Tag: writing update

Happy New Year!/Writing Update

January 10th, 2023

Hi. I’ve been neglecting you. A post a month is not really the update schedule I want to have.

Let’s just say invisible imps have been playing havoc in the writing garrett, okay?

And let me tell you what I’ve been up to.

NaNoWriMo!

I’m probably the most disappointed that I didn’t get to post weekly updates for how things were going. No, I said, “I’m doing NaNo,” and then promptly evaporated into fog before your eyes.

The part you didn’t bear witness to is that I did write 50,000 words in a month.

(cue bookmarkedone chucking the stale confetti everywhere)

And I have a couple of drafted posts in the wings waiting to gush about the adventure. But before that–

I can’t tell you anything.

I know, I know, I know! It’s ridiculous! But–

My NaNo project is on its way…somewhere.

I wasn’t completely satisfied with what I wrote during November (first draft! What are the odds?). And while I hit the 50,000, I didn’t write everything I wanted to. I was still thinking about my characters.

Very dangerous. Don’t do this. If you let your characters stay awake in your skull, they’re going to kick their way out even if you want to work on other things.

And that’s exactly what happened. Maybe two weeks of lying awake at night thinking about my inky little friends, and I was back at it, reshaping the story.

Not a novel this time. Short story. Okay, longish short story. It’s fantasy. Cut me a little slack.

And–it worked. I think. Maybe. Hard to say. Anne Mazer’s trick of “stick a knife in the middle and see if it comes out clean” for finishing novels/short stories/etc. works, I suppose, but if you’re sleep deprived so you can’t speak properly because How Do You English Anymore–it’s kind of hard to tell.

I don’t have any idea what’s going to happen. I wrote it, I polished it, I sent it out.

Now I wait.

Probably three months, I wait.

(cue bookmarkedone faceplanting into a pillow because after that long, NaNo will be five months over, no one will care and actually, I might not remember what story I sent out)

Mm. Yay.

So…yeah. You might get a pile of “I drafted a novel” posts in a few months. Entirely out of season.

Promise me you’ll love them then?

But wait! Why can’t you hear about it now? Who cares that it’s in process?

Ah, yes. Intelligent readers.

Blind judging. Yes, I know I blog under an alias, but even so my stuff is–distinctive.

I think. I hope?

And hey! New York Times bestselling authors have bumbled into my corner of the world before, it’s not impossible that friends in the writing world would put two and two together and boom! Bookmarkedone’s clearly dazzling short story is chucked in the bin because anonymity is toast.

Not going to happen today.

On the other hand…

I’ve got a story out. Maybe this will be the one. Maybe this time. Maybe.

That brings us to the end of December. But that’s not all, oh no.

For some reason beyond logical comprehension, I decided to write a flash fiction piece in 24 hours, miss the deadline by about seventeen minutes (because time zones. Why, time zones? Why?), have the publishers kindly consider my story anyway, and promptly chuck it in the bin, giving me the first rejection of 2023 and possibly the fastest rejection received to date!

On the same day my NaNo-Frankensteined-into-a-short-story project had to be in.

Don’t you love the end-of-quarter holiday season smashed into one?

Right. So frankly, I’m exhausted.

But that’s okay. Because I’m snuggled up in a big hoodie in the garrett, finishing a blog post before three in the morning. Clear night so I could do some stargazing on New Year’s. Had a bonfire. Finally got my grubby claws on a copy of A Tolkien Miscellany, at an antique shop, of all places. I think my copy of The Fellowship came from a different antique shop…not the weirdest place I’ve scavenged books.

Life is…crazier than I’d thought it’d be right now. Just when I thought things would slow down, violin, composing the musical, work, writing, and my own personal brand of chaos have whisked me away.

It’s not so bad. Most of the time. Except when it keeps me from writing. You know writers–pounding out that new story is the only thing we want to do–until we actually have time to do it.

Well, here’s to having the time and the brilliance. It’s a new year, after all.

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In light of your concern…

October 5th, 2021
Hi. I’m okay, thanks for checking. I know there were probably some of you who wondered if my corner of the universe had imploded since I didn’t make a September 22 Hobbit Day post.

I am sorry about that.

