to write when real life catches up to you so quickly and so often.  I normally don’t touch on my personal life here very often and for good cause.  It’s my personal life and I was raised to keep my personal life private.  It is tough in the age of social media to do such things, but as you grow older there is less and less call for the social media in the daily routine, but it is fantastic for big announcements.   

Friday began and I knew something was off.  My youngest son, who has had some issues with depression and sees a therapist semi-regularly for those issues came home in a funk and I knew that something was wrong.  He said he hadn’t eaten.  His mother said that he didn’t want to come to my house.  I knew that I needed to have a sit down conversation with him.  We tend to do that every couple months when one of these issues comes up.  

I sat down and had a talk with him about everything but it made me realize that I really needed to sit down with both boys and have a long conversation about everything that we’ve all been through in the ten years since their mother and I split up.  And that is what I did.  I flipped back a few months on here to the posts where I talked about things I wanted to teach my children.  Life lessons etc.  I eventually read through most of those after going through a history of my life, relationships and ups and downs as well a s the mistakes I’ve made and the things I did wrong in my life and overall, I really just wanted them to know, as they enter into high school and the teen years that I want them to know that I am here to talk to them.  

It was one of the best conversations I have ever had in my life and I hope I was able to impart some wisdom onto my boys before they really need it the most.

This weekend also marked my two year anniversary with my significant other.  We marked it with a special occasion.  We had dinner at a fancy restaurant on the water, followed by a walk by Lake Ontario and yeah, I gave her an engagement ring.  The one I found a few months ago and had been holding onto for the right time.  We both discussed marriage off and on over the last two years.  Who doesn’t when you’ve been together that long?  And, we both know that we want to get married, but we also know that now is not the time and neither of us are ready for it yet.  We decided a long time ago that we’re going to get married four or five years from now when we know that we can live together as a unit, as a family and not only survive, but thrive.   I’ve made relationship mistakes before and I vow not to make them again.  (Note the symbolism of the Archangel Michael defeating the demon tattoo?  …hint:  It’s pretty blatant and not really a symbol at all).   So time is the answer and we are going to give it time.  Time to flourish and blossom in ways I’ve never known before.  I’m tired of my life being screwed up and hopefully, together, we can fix that.  

She said yes.

In the midst of all that I have tried really hard to continue writing in a difficult chapter.  It’s not so easy!  But, I managed to make it through.   400 pages.  Close to 81,000 words.   I’m ready to get into the nitty gritty now.  

Continuations

Writing is a fickle bitch.  That’s for sure.  I just worked a ten hour day.  I was in no place to write tonight, but as every writer knows, you have to put your ass in the chair every single day.  As much as you can anyway.  Sure enough, a little whisky and some dedication to the page itself helped me pound out six pages or so.  Oh, I wanted to stop at 500 words.  Then 1000 words.  But, yeah.  Once i was in, I was in.  

If you pay attention to the really blurry shit below, I mapped out quite a few chapters in the last few days.  I may have mapped out the ending of the book.  Maybe, maybe not.  It all changes once i am in the story anyway, so I don’t even know why I bother.  Still, it’s nice to know where I am trying to get to.  I want a big battle.  I want my main characters together once and for all.  I want my four musketeers to do something cool.  

I just don’t know if I can.  I managed to write them into such precarious positions that I’m not even sure I can put them all in the same room together at this point.  

The writing will take me where I need to go.  I have in faith in that.  It might be eight more chapters.  It might be twenty.  Who knows.  Just because I mapped out a nice chunk doesn’t mean I’ll stick to it.  The words have a way of changing themselves.

That’s all for tonight.  Time for a little more whiskey.

I may or may not be binge watching Game of Thrones before the premiere of Season Seven.

