seeksadventure: (Default)
Still tracking word count here because the Get Your Words Out spreadsheet isn't available.

I finished chapter twenty-three of M&M, and my word count for today is:

M&M Chapter 23: 1000
Draft of complaint: 2776
Section 1 of CtW: 1136
seeksadventure: (Default)
Get Your Words Out hasn't released the 2010 spreadsheet for tracking numbers and though I might be able to put one together myself (maybe, I am not actually all that well-versed in Excel), I'd rather wait for theirs. So I'm going to track written words here until it's released.

Today's writing (I only count writing to be published in some way or another but not blogging, though if I started counting public blogging, my numbers would be higher -- I should consider this): 1055, article for Innsmouth Free Press.
seeksadventure: (Halloween baby werewolf)
All my first readers are busy. I knew they would be busy when I sent out chapters, because it's November and between Nano and end of the semester and holidays and everything else, I'm not at all expecting responses anytime soon.

However, I have to share my glee and so I will share it here.

Out of all the writing I've done on this story (31k or so), this is currently my favorite part and every time I read it I am filled with so much joy and glee I bounce in my seat.

A silver gray wolf crouched nearby and my heart stopped. Cold fear sweat slicked under my arms, my breath stuck in my throat, and my hands shook.

Obviously I hadn’t braced myself for anything.

Then the world went blurry or the wolf shimmered or I was going to pass out or I maybe I was dreaming again. Christ, I hoped the last was the truth.

There was a sick, slick tearing sound, and Ben crouched where the wolf had been.

I blinked at him.

“Sandra?” His voice was quiet, gentle in a way it had never been before.

“We’re not at a place in this relationship that involves nudity,” I said. Then I leaned sideways and threw up.

End first act.

I love this story so much. I need to make icons for it.


In other novel news, I've started hearing Rob Thomas's "This is How a Heart Breaks" in my sleep, which means Anna's story is starting to fill my waking thoughts. I'm not ready to rewrite Along the Road Home yet, but once I finish M&M, the next novel project may be finishing Werewolves in Love, which is at least set in Anna's world.

Sadly, I don't have "This is How a Heart Breaks" in any form but a fanvid, so I can't put it on my iPod and listen to it obsessively on the plane Wednesday.

ETA: Hilariously, my other big Anna song right now is The Flobots' "Handlebars" because she is totally going to end the world (while breaking hearts) and I also don't have that one except in fanvid form. I really need to buy some music soon.

ETA2: Actually, as I'm listening to "Handlebars" again, I am reminded that eventually I want to talk about being the hero of your own story and how that's not necessarily true and the ways I tell these stories where people aren't the heroes of their own stories, etc., but also the way in which characters who start out being in control end up not in control. That's a trope I keep exploring, gaining and losing and regaining power and control. So while "Handlebars" is an Anna song in my head, it's not actually about Anna in that she's not the one ultimately in control of the end of the world. She's the weapon causing it, in many ways, but there is something else ultimately in control. This is why I need to talk to Sarah more, because she already knows the bare bones of Anna's story as well as many of the tiny details and so I can say things like, oh, Anna's the weapon, and she knows what I mean. That or I need to spend more time talking about these things with other people so they get the shortcut references, too.

ETA3: I swear I will totally shut up soon because I am going to bed. (I did not start out today manic but I may have had a moodswing at some point, because this is starting to feel like mania. Or maybe it is simply excitement over seeing my family Wednesday.) While driving to [ profile] chr0me_kitten's place tonight, I decided I need to make an icon that addresses another Carla trope, which is a) artistic people are hot but mostly b) Anna really has this type: artistic, unnaturally colored hair, queer, and short, in that in many ways, Taz and Jez are THE SAME PERSON except, you know, not. Which leads to some interesting stuff about physical types versus mental types and how people grow on us, etc. but man, Jez and Taz? Practically the same person and Anna totally doesn't see it. Which is hilarious, because later in life there's this whole which of things doesn't belong attraction to someone else which ends up being really important to her ability to end the world.
seeksadventure: (Halloween red riding werewolf)
I just wrote a description for M&M in an email and I like it, so I thought I'd share it with you.

Music & Monsters is a YA paranormal mystery/romance about Sandra Ramos, an eighteen-year-old girl who can see the ghosts of supernatural murder victims, first in her dreams and then elsewhere. When the police make no headway in solving the murders and the ghosts keep appearing, Sandra must solve the mystery herself or risk being haunted forever. She's at least partly driven by her guilt over an accident a few months before the novel begins. Sandra's helped along the way by her chosen family: sister, Joanna; best friend, Lina; and friends, Randy and Dana. Complicating her quest are Anders, Lina's new boyfriend, who is a person of interest to the police because he is sexually linked to all the victims, male and female, and Ben, Anders' best friend, whose easy flirtations with Sandra take on a darker light when she learns his darkest secret.

