Day 26, 2019

Today is my grandmother’s birthday. Had she not died young, she would have been in 102.

Nana’s first name was Jimmey. She was tiny. And poor. Her father was an alcoholic. There’s a story that her dad tried to sell the family cow to the president of the US when he was playing golf on a course not too far from my grandmother’s childhood home. The president declined the offer.

Nana had, I thought, a total of 7 children (6 girls, 1 boy) in her family. I wanted to put all their names in my novel MESSENGER. It seemed a nice way to remember the woman I loved so much. As I was writing, I couldn’t remember a sister I had never met and my daughter Caitlynne did some genealogy for me.

One afternoon I received a phone call.

“Mom. There were ten children in Nana’s family!”

I got all their names in MESSENGER. And then I had this to ponder: why didn’t the sisters and brother know about the two little boys and the baby girl who only lived a few days each?

My grandmother married an abusive man who made his children’s lives miserable. He worked for the railroad and built them a house from two railroad cars joined end to end. I knew him for only a few years, and found him the day he died. He was lying on his bed as though he’d needed a rest. He was in his mid-forties. I hope, in this life, I am able to forgive him for his cruelty. It translated into generations.

Nana made biscuits and syrup. She let me drink huge glasses of hot tea with her coffee creamer in it. She took me to the library. She watched me dance. Listened to me sing. Laughed at my jokes. Threw her arms around me in huge hugs. Held me on her lap. Sent me secret letters, sometimes with a dollar bill tucked inside a card. She loved romance novels and wore polyester because she hated to iron. She smoked, drank beer and laughed with her whole self. She let us pluck her eyebrows (she could sleep through that!) and file her fingernails and toenails.

I was her first grandchild. I was her favorite grandchild. (Sorry, Kelly. I know it’s true.) She let me spend weeks with her in the summer. Bought my warts. And didn’t mind when I peed in the concrete planter in her front yard.

As she lay dying, I whispered to her that I had a book coming out. My first one. KELLY AND ME. I told her I had dedicated it to her and her dad. She couldn’t speak but she let me know she both loved that I had dedicated the book to her and did not love that I had included her father.

I wish she could have held that novel, read it. I know she would have laughed over the stories in it. Some were from family incidents. And while she might have been unhappy that Papa (her father) was a star, I hope she knows now that she is the hero in every book I write that has a grandmother in it.

She saved me.

Happy birthday, Nana.

 

 

 

 

Day 25, 2019

I missed writing on Saturday. I didn’t even realize until Sunday. I was sorely disappointed in myself.

We have one week left of NaNoWriMo. While I didn’t write on Saturday, I did get up this morning and start adding words to a book that’s already in progress. A romance. That will have kissing but so far does not.

Ah, the power of the pen. 😉

These last few weeks NaNoWriMo weeks have taught me something that I’ve never really known about myself when it came to writing. When prompted, I can write 2,000-3,000 + fun, new words a day. A. Day! Wowie kazowie!

I understand these words need to be cleaned and then polished. I wouldn’t let anyone see them right now. But, the fact that I was writing several thousand new words per week is very exciting to me. And I even did it once I started my new job.

So. Way back when I felt a good day was 1000 words–or about a chapter for me. I was homeschooling my girlies and I wrote before they got up in the morning. Then the rest of the day was ours. (Man, I miss those days. A lot.)

I’m used to writing. A little a day, that’s all we ask. I’m unable to write a book in a few days like Ann Dee Ellis. It’s always more slow and steady.

But this successful NaNoWriMo adventure has taught me something fabulous. I can write more than 1000 words in the mornings. And I can enjoy it, too.

There were hard days. But when I stopped and thought and brainstormed through the hard stuff, I still accomplished words.

So this is my new goal: 2000 words a day. I won’t be completely like Stephen King. I might take off Saturdays or save that day for revisions. And I won’t work on Sundays. And maybe not Thanksgiving or Christmas like he does.

But this idea that I can do something I love in the now limited time I have, thrills me.

Ready? Set. Go!

 

Day 22, 2019

What I know I have to rewrite:

1. More world-building. My characters are not from planet earth. Everything they see would be new to them.

I remember when my editor Mary Cash came from New York to Utah for a one-day writing conference Rick Walton, Cheri Earl and I put on. Mary stood outside and said, “I cannot believe that there are these HUGE mountains close enough to touch, and then, right there, a K-Mart!”

My first time to Utah I felt as though the mountains might fall over on me. When Mary came to visit I had grown so used to beautiful Utah, I hardly noticed the mountains anymore.

2. More killings by vampires.

Have you read Thirsty by MT Anderson? The opening of that novel where there is talk of the vampire killings is spectacular. It’s a couple of pages long and without meaning to, I have memorized bits of the description. It’s that good.

3. LOTS more dialogue between our earth host and our alien character.

These two ‘girls’ are gonna know each other pretty darn well by the time their three days together is over. Better get them communicating.

And while I’m talking about dialogue, I want to mention I need lots more between earth creatures and aliens and between the aliens themselves.

MORE TALKING!

4. Humor. Please! Give us humor.

Do I even need to say anything about this? Where is humor needed? Everywhere. The whole book. From start to finish. Yes! You can laugh when there are vampires killing people. Or at least afterward.

5. All in all, the book needs a hefty rewrite on more things than I have time to mention here. I looked at it a little this morning and added things and took things away. I’m gonna let the book sit for a bit, but I won’t stop thinking about it.

 

 

Day 21, 2019

I did it. My dirty draft is done.

And I cannot believe it.

There have always been things to get in my way during NaNoWriMo. But the real truth, I think, is that I  was in my way. I was the one who chose to not write, for whatever reason.

On this blog, I’ve mentioned Stephen King a lot. (In fact, I mention him in my alien book.) Anyway, King writes. There are no excuses. Maybe the only time in his career that he didn’t pen his allotted number of words (2000 per day), was when he was nearly killed after being hit by a minivan.

But what do I know? Maybe he did write. (I’m gonna read up on that. If I find out anything, I’ll let you know.)

My friend Scott Rhoades has been writing, every single day, for more than 500 days. Even if he’s distracted. Even if he’s tried. Even if his day is long. There are no excuses.

What I am saying is, writers write.

Or we’re just dreamers.

And you know the people who want to write a book but can’t find the time. Or are too old. Or who have too many kids. Or Or Or.

I’ve been there.

Writing is hard and I am ALWAYS filled with excuses. (A long time ago, a psychiatric nurse said to me, “I know I need therapy. My childhood was the $h!t$. But I’ll never do it. It’s too hard.” While it’s certainly not on the same scale, I get that feeling about writing. I know the middle is coming. It scares me every time. I’d rather not go there. I want to do something easier.)

But this time I worked through the scary part.

And you’re doing it, too.

Keep going. Counting today, you have only Ten. Days. Left.