I also don’t have a great excuse. I think I blinked at the beginning of September and missed the rest of it. I have been running to the four winds, having my first live orchestra concerts in over a year, not getting enough sleep, plotting book reviews, teaching loved ones useful phrases in foreign languages, finally committing to building my own fairy language, going to the Epic Library Book Sale, learning that I am too introverted and wordy to understand the concept behind Twitter (but please visit me there anyway), and thinking about mangoes.

Hi. I think I’m okay. As much as usual. Maybe I did have a good excuse for not posting in there somewhere.

And you may have realized by now that in real life (i.e., the place where I’m not an incognito book reviewer and people actually refer to me by name…a name, any name, because apparently it’s really difficult to remember mine) that I’m not the most vocal person in the world.

If I don’t have something that should be said, I shut up.

The same rule applies to the blog. I don’t post all the time because I don’t want to waste your hoarded reading moments with something that isn’t worth it.

I think the moral of the story is that if you want more frequent blog posts, hunt me down and leave a baby dragon on my doorstep or just show up in a van full of fictional characters and say let’s go world-hopping.

I’m really not responsible for the fact that life is sometimes boring. I try to make it as chaotic as possible.

But in the light that the desire not to bore you may have the side effect of making you think I’m dead–

Enjoy this little random update. BookmarkedOne will soon return to regular programming.

So, you’re curious about what I was saying earlier?
- The first orchestra concert was lovely, thank you. It was also weird because I had to remember what it feels like to be onstage with other people listening. Ordinary things like breathing become complicated. It’s good to be back at it.
- You shouldn’t ask about the “not getting enough sleep” part. It’s 12:48 a.m. This is the norm. I don’t know why I brought it up.
- I have my first solicited book review coming up! Amy Bartelloni politely requested a review (which you know I pounced on), and it’s going to be in the next few things I post. Spoiler alert: the review is going to be a fun one. And the author has agreed to let BookmarkedOne host a book giveaway, so if you aren’t excited by that–what are you even doing on this blog?
- It was too hot to be walking as far as I was walking one day, so I taught a loved one how to say “It’s too hot. We want ice cream” in German, because…that’s what I do when I’m bored? But in retrospect, I realize I didn’t just teach the phrase “We would like ice cream, please.” It’s more of the (slams fist on table) “WE WANT ICE CREAM” version, which is appropriate in suspicious taverns, occasionally at my place and nowhere else generally if you actually want the request to yield positive results (ice cream’s at stake, you do). This week’s word is “müde,” because it means tired, and I am, and the power of this widened vocabulary has already been abused and I’m both entertained and horrified at the varied pronunciations of the umlaut.
- You did read that right. I am building a language. Very slowly. There’s no grammar to speak of yet, and I’m still using the English alphabet (with additions and substitutions). My little tree will grow.
- There’s a book haul post coming in the near future too. Right now the latest additions to the hoard are sitting mildly beside the giant blue pillow chair, patiently waiting for me to enthrone them on their sacred shelves. I do not exaggerate.
- Shameless plug for my Twitter account @bookmarkedone again, because I’m lonely over there and don’t know how to get the word out that I will write reviews for free books, because free books! Who’s the real winner here?
- Draw your own conclusions about the mangoes. If it leads to a good story, leave me a comment. I’ll read it.
That’s probably enough for now.

I wish you all variously good night, good morning, and good reading.

Thanks for sticking with me. There are more books and dragons to come.
On Daring to Write…despite all the voices in my head telling me not to…

September 12th, 2020

I think everyone has a small grimy goblin sitting in the back of their head saying all the things we shouldn’t dare to do.

Well. At least, that’s the way it seems.

Mine is particularly vocal. And I hate it with a passion that is not to be denied.

Most people would say caution is a good thing. Knowing what you are and what you can safely do. No bumps, broken bones, or accidents. You avoid saying the wrong thing if you say nothing at all.

Caution is not particularly helpful when trying to write. In this post alone, I’ve probably deleted as many lines as I’ve left typed. Why is it that I have to feel I’ll break if my characters fall? Is it because I think I really am flying with them as the pages dance by?