Chapter

Novel is a long process.  This particular chapter eluded me for more than a few days, until, as I mentioned last time, I found the missing item.  As I finally found myself with ass in chair, the words just spilled out.  Chapter nineteen turned out to be a major undertaking.  It is the lynch pin for the entire back end of the book.  The final pieces are slowly starting to fall together and it wasn’t easy getting there.  I normally write and write and write and skip with the editing on the fly.  This chapter needed a little more TLC.  There are a lot of interwoven pieces and characters that needed to be addressed.  The way these characters ended up left a lot up in the air.  And bringing them back down took some work.  Chapter Nineteen turned out to be the longest chapter I’ve written so far.  It came in just under six thousand words.   Long work.  Long nights.  Long chapter.  Now… on to the next.  Let’s find out what happened to Alex and Sera after the explosion.

Today also happens to be #sailorjerryday.  Dug out an old picture to pay my respects.   To my favorite liquor with my first art and first tribute to that liquor.  My own person Sailor Jerry girl.   

Dreams.

Somehow during the creative process of this book I have tricked my brain into using dreams as a source for inspiration.  I have a tendency to write myself into a corner and then have no idea how the hell I can dig myself out of it.  What I have been doing as of late is concentrating it before I fall asleep.  I let the characters into my head.  I let the situations sink in and grow on me.  Once I fall asleep, I fall asleep.  Usually sometime around five am I will dream something.  It can sometimes be entirely unrelated to the book.  Other times it can be dreaming right from the character’s point of view.  Either way.  It can sometimes be enough of a push to tell me what I need to move forward in the story.  I know it sounds like a bunch of bullshit, but I cannot tell you how many times in these nineteen chapters that I have found my inspritarion while half awake, wrapped up in my blankets and body pillow with the answers right on the tip of my brain.  

This morning, I almost lost it.  I didn’t realize that my dream was 100% about my book.   I thought it was just a dream and had forgotten that I had tasked myself with digging myself out of this hole I dug myself into.  I almost missed the hints and clues that The Universe was giving me.  Thankfully, I figured it out and found that one missing piece not only for this chapter, but for the entire book.  There was a tiny piece that was missing that completely, COMPLETELY ties up every loose end in the book and I found it.  Now… I have to figure out how to start pointing all of these characters toward the finally confrontations and let the battles begin… across time, across the cosmos, and across America.  I’m so curious to see how this all plays out, because right now, I have no fucking clue.

Alice.  You’re a beast.

Days off and #writing

Last week when writing, I hit a fairly significant stopping point in the book… In all honesty, I probably could have reworked it and made it the ending to the book, completed a novel length novel and set the stage for probably two more novels to come after that.  I’m at 350 pages, roughly.  It would have been a respectable sci-if novel.  The problem is, I’m not done writing yet.  There’s no reason for me to end the story here.  I don’t know if there’s two more novels to this story.  There may or may not be.  Maybe I’m at the middle of a long novel.  Maybe it’s two-thirds.  I don’t know.  I am along for the ride on this and am letting the story take me there.  

To me, I don’t know if it is fair to the work to stop here.  

I did take a break though.  I took some time, just because life gets in the way.  Work, other work, kids.  You know.  Sex, drugs and rock & roll.  The writer’s lifestyle.  So a week later I came back to the book.  Literally writing the scene depicted below.  

Taking time away is one of the worst things you can do for your work.  It is such a disservice to it.  At the same time, I needed time to think on “Am I done with this chapter of this story?”  Or is this going to be a much bigger novel?   I needed that time to decide.  Anyway, going back to your book after taking even a couple days off is hard.  It’s brutal to get back into the routine.  Writing is exercise.  When you take a break from the gym, you TAKE A BREAK for a long time.  If you miss two weeks of a workout regimen, it doens’t come back that easy.  Two weeks turns into two months and suddenly, summer is here and your summer body that you had in march is now ready for winter.  Writing is the same way.  It’s WAY too easy to let that day off turn into two, three, a eek, two weeks, seven weeks… and suddenly you have no idea who your characters are and what they fuck they were doing in the first place.  

I think that’s why I’m always writing in cliffhangers.