Last month I rambled on about that edgy YA that was so exciting, and then on day 16 it packed its bag and took a vacation. Not to be hindered by fickle characters, I gleefully launched a new project and started turning one of my middle grade novels into a YA. That lasted for several days-8?

So there I was at Chapter 7, feeling pretty smug when, wham, this other middle grade popped into my head, one I’d written and tucked away a year ago. All that book needed was a few adjustments and I’d have something ready for my critique group and maybe I could sub it by this summer.

That’s when something very strange happened. Here’s the story: I was at my desk, hammering out those “adjustment” when I heard this pounding at my front door. When I opened the door a whole gaggle of people clustered outside. One, a young nondescript girl wearing either a sweater or a blouse, I couldn’t tell, stepped out of the group.

“They’ve chosen me as the spokesperson,” said she.

 “They?”

“Your characters.”

I cast a wary eye over the crowd. Three young boys, one in a striped T-shirt and taller than the others, stood with their arms crossed, their eyes unfriendly.

“I remember you. You’re in that Dragon story, right?”

They nodded in unison.

“Did I write you as hostile young boys?”

“No,” the tall boy said. “It’s the waiting that’s made us this way.”

“I see.” I noticed an older woman looking rather lost and teary in the middle of the group. “Why are you so unhappy?”

“That’s the way you left me two years ago. Could you please just step on it and figure out how to get me out of this slump?”

“Gee, I didn’t think . . . I mean, you’re just characters-” The crowd turned hostile. I held up both hand in apology. “I’m doing the best I can. Right now I’m all over that ghost story. I picked out two characters who had to be Ben and Allie because they looked like Ben and Allie, the ones from Chapter 7, and the other characters were casting jealous glances in their direction.

The nondescript girl cleared her throat. “All we want is some follow through, you know? I’m tired of not having a personality or even decent . . . clothes.” She passed her hand over her unexceptional self.

“Thank you for bringing me your concerns. I’ll make a plan and stick to it. Promise.” I turned to go back to the safety of my office, but stopped in the doorway and looked back at Ms. Average.”BTW, are you wearing a sweater or a blouse?”

“Good question. You never decided, remember? When you get around to finishing that story, however, I’d like a sweater. Cashmere. Bright yellow.” And off she walked, or ambled, or cavorted. I haven’t made up my mind.

So have your characters ever organized and confronted you? If they did what would they complain or applaud about your writing plan, or like in my case, non-plan? You might consider how you’ll handle what I just had to because it can be very touchy. Once they turn on you, you could be in serious trouble.

I treasure times when the words drop onto the “page” like a perfect string of pearls, one after the other. I have those days, er, moments.  I also have days when, well, this time of year I call them “Refrigerator Days,” (In the early spring I call these days, “Seed Planting” days.) days when nothing pops into my brain that I want anyone to read . . . not ever . . . even me.

When the GREAT CLOG happens, as it did a few days ago and my YA started spitting my words back at me, I posted that I’d jumped to an old middle grade ghost story with a fantastic notion that I could resurrect it if I made it a YA. So for the past few days that’s what I’ve been hammering away at with some success and with only two or three “Refrigerator Days.” I have a bit of work to do on this puppy, but I’m kind of liking it because
1)I know the background story very well.
2) I’ve learned to grapple with “age progression on my characters
3) The plot is holding together and I don’t have to think about each step that should lead to “THE END.”
Rewriting really does have its rewards.

Sometimes as I sit at the keyboard waiting for it to behave more like an old-fashioned player piano and knowing it won’t crank out any tune on its own, I often visit other blogs for inspiration. Last week was no exception. Fortunately, I found some. WriterJenn had a conversation with her muse that’s very similar to one I’ve had about being creative. Wonder if that muse is moonlighting?

  April Henry came through with some excellent advice for writers who haven’t published yet, so I thought I’d link to that in case there are any of you out there struggling like me with those pesky words and wondering if it’s worth the effort since you just received that Xth rejection letter. April says it is worthwhile and the only thing you can do wrong is fail to believe in yourself. I’ll second her message.

Oh, and about cleaning out the refrigerator: Sometimes those gooey things in plastic containers turn out to be works of art if handled correctly. Here’s what happened when I threw out some almost recognizable onions.

Hmmm. I feel another metaphor coming on. Maybe some of that “gooey” prose could be “handled” differently and it might produce something quite readable. Gotta go check that out.

The other day I picked my first roses from the garden. This one was particularly stunning and yet it wasn’t perfect. Two of the petals were slightly sunburned, but I didn’t for a moment think about tossing this flower. Instead, those brown tinges were a part of its beauty. And it occurred to me that here was a perfect metaphor for those stories that are unfolding in my head.

I want to put them on the page so they’re as beautiful and as colorful and exciting as possible.

Will they ever be perfect?
No.

Should I stew about each word or phrase or plot point?
No.

Should I get it done?
Yes.

That first draft needs to be down, then with each rewrite, the story can unfold and become the almost perfect story if not the perfect one I want it to be.

So I returned to my desk, set this rose next to my computer and wrote. When I finished what I hope will be one more chapter, I’d connected my ghost with my MC. Here she is, a draft, a line of words, not perfect, but started.

“I close my eyes and wish I could sleep and not think about anything for a while, but that doesn’t happen. Instead, I wind up on my back staring at the ceiling until, outside, the light shifts from afternoon to early evening, and shadows slip down the walls and creep across the floor. 

When the last flicker of light dips behind the mountains, my bedroom windows darken to mirrors and reflect the jumble of boxes I still haven’t touched.

When I’d put my manuscript to bed for the night I picked up The Writing Life by Annie Dillard. Here’s what I found on page one. “When you write, you lay out a line of words. The line of words is a miner’s pick, a wood carver’s gouge, a surgeon’s probe. You wield it, and it digs a path you follow. Soon you find yourself deep in new territory. Is it a dead end or have you located the real subject? You will know tomorrow, or this time next year.”

Ah, yes. There’s hope that tomorrow or the next day or the next year I’ll find out how close I was to getting that scene right.

When you put a story aside for a few months or even years does it stay in your head? Then when you take it out and reread it, has it changed? I mean changed from what you remember? Mine certainly has. It’s not as riveting as I had it in my mind. That’s definitely not good, but at least I recognize it. I didn’t while I was hammering the story out on the keyboard.

Also I’m having some trouble making my MC older as I change the book from a Middle Grade to a YA. I keep thinking of him as 12 and have to sit back and try to visualize him as the 16 year old I want him to be. The interesting thing is that I know who he used to be, almost as if while the book was in the closet, the kid had a few birthdays. I can refer to him in ways I couldn’t before, like, bring up habits he had when he was younger or mention how different his tastes are now than a few years ago.  This is another interesting development that leads me to think marinating a manuscript has value.

Well, marinating an author helps too, so it’s a two way street. Take a look at what WRITERJENN has to say about finding depth in characters as a writer matures. She refers to TABITHA’S WRITER MUSINGS, and when I read both of these, I thought, “We’re somewhat the same page at the same time.”

Speaking of marination . . . Since I tucked that other YA I was so passionate about a few weeks ago into a folder, it’s been rattling around in the back of my brain and the MC keeps crooking his finger in my direction while I’m making my way through a day. Another good reason to set a WIP aside and ignore it a bit?  Maybe my characters are competing for my attention and will help me out if I give them some. Just a minute! I’m busy. Be right with you.

Remember when I set out to share writing a book from the first idea to the last revision . . . with some side excursions along the way? Well, I think that’s actually happening. If you’ve followed my bumpy journey, you’ve seen me travel from  EUPHORIA, through the discovery of CHARACTER, to the MISSTEP in plot, the need for a PRINT OUT, and then a need for a break.

You’ve seen me attend to some life issues, like, planting seeds for my summer garden, a book signing and an interview with a self-published author.

If I’m close to accurate, this is Day 16 of writing. So what’s going on? You are not going to believe this, but it’s true. I’m revising an old story. It’s a middle grade ghost story that I set aside about three years ago and this morning I woke up thinking, “That would be much better as a YA.” Is this a way to continue to dodge the story I started last month?

Yep!

Guess I’m not ready to return to my edgy novel and my edgy characters. I’ll get back, but I’m taking another small detour. Hope you’ll stick with me. I still have faith I can bring that edgy story to the page. It’s just going to take some major slogging to do it.

What I’m sharing is as real as it gets and I’m wondering if what I’m going through is similar to what you go through as writers?

I’m also wondering if those of you who read, but don’t write books yourselves are thinking differently about what this writing business involves? After taking on this job, I totally relate to books in a different way. First I have to write in all the books, not just some anymore. It’s as if I’m having a dialog with the author along the way.

Well, off to chase some ghosts for a while. Wish me luck.

I’ve been buried in the middle of a book since last Friday . . . mine!

Remember a few weeks ago when I was jumping up and down, vowing this was the going to be the greatest book in the world?

I’d love to recapture that moment, brief as it was, because as of today my enthusiasm meter is registering 0.

So what to do? Here are my choices and they’re by preference.

1) Take a hike for sure, except it’s cold out there and threatening rain and I hiked yesterday and I’m kind of talking myself out of bundling up and striking out again, aren’t I?
2) Read somebody else’s book, preferably one that’s an award winning novel, so I can “eat my heart out.”
3) Eat.
4) Sleep.
5) Revise something old so I can realize how badly written it was and how much gooder I write now.
6) Build a fire. (You know what that’s for, right?)

I’m up to #5 and my desk has almost disappeared under the fall out of today’s labor.

When you’re stumped or when you’ve lost the through line in your W.I.P. what’s your plan for getting back on track? Send me something, anything. Help!

The print out worked. I saw HUGE gaps in the story. I saw MAJOR places for character deepening. I even wrote three more chapters-well, almost. 2.5 or 2.25 (Something in that neighborhood.)

I discovered I’d fallen in love with a minor character, Nyla, the fat girl with the brain. She really got to me, so she’s no longer minor. Here’s a bit of Nyla. Tell me if you like her as much as I do. Be honest. If you don’t think she fabulous, tell me why, okay?
                                                         
(The main character is meeting Nyla off the school campus. )

     “Nyla and me never meet unless it’s in the cafeteria or home room or on that bench where she sits a lot after school like she’s waiting for somebody. I’m the only one who comes by. I’m the only one who sits with her while she explains stuff I need to know. I try to make it look accidental or, like, I need to borrow something or get an assignment from her. Sure sometimes Meeker gives me a hard time about dating a Jelly Belly or chatting up the fat girl nobody else talks to, but he don’t make nothing big out of it. It’d be different if her saw me here in town with her.
     When I look up she’s crossing the street. The sun comes just right to throw her shadow on the asphalt. It makes it’s way ahead of her, swaying side to side kind of like an elephant having a hard time on two feet. She don’t see me yet, so I wait, thinking how I still got time to disappear without her knowing I ditched at the last minute. Then I remember how ticked she got when they busted me and I didn’t show up that Tuesday. I don’t want the dark feeling again, the one I had until she talked to me, so I stay where I am and wait.
     She spots me and smiles. It’s gotta be the slant of the sun because for one minute there, Nyla is purely beautiful. She brushes her hair back from her face. It’s shiny with lots of red the way the light comes down on it.
    A horn honks and I push away from the building. As she comes closer Nyla’s back to being the fattest girl in Larkston, a two-footed elephant who smiles at me.
    I take a quick survey around to see if anybody I know is headed to the movie, but there’s only an old couple buying tickets. ” 
Copyright C. Lee McKenzie, 2010

Now what’s next? Well, there’s probably going to be a small break because, guess what? I’ve been called to jury duty. I expect I have to go on Friday . . . my major writing day. But all is good. In this book I have court scenes, and if I’m lucky I’ll be able to take some notes. They let you take notes, right? Help, anybody who’s actually been on jury duty.

Some burning issues came up last week-well many things came up-and I was only able to blog once. But here’s a quick update on the WIP.

I decided on the real end. Bittersweet is the way I like my chocolate, so I’m going with that as a way to end my book.

I’m at almost the exact middle of the book with 35,000 words as of yesterday. *Whooopie*

My MC is suffering, but then so am I because I rather like the kid and keep yelling, “How can you be so stupid?” or  “Please don’t do that. Wait. Think. No!! Don’t! Arrrg!” You can see the dilemma. I have to keep in trouble and yet I’d rather he were safe. Many sleepless nights lie ahead.

Next week I’m going to join THE LIBRARY CHALLENGE, so I’d love it if you’d stop by and leave a comment and tell others to as well. We need to support our libraries in these tough economic times. Hope you’ll help me as well as other bloggers in the U.S. to do that.

On day 7 I wrote the last chapter of the book-actually I wrote two last chapters because I haven’t decided if this will end happily or unhappily.

I also wrote a lot of single sentences from the beginning I have started that I hope are the major scenes leading to the end. From past experience I know I’ll be adding and deleting scenes, but at least I have something of a path since I’m not an outliner.

On day 8 I did 1)Yoga and 2)walked in the Santa Cruz Mountains, then I went to the farmers’ market for fresh veggies and came home to work in 3) my garden. In other words, I let my characters take a break from me and me from them.
                                                 1                                                           2

                                                                                 3

On day 9 and 10 I dabbled with what I’d already written. Made changes. Wrote the chapter for 1ST ARREST, and left my poor MC in a mess.