Traveling Writers

It's a bit of an exciting time in our little writer's group. Everyone's made travel plans for various destinations (Europe! Islands! Massive Road Trip!) for the coming months. 

In true writer fashion, we all have different travel techniques. Pantser - very little planned, take each travel day as it comes. Planner - Every.single.detail.under.review. And of course, the fence-sitter of them all - the hybrid. A mix of planning and go with the flow, having a decent framework to depend on and running amok around it. 

Whether it's writing or planning a trip, when I get bogged down in details or when I'm struggling to work out a logistical issue, I've found it really helps me to go off-screen. Pen to paper, having pages to move around and scribble on helps me when I just can't figure something out. 

Doing this made my trip possible, despite of/in addition to plenty of well meaning travel apps. I broke down and tried it out when I just couldn't figure out an important plot point writing-wise recently as well. A nerve-wracking conversation (man, I still feel like an idiot discussing anything I'm writing with anyone) followed by a quick dissection of the problem, pertinent info and a piece of paper and voila - a workable bit of something to get back into the sandbox with. 

What have I learned?

When I finished writing my first manuscript, it didn't occur to me that it would take so ridiculously long for me to repeat such a feat. Hell, I could probably start knocking two or three of these out a year. 

Ugh. Just... ugh. 

Because in reality, I probably could have. Or at least one a year. You get the idea. Explanations, excuses, blah blah blah. But I didn't. Regardless of reasons, I didn't. That's the bottom line. 

So now I find myself nearing a wrapping up point on my first large-scale world building exercise. Otherwise known as the on-again-off-again project I've been working on for the past few years. 

And this is so much less smoothly done as the first go 'round at writing a book start to finish, even ignoring the time spent on it. Because my first manuscript? Written in less than a year - probably a matter of months. I've already mentioned how long I've been working on this patchwork mess. 

The first time, I learned I could do this. I could follow an idea through from blank page to The End. An important lesson to quell the nagging voices in the back of my head that I could not. Commercially viable or locked forever away, it was possible. But it was possible mostly in a vacuum. The demands on my time then were such that I could literally write all night, sleep during the morning and get up in the afternoon to handle whatever daily life needed to be attended before returning back to my private space for another writing marathon. 

I need a cigarette just thinking about it, and I don't even smoke.

The first time around, a much more straightforward and less fantastical story was written in simple linear, streamlined order without having to worry too much. This time? About halfway through I realized I'd left out an important theme. And despite a good friend's suggestion that there are no accidents, this leaves a gaping hole that must be addressed in rewrites. 

And that's okay. Or I realized it was after the initial WHAT-HAVE-I-DONE panic subsided. 

Because perhaps the overriding message I'll end up taking away from this writing experience (after relearning I can still do this) is damage control - or more nicely put - how to keep going when it's gone off the rails. 

And world building? I suspect with a decent rewrite period and solid edits, won't come across as nail biting as it felt fleshing out at the time. Which is another great reminder - it all sucks to begin with anyway. Unless you've written 50 published novels (or maybe this persists anyway), it all starts out as something that needs to be refined and edited to get it polished. There may be writers out there who get it right the first time, but I'm okay not being one of them. Or rather, I'm making my peace with it.

I had a bit of an artistic meltdown last night, crippling doubt over capability, quality, and the like. My husband, not exactly known for his empathetic skills, rose to the occasion as I confessed that there isn't anything special about me. 

"Of course there is."

"You think I'm special because I take care of you. It's not the same."

He stared at me silently for some time, which generally means he doesn't really have anything else to add to the conversation. To my surprise this was not the case.

"I know you're special. You are not a little fish in a big pond like you think."

"You're just saying that because you dream of me being a bestseller so you can be a kept man." This is a running joke as old as our marriage. 

"That's not it. I know you're special. All the people you've known in your adult life have made you feel like a small fish because of their issues. You may not be the big fish in your writing right now, but it's coming. I know it."

What else have I learned? That my husband is long overdue for me to bake him his favorite cookie. And that he's pretty damned awesome. I knew that anyway, but it's a hell of a reminder.