Or is it from all the criticism I hear of books that seemed alright, but somehow gained, I don’t know–an antifandom? of people who hate the story to its core. What about the books that are simply ignored? Not good enough to warrant a second look? What about the books, so delicate, so innocuous, that bring so many subtle, terrible things to life, poison minds, and send the good things in the world crashing to the ground?

All because of the smallest little words?

Books can do that. It isn’t even all they can do.

It’s quite paralyzing, really.

So I don’t write. For all the little reasons. I say tomorrow will be better and set my titanic drafts aside. Procrastinate. Later. It’s just a waste of time to sit with fingers poised over black keys, not typing a single word. It really is.

I don’t try to give writing advice. I don’t know if what I do works for anyone else because I’m only myself. But I know what I have to do when this happens.

Lie to myself. At first. Don’t misunderstand. Writing is all about telling yourself stories, after all.

So I don’t write. I indulge the bad TV-chocolate-hot tea-good book-new movie-no blogging-unhealthy lifestyle habit. And behind the lie, the rest of my brain is still awake, watching for the slightest glimmer of something in my ordinary life that might spark an adventure. A story.

I have to remember how much writing feels like flying before I can forget about the fall. I have to remember that I still am head over heels in love with what I do before I can take that first step into empty air and make something new.

And then I can forget about who might one day be watching my every word. I can sit down at my laptop, take a deep breath, imagine where I’m going,

and just

write.
Reading Update: June 26, 2020

June 26th, 2020

It’s reading season.

Every summer, when I got off from school, the first thing in order was a trip to the library. I waited every year for the summer reading programs. Not for the prizes or for many of the events, though I won and went to a few. I lived for the challenge. How many books could I read in a summer? How fast could I have their little challenge done? Reading was one thing I was good at. And I did it over and over again.

When I got home, it would be toting a giant canvas bag with my family’s books all jumbled together. Sometimes two bags. I would sort mine out on the living room floor and then stack them in the order they had to be read (with some concessions as to size). Everyone laughed at me, and my little tower of books. But I read them. One after the other, after the other, letting them carry me away.

I think about my summers in terms of the books I’ve read. There was the long, beautiful summer of The Lord of the Rings. One sublime memory that lingered until Christmas, when I was hunched reading The Silmarillion in an office, next to someone’s glittering tree, oft-clutched bookbag at my feet. Perfect for hiding behind, really.

There was the summer shortly after that of The Invention of Hugo Cabret and Gregor the Overlander. Hardly a comparison between the two. But that summer, same as always, I had a stack of books with me wherever I went.

Right before I went to college, I was reading the final installments of Story Thieves and the entire volume of collected Grimm’s fairytales. Yeah. The entire thing. In some social circles, that’s a badge of honor. In others, proof of lunacy. And sometimes, it’s both. But it was all I could do not to laugh aloud when the other girls I was rooming with during university registration trooped into the dorm that night to find me already sitting up in bed, proper librarian glasses on my nose, and a giant, fat book of Grimm’s fairytales on my lap. Permitting me to ignore almost all the noise they made.

Perhaps I was a little rude then. At least I introduced myself with a proper reputation.

Long before those three summers, I was at a baseball field, completely disinterested in observing the practice going on, most likely having abandoned my shoes, buried in Small Persons with Wings. That was more a morbid fascination than anything else–certainly not a favorite fairy book. Yet it’s an indelible summer memory, to this day.

I still remember ages ago now reading the last few translated books of The Door to Time series on a front porch swing, arguing with my cat about how it was perfectly fine if she wanted to sit with me, but she did have to stop laying on the book so I could read. She was sometimes jealous when I would pay more attention to the pages than her, and it was a lengthy conversation. I really couldn’t tell you who won. I don’t think I went inside until I finished the book.

The summer of The Thief Lord and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and The Fog Diver. The summer I read the first half of Reckless. The summer I read Floors because I needed a laugh–maybe the same year I read Reckless again. The May I toted a sturdy, gilded-brown cover copy of The 1001 Arabian Nights and The Golden Braid into a university awards ceremony because I wasn’t the one being decorated this time and I had been to far too many high school graduations I couldn’t escape to come unprepared and be bored. The summer I smuggled Prince Caspian into the sporting arena and failed in my early days as a child stealth artist and had to “watch the game” with everyone else.

Don’t worry. I’ve improved incrementally since then.

My life is full of books.

I haven’t been to the library this summer. I don’t know if I will make it there before it’s done. I still have shelves crammed full with tomes from the Epic Library Sales, whispering to me like the voices of Inkheart. Telling me of good things. Dangerous things. Ordinary, bewildering, bookish, yes, sometimes dull. That’s a chance you take when you pick up a book. They aren’t all made of dragon fire and fairy lace.

But summers are for books.

I haven’t found one to make this year quite special yet. To remember it by.

So I wonder.

What book will lure me away next?

I hope it will be a very good adventure.
Writing–so very worth it in the end

April 23rd, 2020

So about four months ago, I submitted another short story to the Writers of the Future Contest. Urban fantasy. New York. Tabby cat. Ink and glass. The usual works.

And as always, I went through the same phases of “submit-a-story-trauma.”

Feel free to read the gibbering little blog post on it…or let be enough to say that by the time I submitted a story this quarter, just few weeks ago, I was absolutely certain the urban fantasy story was a steaming pile of garbage that needed a massive rewrite and probably incorporation into the novel it was planned for rather than going it alone as a story. Not to mention the fact that I’d heard nothing from the contest–not even the usual “Sorry, better luck next time.”

I really thought they hated it.

Except…I was wrong.

Tuesday I got the email…my story got an honorable mention.

Brainfreeze is the wrong word. Brainblob or “who do what now?” are probably more accurate.

Having gotten honorable mentions before or not, this did not compute.

No way.

I spent almost ten minutes rifling through computer files to make absolutely certain it was the story I was thinking of. The one that I hit submit for only because I’d actually finished it and why not?

Yup, that was the one.

Reaction?

Stared at the ceiling.

Ran around my house for a while. Did not cry from sheer disbelief atop stressful life situations (don’t judge). Spoke in fragmented two and three word sentences trying to articulate to a loved one exactly what had just happened. Seriously, anyone who says writers are good with words should try talking to one for longer than 60 seconds. Fortunately, my loved ones are (mostly) used to me by now. Interpretation didn’t take long.

And now?

Now I’m still shaking my head a little that they liked the story. Hoping everybody (me included) takes this as one more reason to defy the terror attached with smacking the button for “submit.”

Editing a little of the very first story I ever submitted to WOTF (and literally haven’t touched since 2016 because I thought it was a lost cause) while listening to Oonagh’s beautiful “Zauberwald.” The two seem to belong together.

But for right now…

I’m taking the afternoon off. I think I’ve had enough pressure on myself the last couple of weeks, and no deadlines are threatening doom over my head. So I’m going to take a deep breath. See what it feels like. Waste some time, even.

Worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.

Until then.
Pitchapalooza!/Writing Update

March 14th, 2020

Today was the day!

Twenty books randomly chosen from National November Writing Month participants were pitched to The Book Doctors. In a live video stream, those twenty lucky pitches are reviewed, and two of those have a chance to be sent to an official publisher.

Was I ready for this?

Was I waiting two hours early for the video to go live?

Erm…yeah. Actually, probably earlier than that.

Did the pitch for my messy little collection of fantasy short stories get randomly picked for review?

Well…no. Not this time. That’s how random odds go.

(small sigh).

But I did get to enjoy the reaction of someone else whose pitch got picked in live chat (congratulations, everybody!). The critiques offered were useful for everyone, regardless of whose pitch it was–and the Book Doctors were very sensitive and kind about all the books.

And if we’re totally honest…I wasn’t super worried about it. The pitch was something I sent off for fun.

Because if it had actually won, right now I’d be staring at the bare bone structure I dared to call a novel and start charging into the battlefield of editing with the war cry of not ready not ready not ready!

Wasn’t time for that book yet. Especially since my attention writing-wise is elsewhere aat the moment. And that’s just fine.

What am I doing now?

Writing. Scribbling away at my 410,000 word work-in-progress. Sometimes feeling like I’m actually making progress. Waiting for my Writers of the Future results to come this month. Feeling like a lazy cat curled up in my reading nook.

It’s not a bad way to spend a day.

Happy reading (and writing) all!
Writing Update: March 3, 2020

March 3rd, 2020

Writing Status: Unblocked, but at the most inconvenient times.

Why is it we have our most brilliant ideas when we have no pens? Or paper? Or are trying to study/work/are being observed by the more sane non-writerly portion of the population (is “more sane” even the right term for that)?

I shouldn’t have dazzling ideas during midterms.

Blah.

Last week was also the deadline for Pitchapalooza through NaNoWriMo. In short, I scribbled up a half-intelligible explanation of my (not at all polished) rough draft of the 60,000-odd word novel from last November, made myself sound like the New York Times Bestselling Author I am most certainly not, and hoped it got to be one of the 20 random book pitches chosen for review in two weeks.

The site can explain the logistics far better than I could.

But since the top 20 are chosen randomly, my odd, too-academic snobbery-sounding collection of short stories might have a chance.

Pasted it. Hit send.

That done, I stumbled across a random book called The Shadow of the Bear, read the shortest snippet, and caught wind of an idea.

Plunged back into my fictional version of wizardly New York, typed like a twenty-fingered madwoman for several hours while listening to the same fantasy song on repeat.

New character. New gaps in the ever-tangling timeline. New magical theories. Two deserted buildings. One quarter cup of pyrotechnics. Handful of existential theories of literature and philology folded into the batter. Stirred just until consistency is smooth.

Remembered I have a midterm exam in two days. Studied…

…and went back to writing.

This does not constitute advice.

If I sound distracted and breathless…it’s probably because I am. I tend to hit the ground running these days and hope somewhere along the way I’ll sprout wings.

But if writing is flying,

then I am already the happiest of Never-birds.
Writing Update: February 19, 2020…

February 19th, 2020
And various thoughts on books, protagonist immunity, and red thumbdrives

Writing Status: …unblocked?

I sort of hesitate to say this, but my slump from last week seems to have gone away. I am typing furiously again. And have no idea what I’m doing. But that doesn’t matter at this moment. I’m just slapping words on the page in every which direction they fit to see if they like it there.

Can you tell I have a monstrous adventure editing my stories?

I have been trying to organize myself this week…pasting every part of my work-in-progress in a clean, new document, untweaking the tangles in the timeline, making sure all the chapters have headings, finding chapters I’d forgotten almost entirely…and the work-in-progress has jumped to over 396,000 words. With headings and contents and everything.

Less thinking about that, the better.

Also got a giant red thumbdrive to finally back up all my work on so I can stop having mini panic attacks for storing literally everything in one place.

That scares me just typing that.

Other stuff?

…I have a cold.

Nothing unusual there! It’s the season, I stay too busy, yes, I had a wise mother who warned me I should have worn a thicker sweater when going outside with the Vikings to play over the weekend…

…um…yeah, my life is strange…(clears throat and hides behind mug of tea).

So in addition to lamenting the lack of tissues in my home, drinking tea from a gigantic green mug (far too much tea! I can’t seem to stop with this cold), and wishing I had a little cozy-warm dragon on my shoulder…I have been reminiscing over the lack of characters in books with colds.

Seriously though…

I read a lot, but I could only think of one! Plenty of characters come to mind–
- Kvothe, The Name of the Wind, gets horribly sick from staying outside in the snow of Tarbean,
- Colin, The Secret Garden, an invalid,
- Same author, different book, Mr. Tom Carrisford and Captain Crewe, A Little Princess,
- Oliver, Oliver Twist, he was sick often enough regardless of being shot if I remember correctly,
- everyone in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes who suddenly was stricken with “brain fever,”
- various characters in my ill-organized scribblings,
None of these get common colds. It’s always something more dramatic (fever, bullet, death, anemia, revolt of magic system), and usually just clearly a device of plot.

The one exception?

Conn from Sarah Prineas’ The Magic Thief series. An ordinary, miserable, inconvenient cold smack in the middle of the adventure.

So kudos to Sarah Prineas for being willing to render her characters uncomfortable for the sake of reality. As if we didn’t love her books enough already.

Anyway.

Off with me to go throw tissues at one of my protagonists for being too snarky again.

And yes, probably another mug of tea.
Writing Update: February 15, 2020

February 15th, 2020

Writing Status: …uncertain.

Have you ever been in that place where you don’t have writer’s block–and you also still have writer’s block?

I come here every so often. The stories are still buzzing in the back of my head, but every time I try to sit down to write something…pif, they’re gone. Or I still have the ideas (nymphs, fantasy cultures, deserts, mountainsides, drinking bitter immortality tea, the smell of red trees, warm fire, sandy breeze, enchanted archery…), I just can’t figure out how they fit together. They feel wrong on the paper.

A lot of reasons for this–my “inner editor” is wide-awake and apparently caffeinated (where did she get coffee? I don’t even…) making me think everything sounds like damp cardboard, I haven’t read anything lately inspiring me to greatness, I’m tired enough not to be thinking clearly, I have no motivation, I am hampered by timelines…

Ah, timelines. My ultimate nemesis. Beyond any villain, character trope, or plot hole. Especially difficult when my favorite work-in-progress is over 270,000 words.

Yeah. Don’t ask.

Last week was better. Ideas were on paper again, slipping out, falling neatly into place. New adventures. New places to explore. Happily worldbuilding like a child flopped on the floor with a pile of colored blocks.

I know I’ll be back in that spot soon. I just need to take a deep breath and wait until then. Writing. Or not. Listening. Wondering what adventures my characters are on so far away that I can’t see them. If they’ll come bearing stories when they get back.

Something.
Writing Update: December 24, 2019

December 24th, 2019

Writing Status: Happily Unblocked

Finished a first draft of a short story yesterday. Now it’s down to picking apart little details. Figuring out just what I want to do with the magic system, and if it makes sense to anyone except me. And dwelling on it as if I’m living inside it. Adding the gooey details. Like the ghosts of raindrops and peanut brittle.

Yes, peanut brittle. It’s modern-day fantasy. I can do what I want.

You didn’t think I’d stop writing during Christmas, did you?

Impossible.

And of course sometime I have to find the nerve to submit it to the contest I intended it for (in six days). I don’t normally have qualms about submissions if I know the story’s finished…but this one is…sensitive. It’s part of a larger story I’ve been working on for a while. One that I’ve talked about but haven’t actually shown anyone a word of yet.

Hence the trepidation.

Reading Update:

Still contentedly dwelling inside The Runaway King’s pages. It took me a little longer to warm up to this one, but I suspect Nielsen just holds the good parts of her stories back. Like dessert. Must come last. Unless, you know, no one else is looking.

Also took a brief foray into the graphic narrative world…which doesn’t happen that often.

I have an artist in my family. Picked up the book, The Courageous Princess, for her, because it seemed to be a style she’d like…and hedgehogs.

But then it was in the house, and I was bored…so…it seemed the two of us should be together.

And hedgehogs. Mostly hedgehogs.

I’m debating doing a review on it since I’ve only read the middle book of the three. But what I did read was enjoyable (despite my loyalty to novels as novels and not pictures…no offense). The author clearly did some research as far as the old Grimm’s fairytales–of course there’s the dragon-princess-champion-villain combination we all know, but the addition of the Grimm’s heroic companions who could see almost endlessly, walk leagues in a step, hear things far away–not to mention toying with some 1001 Nights myths for the sake of nobility’s genealogy…well, there’s a way to charm fairytale nerds, and appealing to lesser-known stories is it.

And hedgehogs. I did mention hedgehogs, right?

Anyway.

Happy Christmas, everyone. I hope you all have some time to curl up by the fire with a cup of cocoa and a good book.

Tag: writing update

NaNoWriMo!

My NaNo project is on its way…somewhere.

But wait! Why can’t you hear about it now? Who cares that it’s in process?

On the other hand…

That brings us to the end of December. But that’s not all, oh no.

Right. So frankly, I’m exhausted.

Writing Status: Unblocked, but at the most inconvenient times.

Writing Status: …unblocked?

Other stuff?

Seriously though…

The one exception?

Writing Status: …uncertain.

Writing Status: Happily Unblocked

Reading Update: