Going in the Tank

I'd like to write two novels a year, and I think its an attainable goal. I wrote my first in six months (including the 10 week resting period between 1st and 2nd drafts) and didn't feel rushed at all. Of course while writing it I worked full time. I did, however, give up going to the gym. I just couldn't juggle all three. (When I go to the gym, I get sucked in. I'm there for 3 hours, and with driving and showering, that's 4 hours. Hopefully with summer here I can do smaller workouts around the house. You can tell the book was my baby...I look a little pregnant from the pounds I put on making it.)

So tomorrow marks six months from when I started writing A Monstrous War. It's time to start the second one.

Except I cheated, it's already being written.

Firstly, I know where the characters are going (development and geography) and what happens (including the ending, can't stress that enough). I have pages and pages of outline and notes. These are a haphazard blend of plot points, conversations, and little world building nuggets. I built it slowly. As I wrote the first one, I had the outline for the second one open (and the third to be honest), and whenever something didn't fit into the first (the first is a lean machine, baby), I'd toss it in the second. Of course, the second runs on all cylinders, so if it mucks up the engine, it gets tossed again.

Secondly...

Okay, so I told myself that I was going to take a break, as to not burn myself out. But the day after I had printed the (ugly) first draft for the chosen reviewers, I was drying the dishes and POW, the first sentence of the second book came into my head.

[Quick aside. I think first sentences are very important, as are last sentences. They don't have to be a bolt of inspiration - you can craft them - but they have to be solid. I felt a tremendous pressure for the first sentence of my first novel to be great. And I rather like it.]

I set down my dishes and ran to the laptop. I was just going to jot down what was in my head and stop when the tank ran out. I had moved my table to the living room and wrote looking at the Christmas tree. It was quite the little moment.

5,000 words later I had written two rather kick ass chapters. The next day I got up and wrote 4,000 more that were also solid. And it moved at a sick pace, giving answers, character development, and my first romance type scene ever (which I am strangely happy with, future blog post noted). Its everything a publisher wants in the first 50 pages. Too bad I had a write a whole first book to set them up.

The next day I wrote the worst 1,000 words of my life (and I'm counting the story I wrote in 7th grade that was a cross between Batman and King Arthur. At least that had honest energy). It was painful. I tried to gut it out to 2,000 words, but I realized that I was going to delete those 1,000 one day anyway. I got up from the laptop and said DONE and walked away from drafting for four months. Don't get me wrong, if lightning struck, I'd sit down and bottle it, but I wasn't making it.

And when you don't try to make it, good luck folks.

Lastly, it's been "cooking" in my head. I'm a slow stewer. That's my process...things just drift around, connections form, and a feeling builds. I guess that feeling is close to tone, or maybe style. Sometimes I get the two confused (not formally trained here people).

So tomorrow (by that I mean Sunday...night person.) it's back to 2,000 words a day. And I have to tell you, I'm looking forward to it. I've been missing the process. It's weird, I don't love it when its happening. Let me be honest and say I don't sit there with a huge grin on my face, slamming keys like Dracula at a pipe organ. It runs the gambit, from airy inspiration to a dry grind. But every time I get up from the chair I feel great.

What happens to this blog?

It becomes a day by day log of how the draft is going. I'm going to try to keep it short (take grain of salt now).

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go delete 1,000 words.