I already knew I was needy, so there's no big reveal there. By default, most writers tend to be. Some of us just try to keep quiet about it to give the illusion of being collected. Or because I'm embarrassed. 

I continue to learn that I still have work to do. I'm not at a point where I can just regurgitate what's in my brain up and onto the page with little muss or fuss. Or angst. 

And now that I'm nearing the end of this first world building business, I think it's time to try reading a few book series that take world building and turn them into 1,000 page monsters a piece. Because I just know that I've got something a little bit bigger, a little bit grander than the typical 300-ish page books lurking deep within me. Don't get me wrong, I've got more of those in my depths that I could tackle. But I also have a wild hair pushing me to get into something completely engulfing. 

 

The Journey of Characters

A positive for me as a lifelong reader is that I'm ahead of my reading goal for the year. If you just read 'reading goal' with an eye roll, I thought it that way myself. This is my second year with some kind of arbitrary goal, brought up by the site Goodreads. My goal so far is to aim for a minimum of two to three new-to-me books a month and I'm already on book 26 for the year. 

Before I added my 26th book to my currently reading list, my attention caught on a review for a book I'd read several years ago - the first entry of an urban fantasy series. I am doing a quick reread of the series in preparation of reading the four most recently published books (which are new-to-me). The reviewer gave the book two stars and complained about how much she disliked the heroine. 

I wasn't bothered by the rating or review, but I was struck by the reason she disliked the character as a kind of vital reason that character existed, at least to my analysis. In a potentially gritty and action packed world, a pretty girl with low general life ambition maybe doesn't have the best life expectancy. And yet as the first book (and then series) progresses, you experience her evolution. A hero's journey. 

My second thought from this character-based dislike is that this kind of character, in my humble way of thinking, tends to act as the safe gateway for 'regular' people to find themselves suspending disbelief and more fully immersing themselves in the story. A flawed guide who makes stumbling into a strange world perfectly accessible. Why yes, I'd puke my last three lunches up if I saw a man's face get eaten in an alley, too.

I'm all for warrior queens (or any variation of strong female characters), and yeah aimless characters who just get by tend not to do it for me in general - except there is an entire drive to want to see how people, how characters, evolve into what they're capable of. If you're writing off the character who cries over cutting her perfect blonde hair (and believe me, if that's the extent of the emotional depth I'm out, too) then you're probably going to miss her disemboweling a creature and feasting on it's wriggling flesh to heal a mortal wound. Or...something. 

The reviewer's complaints were all totally valid. I didn't much like this character either. At first. If she lamented about her matching outfit and lip gloss one more time I was going to lose it. But it didn't last. Her life becomes a series of thresholds that change everything about herself. What a shame the reviewer didn't take the journey to see that girls with pretty pink nail polish and white capri pants and sandals can become more. That anyone can become more. 

It's a process

I mock commercials. Or I did, back in the day before the glorious addition of the DVR to my life. One in particular comes to mind at the moment, for my candy-drug of choice, about there not being a wrong way to eat it. I disagreed. I still do. Because if you're trying to peel off the top and bottom coating first, you're the kind of person I don't need to associate with in life.

And then there's writing. Everybody and their mother's cousin's uncle's college roommate is only too ready to tell you what you're doing wrong. And how to fix it. Usually for a low, low price. Sometimes just for the satisfaction of being 'right'. 

So what does that make us?

I've bitched and moaned lamented about this ad nauseam before. Opinions are like assholes and the world of writing is no exception to this. 

So there's an inherent... shall I say... danger in asking questions related to your personal writing process. Which is why it's nice, vital even, to carefully accumulate good people to bounce these thoughts and queries off of. Because there is equal danger in being so closed off that you never entertain any new-to-you thoughts. This is not the time/place for a philosophical/self-help discussion about how sometimes you have to block everything external out and just do you. So I move forward with the idea that this is specific to the thought in my mind at the moment. 

The thought bubble over my head about writing of late is what I'm calling layering. Rather like the layers of animation cells animators (at least in the old days) use to flesh out scenes and character actions. 

See, I've got this manuscript. And I'm a fair chunk into this. Character development. Interpersonal stuffs. Dialogue. Some action. Some foreshadowing. But I've left some important stuff out that I kind of need to start addressing. That's needed to move forward. 

I get caught up in my characters when I dive into a project. Who they are. How they think. How they speak. How they interact. How they would approach this or that. And what I'm working on in this particular piece, is the kind of grand epic, an immersive fantasy/horror world that I've always wanted to tackle. But I've been so distracted by getting this collection of characters just so and exploring particular situations that need to happen (until the culling that is editing happens) that I've neglected other areas that I need to start tackling. I mean, if your goal is to write a swashbuckling tale of pirates navigating the globe but after 150 pages everyone is landlocked with no voyage in sight, you may have gotten a little carried away and lost sight of your outline. You may also have ended up writing a different kind of book, but that's neither here nor there. 

And this thought overwhelmed me a bit at first. Like, how do I go back and enrich this landscape, to restructure the world-building? How do I add in what I was oblivious to being missing in the first place?

Layers, I thought. I brainstorm on what's missing and is needed to ultimately move forward. I dump a veritable shit-ton of sand in the box and start digging away. Again. I go back later on and weave in (because, *groan* I've got to edit it anyway) and then onward to where our intrepid heroes or victims were left off and take up as though this nonsense was always there.

And when I realize I missed another part of what goes into this kind of larger scale storytelling, I'll go back and add another layer. Then repeat.

Tell me something I don't know.

Checkmark

When our new dog arrived home after what felt like forever (more like a 2 month wait), my life as I knew it kind of went on hiatus.

A running, pooping, peeing, chewing machine cute enough to inspire spasms of cuddles was on the loose. And yes, training, but it takes time.

The exhaustion between the new dog and my mom neared critical tipping points. Non-essential brain functions turned off. Several essential ones turned off as well. Creativity is kind of vital to my brain and that was firmly walled off.

And then after about a month, it busted open and demanded attention. Sporadically. But still. A scene, separate of anything I had been working on, came to mind. A writing exercise of sorts. Short, (hopefully) quick.

Two  months later, (like I said, sporadically) I finished it. The rough, rough draft. Which I have less than zero interest in revisiting, let alone revising. But I finished it. A small victory, progress, completion, in the face of domestic (small-scale) chaos. A completed project in the history of mostly unfinished writing projects.

I'm not shooting off fireworks about this. I'm not making myself a cake. But I will take a few moments to appreciate the act of finishing this little piece. And then build on it. Get back to something a little longer and then finish that. And then get back to one of my long-running novel projects and hopefully finish a draft of that.

While on hiatus, during those random moments when exhaustion would claim the fuzzy creature, I made my way through the original 2 seasons of Twin Peaks.

I've heard about this show for what seems like forever. It was a little out of my league when it came out, owing to the fact that I was still in elementary school when it first aired. In light of the the show being brought back for a limited run, I was able to finally catch up and see what all the fuss was about.

Whatever else I would have said about this show now takes a backseat to what was my greatest find:

Pre-X-files David Duchovny.

I've got the last episode of the second season to watch and then I make my way to the current stuff.

Catching Up & Off to the (Writing) Races

I've been a little empty on the blogging inspiration side of writing this month. Which means my brain's been a little happy on the fiction side of things - so I'm not displeased. 

It's the end of March and I think I can safely declare my personal bullet journal experiment a solid 'enh' experience. I found myself playing catch up and filling in my daily to-dos after the fact, which is obviously hardly the point. However in fairness, trying to follow through and just seeing the brightly colored notebook on my nightstand helps to remind me of things I want to accomplish outside of daily shit-that-must-be-done. This rating of 'enh' is staunchly attributed to me, myself & I and I don't necessarily think it's not a great idea for other people. And at this point I'm glad I kept myself grounded and invested a Christmas gift card in the journal itself and didn't get all happy with special tapes, pens and the like that so many others suggest. I'll probably still try to give it a go for the next few months, but my expectations continue to be comfortably low. I may end up using half the pages in the thing for working on my A to Z blogging ideas anyway. 

April ushers in a potentially hectic writing time (for some). Last year I joined in a strange phenomenon called A to Z blogging, a letter a day (except for Sundays) to create a blog post. To my surprise, I stuck with it and saw it through to the end. So I think I'll tempt fate again and give it a second try. 

A to Z Blogging Challenge

And for those of you feeling bereft at NaNoWriMo being over, April 1 kicks off the first of two Camp NaNos (July being the second). Now I have not had mind blowing results from this less structured version of National Novel Writing Month (there is an argument that I don't have mind blowing results from NaNoWriMo either, but that's irrelevant here). I do like the idea of an invisible deadline to aim for to pad your word count on the project of your choice. I gave it a whirl last summer and didn't see much in the way of anything that kept me motivated to write more than I ordinarily would. I'm not exactly enticed to give this a go this time around, but if you're curious about what all this NaNo-this and NaNo-that is all about, here's a few links for you:

National Novel Writing Month

Camp NaNoWriMo

 

Tired

At the beginning of this year one of our local library branches announced 2 writing contests. My caustic cohorts merry band of writing friends decided to all submit a story for the second contest after one among us entered and earned an honorable mention in the first contest.

And it was all fun and games (which really boils down to snark) until I received the email that I'd gotten an honorable mention this time around.

Incidentally, my friend placed this time around and one day will be a Pulitzer prize winner, which is not currently relevant beyond my need to remind this person to write more. *cough*

I now, with literally a few days' notice, am to present myself in a library multi-purpose room and read the story I wrote. Aloud. In front of other people.

Instead of quietly rehearsing in my own private hell, I'm having to manage my mom completely coming undone. All because of the fact I'm getting a little paper certificate.

God help me, when I got the email notifying me I was at my desk with my mother hovering nearby. I was startled to see "Congratulations" in the body of the email and didn't think quick enough to take the proper precautions. Which means, as a general rule, keep my mouth shut until whoever I'd tell is in a more private area. And in an instant my mother knew. And demanded to attend the small award ceremony.

When I was little and would have school events and award ceremonies I never hesitated to want my mom to attend. She was, as far as I could see, perfectly together and didn't do anything weird. And at the time, social anxiety aside, she was a perfectly doting mother. Once I was a teenager and had finally witnessed her have a full breakdown, once her meds had been adjusting I still didn't have a second thought to her attending stuff.

We've crossed a bit of a burning bridge at this point though. And while I took a day to consider that she's on a new medicine and has seemingly had less problems as the week progressed (the amount of time she's been on this new medicine), today happened. Full meltdown where she all but told me I was a horrific mistake that never should have been born - or at least a really shitty daughter who has failed her miserably. The best part was when she started spitting out favorite sayings her predatory father apparently used to say. Nothing dirty, just sayings along the lines of 'right as rain' or 'more than one way to skin a cat'. I also enjoyed her shrieking swear words at me, telling me what a potty mouth I have.

If only.

Mom later told me her outburst was because she was overtired and NOT because the topic of the award ceremony and my story came up 15 seconds before it started.

I'm tired, folks. It's suddenly the night before what I hope is a quick and relatively painless event and I'd rather skip it and take a nap. Or drink a pitcher of margaritas. Or doze on a gently rocking boat with a paperback resting on my chest and a floppy hat covering my eyes.

I've noticed a pattern to my writing over the last year and change. When I'm sucked into creative work to the point of obliviousness to everything else, my blog doesn't just take a back seat, it gets stuffed into a crate and shoved in the trunk. But when I'm struggling with the creative side, I can ramble on (and have) for days with blog posts. The same goes for writing in my journal. Nothing of any substance or wit, but a surrogate pressure valve release nonetheless.

Right now? Creative obsessiveness is on the incline. But here I sit awkwardly hurling words at the screen to keep a semi-regular posting schedule.

Come to think of it, 'awkwardly hurling words' pretty much sums up my approach to most things - verbal or written. I may have unexpectedly stumbled across the perfect phrase for my author's bio.

Changing gears slightly, I'm now about a month in to my little bullet journal experiment. On one hand, I am now more certain that ever that except for keeping track of my older folks' stuff I am so boring I don't really need this variety of journal. On the other hand, for the busy days and weeks and important due dates and deadlines, it's been kind of helpful. Provided I keep up with it. The end of January got away from me. Obsessive writing and a lack of a whole lot to keep track of.

In terms of personal things it can help you manage in one neat, overpriced analog package, I was briefly excited to add an area of character name inspirations and a log of names I've used in the past and which stories they belong to. And then I went right back to using a note app on my phone within a week of adding this section, because it was on hand and convenient when I came across an interesting name. It's not intentional resistance here, more like I'm a creature of habit. I currently carry a small purse with the bare necessities and not a messenger bag with my whole life at my fingertips as I think some who journal the .45 caliber way do. So basically, I'm not hauling this book everywhere I go.

So a current so-so rating on the whole experience. Which is better than I expected starting out.

Satisfaction and data recovery

I've written about and plotted over dozens and dozens of characters in my life. I've been consumed each time with finding out their motivations, their stories and their ultimate outcomes. 

Or so I thought. 

One thing I never quite synced with was the idea I've heard other authors mention, the idea of the character telling them where the story should go. And I always figured maybe it was cute, author-y kind of word play for when unexpected scenarios form as you're writing and it sounds better than "I don't know where that came from but it's pretty cool." 

Or so I thought. 

Over the last week, a character appeared in my brain while working on another story and basically hijacked all parts of daily living until I focused on their creation and story. A character who is sitting would sit on my (internal) shoulder and push me past what I thought was working until they sat back in satisfaction that I was finally getting it right. 

Before you consider suggesting I should be carted off for an evaluation (which isn't necessarily a bad idea) I have to say this has been a deeply, creatively satisfying experience. And weird if I think about it too long. When I get details recorded and the outline progresses, I feel as emotionally spent as a good cry, deep conversation, or... well.

You get the idea. 

On a slightly less provocative note, I'm relieved and pleased to report that the missing 3 AM work from last week reappeared before I could expend the energy on replicating it. Like magic. Or gremlins. 

And then I found about a dozen outlines I'd done within the last year and thought lost. I went back and re-read a short story I wrote a year ago, also among these files, and wasn't embarrassed by it at all. I quite liked it, truth be told. Maybe, just maybe, I'm not a festering waste of a hack at all. Or if I am, I'm the kind I'd read. Which is a victory anyway to my way of thinking.

Dreams & Nightmares of the Creative Persuasion

It has been creativity boom town in my brain for the last few weeks. Vivid dreams that inspire new story ideas, random character inspirations throughout the day, puzzling out the beginnings of an idea and ending up with a complete outline in a matter of hours (at 3 AM no less). I have been frantically outlining, jotting down notes on just about every piece of applicable technology or in my new journal at all hours. Sleep is either super amazing or nonexistent because my brain just won't shut off.

Such is the life of a writer. At least my version.

Yesterday I had a lightning moment over a character I needed to write about and the story was then provided courtesy a dream I had over night. The droughts are a bitch in creativity, but the monsoon season is just freaking glorious.

So while I eyeball my coffee supply and check the charge on my laptop, I have to admit that in this rainy, feast season there are pitfalls and nightmares. And I'm not talking about the kind that I'd work into a story.

Hell.no.

One night last week, I went to bed super tired and ready for unconsciousness to claim me. My 2,000 mental browser tabs minimized without complaint. But then the curtains pulled back and the show began.

"Pssst."

No. Not now.

"Pssst. Hey. Just for a minute. Till you drift off..."

That's what you always say and then we're here til dawn.

"Just till you fall asleep. It's happened before..."

Okay, fine. But you'd better not have a trick up your sleeve. 

You know how this ends, right? At some point well after midnight (goodbye any semblance of sleep), I drug my butt out of bed, fired up my outlining software and proceeded to type up as much of the story breakthrough - complete with dialogue - I could.

This, aside from the horrors of sleep deprivation, is not the nightmare.

No, the nightmare came when I went back several days later only to find about half of what I'd typed up gone. Poof. Most likely because of an issue with the auto-sync feature on my desktop. The good news is I still know the basics of what's missing from an outline perspective. The irritating part is realizing that late night brain-dumping session has to be redone.

There are worse nightmares creative-type people can suffer. It's not like I lost 25 pages of pure writing magic that I can never recreate. Or a whole document. Not this time at least. And it's not like I stumbled across something I wrote 10, 15 or 20 years ago and feel compelled to see how it looks now. *shudders*

If you'll excuse me, I have that new story outline to write up, the old outline to revisit and fix, and then my current WIP to get back to.

Sand boxes and geek flags

Clearly blog posts are like anything else in life. They can't all be winners. And I have to fight the urge to delete, re-edit and what have you and just let it be.

Shoveling sand in the box. Sitting and putting words down, no matter how much I roll my eyes later, is still shoveling sand in the box.

This may explain quite a bit.

So whether it's truly vacant crap or something with honest potential, I'm trying to consider it all sand and temper the judgey voice in my head. While I'm still turning to blog posts on a regular basis, I've started diving back in to what I want to be working on. And aside from the agony and anxiety that goes into anything, it feels so good.

Patience, grasshopper, patience.

Switching gears, it's been a Netflix-heavy past week and a half. Have you seen what the television lineup is right now? Political pandering and slinging mud isn't my thing. So this election year I'm relieved to have streaming series to skirt the majority of the rabid attacks.

I have been casually making my way through Orange is the New Black. My husband started watching it just as I was beginning season 2 and a competition was born. I love my husband. And I enjoy watching shows and movies with him. What I don't like is when he's watched something first. Because, bless his heart, he's the king of spoilers.

He's not trying to be a festering carbuncle. (Sorry, honey!) He just wants to know what I'll think about a scene or a line and gets carried away. It's adorable. Really. In his own way. But it does make me want to put a few seasons between us as a buffer. I learned that after he passed me by while watching Kimmy Schmidt. It took me forever to get around to the second season, and by the time I did my husband had rounded second base and was halfway through the season I hadn't started yet.

So when he started OITNB this week, I decided to make some serious effort (Such a first world problem, Holy Pokéballs!) to get a season (or two) between us. Which is good (aside from watching much of anything rotting your brain) because I'm twitchy to get in deeper with Stranger Things. Which I cannot do until I'm done with OITNB for twitchy-itchy brain reasons. Ugh! Dear everyone making compelling shows, I hate the time suck but the entertainment value! Ugh, again. (P.S. Stranger Things is darkly delicious - what I've seen of it.)

Moving on...

I feel safe in saying that throughout my life I've carried both the nerd and geek flags. I haven't been a rabid fangirl (A relatively new term for my lifetime) since boy bands, immortal Scottish men, Mr. Medicine Woman, Seaquest and the like were riding high. And by riding high, I mean causing my laser focus to twitch (which may be a post for another time). I get a kick out of my own niece's fangirling as she's become an encyclopedia on a plethora of fandoms.

I am an equal fan of Star Wars and Star Trek. *Pauses to allow the internet to put itself back together again.* I grew up in a time when you had to wait *gasp* until Star Wars aired on tv to see it again. We didn't own a VCR until the end of the 80's. The struggle isn't waiting for your video to finish buffering from on-demand. The struggle was hoping your local video store wasn't out of both rental units AND the movie you wanted to see.

I've lived in a world before AND after Blockbuster. 

Also? Cassette decks. The meme both worked for my point and annoyed me. Now I'm distracted thinking about how much more difficult cassette tapes were to transport around than compact discs. See? Old AND cranky. Now get off my lawn!

Anyway...

Unlike the potential wait (and weekend usurping glory of a back-to-back movie marathon) of watching Star Wars, Star Trek: The Next Generation (TNG, thank you very much) was a regularly airing series when I was growing up. And I loved it. Science fiction. Travel. Riker. Empathetic and smart female. (Who had a thing with Riker.) A female doctor. The brilliant glory that is Jean Luc Picard. People of just about any and all backgrounds having adventures for my weekly entertainment satisfaction. Yes, please.

Now, could I tell you the kind of details that hardcore fans can? Absolutely not. And I know this because I have friends who are hardcore fans. The kind of guys (yes, mostly guys) who worked hard to get me interested in engineering, ship schematics and introduced me to some of the backbone of intensive science fiction writing. And yes, all most of them own Star Trek uniforms. And yes, I mean that as uniformS, plural.

I have watched all the series, some better than others, up to the first season of Enterprise. (If that means absolutely nothing to you, don't worry about it.) I have not watched the original collection of movies. I don't know, maybe Shatner doesn't do it for me on the big screen, maybe I can only picture Ricardo Montalbán in Fantasy Island, maybe my Saturday nights were too full with Dr Quinn, SNL and cookies and cream ice cream. Who can say?

When the reboots started a few years ago, I was intrigued. Casting seemed sound & I was well versed with Mr. Abrams' work to date. I feel this is where I need to point out a simple fact. My husband? Doesn't particularly give two shits about Star Trek. He's got nothing against it necessarily, but the overall franchise doesn't do anything for him either. At least not anymore. I feel like he may have led me to believe he liked Voyager or Deep Space Nine when we were dating, but was ultimately ambivalent once we were married. A classic complaint in marriage, no? "He used to talk sci-fi with me, then once we were married, it's all action movies and rom-coms." You get it, I just know it.

So while my husband is a movie fan, he wasn't compelled to see the new Star Trek. So I picked up a copy once it came out on video (ahem, dvd), put it on the shelf and forgot to watch it. Second movie came out, I figured it would show up on cable, forgot about it. I really am a lackluster fandom supporter. Third time, however, was the charm. This weekend I finally watched Star Trek, lamenting the loss of Leonard Nimoy once more.

I enjoyed it. Good, not great. Pleasing to look at (the cast is obscenely photogenic). ST #2 is cued up for me to watch next. I go into it realizing if you're trying to make a movie that's accessible to a broader audience, some of the more delicate points are lost. But at least now I feel like I don't have this particular fangirl secret hanging over my head anymore.

Good luck campers!

Tomorrow kicks off the 2nd (and final) Camp NaNoWriMo for the year.

I'm not participating. Again.

I tried the virtual writing camp once, coming off my first full on NaNoWriMo experience. Maybe it was because I was in a 'cabin' with all local writers and not being placed with others writing similar genres. Maybe it was because your goal is made up by you (and I have a complete disregard for myself). Maybe it was because my clinical bitchy resting face is spreading to my brain. The event just didn't do it for me quite like the madcap November escapade did.

I can tell myself to write 500 words a day and fail spectacularly on any day of the year, thank you very much. No need to join a website to do it. Or get asked for donations at every turn.

That was... bitchy. And unnecessarily so.

The truth is, this current writing backlash is my own personal demon. Just because this particular incarnation of a writing activity didn't send me to the heights of creative glory before, doesn't even mean it wouldn't work for me now. The shiny inner child inside thinks it's a fantastic idea and I should totally join in. Oh inner child, your enthusiasm knows no bounds. My inner teenager seems to be more vocal.

I love the idea of writing activities throughout the year. If you've read my blow-by-blow of NaNoWriMo, you'll be aware I complain (at great length) about the timing of it. But it is a relief sad when it's over. Maybe I should give camp another run in the future. I probably have sold the experience short or focused on what I felt I wasn't getting out of it instead of rising to meet a writing goal.

There is no perfect place/time/situation to write (or anything else for that matter). So kudos (a word I don't think I've ever used verbally) to those who are choosing to make the extra effort this July to work on their writing projects. Keep going!