Subdued Intrinsic

Personal Note: I don't like almost anything by Bush. *gasp!* I know. That's like a person saying (during the sixties) they didn't like The Beatles. Doesn't matter. Still don't like them. In fact, at least one of their songs kind of p*sses me off, the one about shooting up? HATE. I lived around drugs my whole childhood, I don't need a baked Brit to glorify the practice, thanks.

In the past couple of days I've realized two kind of major things about myself, things which impact my writing.

The first is all about ego. Every parent thinks his or her progeny is ultra-adorable. My theory about this has to do with seeing ourselves in our children. We're geared to rate their aesthetic more highly because they remind us of, well, us. Whether it be due to familiarity (what features are we more familiar with than our own?) or simple Narcissism, the fact remains, we think our kids look better than all the other kids out there. I think Ben is cuter than all the other babies. . . and I think my characters are more interesting, more individual, more beloved than all the characters in those OTHER books out there.

So why is that? Does Joss appeal to me so strongly because of the elements of her being that she 'inherits' from me? Like the small build? The wild love of all kinds of music, and a devotion to eighties kids' and teen flicks? Do I love her because I see myself in her? It's something I've got to watch out for. Joss isn't me, nor am I her. I don't want her 'life' to be what I wanted for myself (although, how awesome would it be to date a Dionadir, really??). It's okay if she gets a few things from me, because she's my baby. But she's not my CLONE. As far as I know, that's still illegal, anyway.

Secondly, I had this big light bulb moment about the way I tell stories. I'm going to brag here, and tell you I write really awesome, fully-developed people, then I throw them into cool worlds, and do absolutely criminal things to them for insanely complicated reasons. But my fatal flaw is tension. I SUCK at creating it, and until yesterday or so, I really couldn't have said why. Well, yesterday, I figured it out.

I'm a blurter. I have entire mounds of fascinating backgrounds, and reasonings, and what have-you details, but I want you to see them all at once. "Here! Look at ALL THE PRETTIES IN MY PILE!! I yell." The problem with that is there's no mystery, no tease, no "will she or won't she". Not good. So I'm taking the vehicle apart again, and I'm moving some 'lil sumpin' sumpin's' around so people won't know exactly what happens until, suddenly, AH-HAH!

They do.

Personal; Notes: When I have a tough time remembering something I wiggle my nose like a bunny (think Bewitched), and/or flutter my fingers, like I'm about to point to something. It's my own Blind Amethyst's Bluff, and I'm calling it.

It's November which, for a large portion of the county, means the trees have turned beautiful colors and begun to shed their leaves. Not so much where I live. We're a little too close to a tropical climate to get many broadleaf trees here (the closest-outside of Old Oaks-we come is Pecan trees), so our trees feel lucky if it gets cold enough for them to pull off the 'dead' look. Our poor trees; they want so badly to go Goth, but that freaking Gulf of Mexico air just keeps washing away their black sap knot-liner.

Anyway, since my fall is my favorite season but this backwards state doesn't know what it's doing, November becomes special for another reason: NaBloPoMo, aka National Blog Posting Month. As the little badge indicates, I'll be posting at least SOMETHING every day of November. Two years ago I kicked the month off by bringing another human being into the world. I have yet to trump that one (yes, Ben turns two tomorrow), but who knows?

My second or third year participating in NaBloPoMo (okay, stop laughing at the acronym, you immature gits) I actually won a sort of door prize. "Wait, what? You can win stuff?" you say. Indeed. Just sign up at nablopomo.org, get your blog set into the blogroll, and make sure you post for every single day of November. Even a knock-knock joke counts. Then your name/blog goes into the virtual top hat and lucky participants are paired with prizes, quite fairly. Anyway, about the prize I won; it was a container of bath salts from a little store in Manasses,Virginia. Sound familiar? Because it is. It makes a cameo in the "Dionadir bath" scene in Silver. What scent did I pick? The one that reminded me of the honeysuckle in my grandmother's yard in Missouri. It was called "Melusine". *grin*

If you like the concept of NaBloPoMo but don't want to commit to the posting you can always just rock out with the randomizer. Yep, Eden's designed a little gadgety button that takes you to a new, random NaBloPoMo blog with a simple click. Erm, here--> The Great and Powerful Randomizer (pay no attention to the Eden behind the gearworks).

Anyway, there's that. But there's also this:

Personal Notes: I would rather have a kid who yelled and argued than one who whined any day. My middle son is the one who seems to think nothing is fair if he doesn't get his way exactly how he wants it, on his own time schedule.

He, um, kind of got that from me. Existentially, I'm very bossy.

I got the letter yesterday, the one telling me, despite the agent really liking my work, and thinking I'm a "wonderful writer", she couldn't offer to represent Silver. It gave a whole new meaning to the term 'paper cut'. I don't want any of my awesome betas or ladies getting angry with her, because the agent was really amazing about it. Really, really. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt, if I made you think I've brushed myself off and forgotten it. I haven't. I still want to cry. All the fore-knowledge and scary publishing statistics in the world can't immunize you to the pain of coming so close and missing. The part I found the most perplexing was being told a few parts of the novel sounded too young, or too immature. After everyone kept telling me the opposite.

I need to fall back in love with this book, because I have lost my faith in it a little. The rejection brought doubt with it. Of course it did. That is part of the nature of rejection. "No" is negative, after all. Anyway, I need to have myself a good sit down and remind myself why I want what I want for this book, all the wonderful reasons outside of myself to get it out there. Things like loving the characters, and loving my readers, and loving how the book brings me closer to them, giving me the oppotunity to pass on what I learned during the chaos of my own teendom, and how I intend to donate to so many causes from sales. I need bigger reasons than fame, and material gain to put myself out there again.

But just so you know I'm still human, there is definitely a part of me going, "WHAT THE HADES?!?"