Time Management

I've been doing my best to manage the split between work, family, and writing. I think I'm making progress. This is the routine:

- Wake up really early, between 5am and 6am. This morning I woke up around 5:30 but stayed in bed until my alarm went off at 6am because I knew that coffee wouldn't be ready. I'm stubborn that way. I am not a morning person unless I force myself.

- Hit the computer. Check email and the weather while sipping coffee and letting my eyes adjust to the light. This is the Danger Zone of Potential Distraction, and sometimes I forego it and leap right into my manuscript for FATE'S GUARDIAN.

- Write until 8am, refilling coffee cup frequently. The IV drip is still on backorder.

- I work from home, so when eight o'clock rolls around I save my work and rotate my chair ninety degrees counter-clockwise and hit the other laptop.

- Work all day. Run or exercise around lunchtime, shower, eat and get back to work.

- After work, spend time with the family and get dinner ready. I worked in restaurants for many years so I'm the resident chef.

- Tell the kids to get their pajamas on seven thousand times. If the tub is also involved, then the count doubles. My firstborn is a better listener and usually complies after the initial request, but my other son (who turned five yesterday!) needs the extra goading.

- Talk to my wife, sip wine, and work on the manuscript for EARTH'S END. Thankfully TV season is in a lull (LOST, DEXTER, and AMERICAN IDOL are the primary distractions; WEEDS is losing my interest, it's water-skiing toward the shark but hasn't officially jumped it yet).

- Go to bed.

- Rinse and repeat.

This morning I hit 20,000 words in my re-write of FATE'S GUARDIAN. My goal is 80,000, so I'm a quarter of the way through. I really like this version of it. As I read back and reflect on the prior drafts, I think it's amazing how much I have grown as a writer.

I swear to you I will find success if it doesn't find me first.

Re-writing a Dream

WARNING: This is a post about writing, not likely to be funny. We will return to our regularly scheduled sarcasm later this evening or tomorrow; funny conversation with elder child is half-transcribed. Thank you.

In my novel FATE'S GUARDIAN, my protagonist witnesses the murder of his best friend as a child. He watches through the window as she is knocked unconscious by her father, who then sets fire to the house and leaves. Afraid to speak out about what he saw, he suffers from nightmares as he fights to forget the ghastly scene.

In the earlier drafts, I had a very macabre telling of the dream, where he exacts revenge on her father.

I re-wrote the scene today, and instead of showing what he dreamed about in detail, I decided to focus more on what he looked like from the outside. I took 2,000 words and distilled them down to 250. I took a scene that had six characters and focused on one (in the first version he woke up his brothers and parents). There are glimpses of his dream, but they are painted with very broad strokes, so the reader can fill in the rest (I'm taking the literary approach)...

Gil fought sleep as long as he could, but eventually he did succumb. For the first hour his body rested in a dreamless slumber, healing many of the physical exertions from the horrid day.

His body twitched as the nightmares started. First his fingers, gripping at the sheets. Then his feet and legs. Kicking. Running. Sweat broke out on his brow and he clenched his jaws, concentrating on his struggle against an unseen foe.

He tried to wake up, but he could not pull himself out of it. Fear and panic evident on his face, his breathing became shallow and fast and his heart raced to catch the wind in his lungs. The dream world took all the realities of the day and enhanced them with childhood imagination. Colors swirled. Julie’s blond hair and pink shirt doused in red blood and blue flames.

In his mind, he ran. The world around him a disoriented blur, he ran to escape from Julie, from Mr. Flaherty, from his own memory. But they were all there, following him, surrounding him at every turn. The things he did. The things he didn’t do. The threats he avoided, only to come home and find that they followed him.

In his dream he screamed. A silent, breathless scream. His jaws stretched wide and air rushed through his throat. His vocal chords vibrated so hard they made his neck hurt, but his voice failed to find a sound and carry it to those who could help. And so his desperate cries went unheard that night, as they would for many more.

A Novel Idea

As many of you know, I am writing a novel, FATE'S GUARDIAN. Or rather, I wrote a novel, and now I am re-writing that novel.