I am at the writing stage (15k into the writing, the middle of chapter ten) where I love this damn novel so much. So much. I need icons for it, I think.

Now maybe I can get back to sleep soon.

(If you're interested in being a first reader, let me know.)
seeksadventure: (horizon to chase)
[ profile] elisem made "Nine Things About Oracles," a named pendant. And then people started posting writing inspired by it: Sets of Nine Things About Oracles.

Here is my contribution. (Crossposted to my site blog.)

Pieces of Nine Oracles, Scattered (and Silent Ten)


Her voice gets soft when she drinks,
her mouth slack, the tension
flees her body.

The cards slice open her fingertips,
the edges stained rust red, and if she
looks at you blank faced, good news
lingers beneath her hands.

Woe if she smiles.


Blood and chicken feathers
stick to his skin and his footsteps
turn brown as he passes.


She sings and the wind blows,
the trees bend sideways, leaves
twisting dark to light.

She reads your fortune in the moon
as the clouds cross it.


If you knock over his piles of books,
rickety and raw, the loose pages spill
at your feet and in the creases
your death.


Five listens to all but whispers
only the fortune of not-man, not-woman
and the stars shine bright on Five’s
breasts and penis and tongue.


When the plant dies he buries it
beneath the empty sky
and the time it takes to disintegrate
tells all he needs to know.


The smell of gas will make you dizzy
but she only smiles and rattles the dice
and bones in her cup.

Say please and she will cast across the stones.


Silver pools in the curve of his hip,
the bend of his elbow,
the tip of his collar bone.

The salt scours his flesh
when the wave washes across him
and he leaves you the future in the sand.


She lights candles and forests
go up in flames. The smoke
twists along her arms and
she draws pictures,
her long fingers twisting.

When you go blind from it
and it lingers in your throat,
steals your breath,
she will leave you the present
and spin futures of you.


Ten reads the minds of the oracles
and through that knows the present,
the imperfect past, all the futures
impossible or not.

Ten is silent always.
seeksadventure: (AtRH Anna bad reputation)
I have committed poetry! For [ profile] karenhealey and [ profile] revena! Because I am on crack!

Elliptical Eclipse )
seeksadventure: (Default)
Sometimes, a plane will fly overhead but it will be very low. I am always concerned for these planes, because it happens rarely enough that I fear they are either off course for Detroit, or they think they are much closer and it is time to land soon. I'm sure there is some actual explanation, but that actually means nothing to me, because I like my thoughts best.


The other day, I wrote poems for [ profile] nikitangel and what was supposed to be a silly little thing turned out to be a) three poems which can be read together as one and b) something I quite like. I'm shocked.

There are bones in the stones
and monsters in the closet.
They creep up from the carpet fibers
spewing tiny nits
and their fangs catch on your fingers and toes.
They nibbled away at her flesh while she slept
until she was muscle and
then sinew, then
just bone.
Her hair creeps up from the drains
in the shower and the sinks
and floats
in the dishwater
her face just beneath the surface.
The wind shakes the house
knocks the windows in their frames
and you can hear her
words rattling against her skull
her song dragging you into sleep
so they can nibble at your toes
and your fingers
and eat away your flesh.

Werewolves stalk the neighborhood,
silent only under the ripe swell of the full moon.
All the other nights they howl,
right outside the window,
their claws against the glass
teeth snapping just so.
If you turn to look,
they are shadow,
the glint of light off the tip of a fang,
but out of the corner of your eye
you can see them pass
and feel the hot puff of air against your cheek.
Werewolves haunt the neighborhood
and peace comes but once every four weeks.

Walls, too dark, devour
television shows, movies
entertainment fails

The stanza breaks are actually where each poem split. That last one was supposed to be a very rough-and-tumble haiku (I didn't even bother to really count, which is pretty important to a haiku), but it still fits into the overall poem.

It needs a title, and some work, but for a rough draft of a poem (which was supposed to be a throw-away thing anyway), I like it. Rebecca brings out the writing-on-demand side of me.
seeksadventure: (Default)
I believe ekphrasis is the word for poetry that is based on art, especially visual art--is there a word for art that is based on poetry? Because I really want that, want to do that, want to create art based on poetry. (Though, for the life of me, I can't figure out why--I'm not that hot a poet, and I'm a horrible artist.) Comment and discuss, please.

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