naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
This is a happy entry.

I'm writing. Not, like, every day, but there are days when I want to, feel like I can, and then do it, and there are often more than two of them a week, which is fantastic. Previously, I was stuck at "wanting to."

People have started asking how it's going again.

"It's a mess," I say. The story picks fights with me. It doesn't want to go where I want it to go. I run into logic flaws. Sometimes I need the characters to do something, and only realize when I get there that they would never do that. There isn't always room for everything I want to include, and things get shelved or cut or, best case scenario, put off until later. Sometimes a scene just isn't going well, and I don't know why, and I'm stuck either figuring out what's wrong, tearing it down, and rebuilding it, or pushing through and fixing it in post. Once in a while, I'm just scared of a scene. Some scenes are scary. This whole part of the book is scary, actually. I'm not sure I've built it right, if everyone's motivations seem clear, and the amount of trust they are willing to place in one another -- or withhold from one another -- seems reasonable.

So I run into blocks. Before, these would stall me for weeks, often months. Writing was like this:



I would cry to Sargon, who could sometimes be able to help me through it and sometimes not. I am sure it was annoying for him, and I am annoyed with myself for needing the help. I should have just let the story rest, but I was so afraid of losing it that I couldn't.

Maybe only another writer can understand, but writing was all that kept me from feeling like a complete loss. It was sometimes the only candle in the dark, and I was afraid it was a Babylon candle that would burn down and leave me stranded who knew where. I was so afraid. I held my hands around the little flame of a story and even when I felt so crushed I could not breathe, I gave it what I had, because I love it. The way you will naturally love anything that is warm and makes hunger go away.

Writing is something I need. I make art, and that gives me joy, but writing gives me meaning. To be without it is to be without part of myself. If that's the price of remaining alive to do the other things that give me joy, I'll pay it, but it's painful, like the Little Mermaid walking on knives and glass.

Now, faced with these million little problems, it's like wrangling ornery ferrets. You get a grip on one and it just slips away. Shove one back in the cage and another slips out.

People ask me how it's going, and I say, "It's a mess. I could not be happier about it."

All of these problems are problems that happen when I am writing. They're the equivalent of saying "I set fire to the hotel curtains during the fantastic pervsex I was having last night, and now I have to pay for the damage."

And suddenly, it's easier for me to get through them alone. It still takes me a while, and I still need Sargon, because I sometimes need someone who has read the whole thing to bounce ideas off of. He's a writer, too, which makes him better at pinpointing what is wrong, and why something isn't working. But I can sometimes get through them alone. It's still frustrating, there may be hair-pulling, swearing, brooding, but I finish the fucking chapter. And every time I save another little .doc into that file labeled F&F, it's this flag-waving victory that feels like I won a long race with a heavy jockey.

I was talking to [personal profile] bat_cheva about all this yesterday. (I'm sorry if I bored you.) It's not possible for me to articulate what a difference this "being able to write" thing makes in my ability to Cope With Shit.

I really don't want to go back to the place where I can't do it. I'm scared to death of it. But right now I can, and that makes me happy.

Today I'm working on one of the final scenes on the Nemesis. I am going into a new part of the story. Valor, Vendetta, Rutter, and Max are escaping into the unknown. They are going to meet a person who will be good for them for the first time. They are going into the unknown, half running to and half running from, and none of them can say what is going to happen.

I am doing much the same. My detailed plotting ended here. I have broad strokes, a skeletal outline for the rest. Like, Act III looks like this: Go to the Princess of Texas, find Professor Paracelsus, get into some sort of climactic fight.

Soon now I have to sit down and make some really frightening decisions, and make up some really important stuff. The story, from here out, changes shape. Until now it's been static, unmoving. They're all stuck on the Nemesis, under Savage's paw, and not a whole lot of external plot-related stuff is happening. (I've been too busy writing about fucking.) Now, in Book II, things open out. The world lies ahead, and the gods alone know what's going to happen. And I am right there with them. I'm heading into uncharted waters. I'm not lost, I've got stars to steer by, but it's an awfully big ocean and I'm not the most consistent captain.

I really hope I'm up to it. I hope this phase of being able to work lasts long enough for me to get this done. At this rate, about a chapter a week, I'll be done with this book in December, and with the one after it in October of 2014. That should finish off the series, and then I can move into the three standalone prequels I have planned. I'd like the sailing to be faster, much faster, but this is what I can manage, so this is as fast as I go.

And I hope, when I've finished exploring and come back with treasures and tales, there will be people waiting on the docks to welcome me and share what I've plundered. I hope there's a place for this gigantic thing I'm making. I hope it succeeds. I hope it does its first job of making many, many people very happy, and I hope it does well at its second job of getting me attention and money so I can rest easier on my next expedition.

I hope you're with me.

Now I'm going to go get these kids off the ship. Wish us all luck.
naamah_darling: Close cropped image of a blonde ponytailed man with a woman pulling a black stocking tightly around his neck. (BDSM)
So, I just sent the next four chapters of Frontiers and Fables to Sargon.  Only I sent it to the slightly wrong email address.

So some anonymous person just got four chapters of bisexual pirate bondage porn.  The first two are especially filthy.  Femdom flogging, restraint, bar gags, butt-plugs, F/F, female ejaculation, humiliation. . . .

I hope this random guy is understanding, or I'm gonna end up on some sort of watch list.

I did send another message with DEAR GOD PLEASE DISREGARD THE FORMER EMAIL in the title.  Hopefully he'll listen.  Or at least be entertained by what he finds.

I'm so sorry, random person.  I hope you like humiliation, ravishment, and fingerfucking. If it's any consolation, the third chapter has some nice dialogue.

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naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
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