It is a process that I love and hate. I love the story. I love writing in general. I hate the thought of re-writing 100,000 words, though. It was tough enough the first time. For the past three months I've been stuck, re-writing the first 50 pages over and over, like I'm trapped in a writer's version of Groundhog Day. At least those pages were getting better each time, but I had this thought nagging at the back of my mind, saying, "Dude, there are 300 more pages, you know."

The other night I had an epiphany. I figured out a new structure for the novel and a new way of plotting (and some changes to the plot itself), and now the re-write is taking new shape and speed. It's about freaking time.

I also set a new mandate for my work time. I get up early and make my way to the coffee pot. That part hasn't changed (nor will it in the foreseeable future). Then I go to my computer. Now here's the clever part: I write for an hour.

Let me clarify that: I re-write my manuscript for an hour. No blogs. No email. No checking the weather online. The only application allowed is MS Word. Bill Gates must be proud.

So if you hear less of me in the blogosphere, that's why. I'm really hunkering down to knock this out of the park.

FATE'S GUARDIAN got a Face-Lift

Ok, I asked for it! I submitted a query and synopsis to the Evil Editor, and he and his minions had at it over the weekend. The results went up this morning. It has a guess the plot, some funny comments in the query, and some questions and advice on how to better sell the story.

Click here to see what they did to me!

This was from a query I sent before I "won" a critique on Nathan Bransford's blog, so I think I have made some great improvements to the query since I first submitted for this lashing...

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BREAKING NEWS! AGENT REQUESTS PARTIAL!

I queried an agent over the weekend, and yesterday that agent requested a partial manuscript of Fate's Guardian!

Being the gifted writer I am, I think I can sum up my resulting emotions in one word: hell yeah that is totally kick ass awesome. (That's more than one word? So what. I'm a writer, not a mathematician).

Now, to sit and wait for a response...

FATE'S GUARDIAN- Synopsis

Fate's Guardian is my novel. The 120,000 word manuscript is complete, and I'm sending my query letter out to agents. I was fortunate enough to get a professional critique yesterday by Nathan Bransford, agent extraordinaire, as well as many readers of his blog. http://nathanbransford.blogspot.com/

Here is the synopsis for Fate's Guardian:

Gil Jacobs must die in order to save his soul. After living dozens of lives over hundreds of years, the events of his past are catching up with him, and he is powerless to prevent it…

In thirteenth century France, a Troubadour travels from town to town, but he is not just there to sing and perform, he also has an insatiable urge to kill. His murderous instincts do not get him into trouble with the law, but they do taint his relationship with a lady he loves. The Troubadour murders her abusive husband in order to win her affection, but in doing so he only alienates her further. Furious over her rejection, the Troubadour tries to kill her, but he cannot bring himself to complete the deed and instead takes his own life, leaving her on the brink of death.

The Troubadour’s soul leaves his body, but he refuses to cross over when the light comes for him. He is waiting for his love to die so he can finally be with her, but when she does die, he cannot go through the light with her. He is trapped as a ghost. The Troubadour wanders the globe, searching for people on the brink of death, trying to grab onto their souls as they cross over so he can go with them. Sometimes they slip away and make it through the light. The others he traps and consumes their energy, growing stronger with each soul he devours. As centuries go by, he forgets his past, his own thoughts clouded by the memories of the souls he preys upon. In 1968, he makes his way to rural Georgia…

Gil Jacobs is only seven years old when he witnesses a horrific double-homicide. His best friend’s father kills his wife and daughter, and Gil, who has come over to play at the wrong time, watches through the window as Julie Flaherty is killed. It is an event that will haunt him for the rest of his life. Literally.

The Troubadour is drawn to the Flaherty house, sensing the impending deaths. He captures and devours the soul of Julie’s mother. As he struggles to claim Julie’s soul, Gil’s presence at the window distracts him, allowing Julie to escape from his grasp.

The Troubadour turns his attention toward Gil and attacks, trying to possess him, but Gil’s soul is too strong. Something odd happens to the Troubadour when he is near Gil – memories of his long forgotten life begin to surface. Memories of the woman he loved, and the man he killed to have her. Curiosity turns to anger as the Troubadour ponders his past, suspecting that Gil played a role in his demise. Not knowing who Gil once was, and having no clear memory of the past himself, the Troubadour develops an intense hatred for Gil, and is determined to take his soul.

Julie Flaherty is alone, scared, and confused. Trapped as a ghost, she clings to the one positive memory of her life – her best friend, Gil Jacobs. She watches as the Troubadour attacks Gil. She can see that the Troubadour is not strong enough to take Gil’s life, but she watches in fear as the Troubadour preys on the weaker souls nearby, growing stronger with each one.

Years pass, and as his strength grows, the Troubadour becomes more persistent in his attacks on Gil. During one attack, the Troubadour catches a glimpse of Gil’s fate. Knowing the time and place of Gil’s death, the Troubadour realizes that he cannot end Gil’s life, but thinks that he may be able to extend it. If Gil misses his destined death, his soul will be thrown into an imbalance that will weaken it, leaving him defenseless.

Julie knows that there is only one way she can protect Gil. Using herself as bait, she lures the Troubadour far away, to other prey. She provides a temporary reprieve, and Gil grows to adulthood and starts a family. But living happily ever after was never part of Gil’s fate, for he is going to die in a car crash at the tender age of thirty-three. Unless, of course, the Troubadour can prevent the crash.

The Troubadour returns on the day of Gil’s destined death, trying like mad to upset the sequence of events that leads to the crash. Julie follows, and in the moments before the crash, she sacrifices herself to the Troubadour, providing the distraction necessary to facilitate Gil’s fatal end.

As the Troubadour devours Julie’s soul, his past memories come full surface, and he realizes that in her past, Julie was the husband of his lost love, the one he murdered so long ago. Drunk with power, the Troubadour makes a final assault on Gil’s soul as the light comes for him. As the Troubadour attacks, Gil changes. He no longer appears as the young man the Troubadour pursued for so many years. Gil's soul takes on the form of a woman from a life he lived long ago, and the Troubadour recognizes his lost love. Stunned, the Troubadour watches in vain as the light comes and the soul he longs for crosses over and is lost to him once again.

No time but the present

I mean that literally. I have no time but the present. If the earth's rotation ever slows, and our days extend to 30 hours, I'll rejoice. After the tidal waves and earthquakes subside, that is. But what the hell. There's always a small price to pay for convenience.

I've been doing a good job of waking up early to write. My body no longer threatens to kill my alarm clock. The main drawback is that its getting harder to sleep in on the weekends.

I signed up for a website called "the Next Big Writer" and I like it so far. It's a quid pro quo post and review site...you post your material for others to review, but to post more material you need to review others' works. I posted Fate's Guardian a few evenings ago (the first 4,500 words, there is a 5,000 word cap per post). The next morning I had three reviews, and the end of the day I had 4. They were mainly favorable, and there was some great feedback, from minor plausibility for one sequence, to typos that I didn't find, even through multiple rounds of revising.

I've reviewed a couple pieces, too, and that's quite an eye-opening experience, especially when you hit a good premise, but poorly constructed sentences. It gives you a feel for what an agent might go through when they received some queries and manuscripts. Another piece I read made me laugh out loud, which is good because it was in the humor category.

Speaking of queries, I got a new rejection yesterday. Same theme as the other recent rejects: "your material is not right for us, but that's just our taste."

I guess that's better than a Simon Cowell-ish "You're a nice person, but please, don't ever write another word again."

And yes, the reference to Simon Cowell does mean that I have something to say about American Idol. Or rather, the contestants.

Last night we let our boys watch the episode from Wednesday. It was cached on the DVR...LOST won the coin toss for Wednesday night viewing. The kids are only seven and four, but they know talent; or rather, the lack thereof. They laugh just as hard at the first notes of a crappy singer as they do at a solid nut-shot on America's Funniest Home Videos.

There was one singer, who was very, very good, whose intro said that "she struggled with poverty..." That's so cliche. Why don't we ever hear about anyone who struggled with prosperity?

Oh wait, we do. Paris Hilton. Never mind. Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses...