Only with less killing.

Last night Vlad was feeling chitty-chatty and told me something I didn’t know, something that lasted about 2,000 words before I became too tired to continue. As of this moment, I can feel him over my shoulder, pacing and nervously glancing at the screen, wondering when it’ll be his turn to talk.

Soon, Vlad. Soon. Just let me blog about you first.

It has been an enormous effort lately for me to write–for reasons I can’t quite go into just yet. I swore that I was different than other writers, that I could write through just about everything (and hoo-boy, have I…). But the submissions process has been new territory for me. I had no idea how strange, stressful, and messed up it can be. Your brain goes to this weird place, this higher plane where all it can think about is what being published means: the self-doubt, the fear of success, the dear-goddess-people-will-come-to-expect-things-from-me-now-and-I’m-not-sure-I-can-deliver-them-what-if-this-book-was-a-fluke-and-I’m-just-a-hack feeling. It’s awful. Plus, it screws with the muse.

I’d begun to think that a successful writing day from now on would mean 50 words or more, that my writing had changed forever. But, once again, pass me the friggin’ tiara, because it was just another writer/drama queen moment. All is well in the land of Vlad. The Lightbulb of Inspiration has flickered on once again and all is right with the world.

Now if only I had a maid…

…I imagine this is what he’d look like. Note the rolled eyes, the bored frown, the obligatory fangs…

This is also further evidence that I need to spend more time writing and less time looking for things to do that can’t even qualify as research.

But, just in case you’re looking to recreate yourself, your characters, your friends, or, better still, your enemies into South Park creations, make sure you go here and check it out.

Me? I’m back to work. As usual, my Monday is full of blood and angst.

As I lay down to sleep last night, snuggling up in my warm comforter, I had another one of those river-rushing moments, where an entire chapter just rushed over me–giving me that yesyesyesyes feeling that we writers so adore. But then, instead of getting out of bed and scribbling it down before it flitted away like I normally would, I took a cue from Stephen King. If it’s that good, I’ll remember it in the morning.

I went to sleep.

Lucky for me, it was still with me when I awoke and I wrote down every bit of it that I could recall, plus some. So, Ninth Grade Sucks is not only moseying its way along…it’s also finding its groove.

Yay me. Yay Vlad.

Vampire pride, baby.

Well, a few words…but you get the point.

I first heard of The Catcher and the Rye when I was fifteen. So, curiosity leading the way, I stopped into my highschool library to check a copy out. The librarian informed me that the book had been banned at our school. She said it had been banned for years, then was unbanned for a few years, until a parent complained about its content. In fact, there was a box of newly banned books sitting on the librarian’s desk, which, she informed me, were on their way to the trash.

It astounded me that I lived in a society that would ban books, let alone throw them in the trash.

I confess, I stole a copy of The Catcher in the Rye out of that box. And I read the whole thing that night.

Now, I’m not advocating stealing, but I am encouraging kids to get out there and read every banned book you can find. If they (and by they I mean whoever banned the book in the first place) don’t want you reading it, then find out why. Read it. Learn from it. And don’t let a simple-minded thing like banning stop you. If they‘re banning a book, chances are, you should be reading it, passing it around to your friends, digging into those pages and mining for gold.

Banned Books Week was several months ago, but the ALA (bless their book-lovin’ hearts) have excellent lists of the most commonly banned books. Read those lists. Put them to memory. And then seek out the books on them.

As for me, I’m going to sit down and reread The Catcher in the Rye tonight. It’s a newer copy.

I read the last one until it fell apart.

What must a writer do to promote one’s book? Well, the answer is a bit complicated. You must do nothing.

Hang on! Don’t get your undies in a bunch. I’m saying that, logically, you must do nothing. What it boils down to is what you are willing and able to do, in order to promote your book.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately (as happy news doth soon approach). It’s a very personal question. What am I willing and able to do?

I have no physical or psychological limitations, so what I am able to do is pretty broad. I have a wonderful family who supports me and my career without a moment’s hesitation. Also, I’m very willing to invest my money into my career, as I happen to think this will be one investment I’ll see a return on. (Confidence or conceit? Call it what you will.) I’m able to do just about anything to get this book out there.

But what I’m willing to do is another story. Oh, I’m willing to go to stores, sign stock, mail postcards and fliers, send out e-mail newsletters, participate in chats, do interviews, submit short stories to zines, participate in conferences and booksignings, and spend a chunk of change on the most fabulous launch party known to man. But I’m not willing to step more than four paces outside my comfort zone.

See, the majority of writers are most comfortable typing away at their keyboards, creating worlds for other people to explore. Some aren’t willing to step away from this to do any promotion at all. (And that’s cool–whatever works for them–I’d never want anyone becoming uncomfortable and unhappy simply to sell a book) Some jump away from the desk in jubilant leaps and bounds, and end up doing some pretty amazing things to self-promote.

Me? I’m going to fall somewhere in the middle. I’m going to work hard to get people talking about Vlad. But I’m not going to bleed for him. (Bleeding near a vampire? Not recommended.) I’m hoping the story will be enough to create initial buzz. Then, I’ll do what I mentioned above. But the most important tool that I can use to bring back the readers is another excellent book. So that’s what I’m working on.

Hopefully my efforts will be enough.

If not…I’m blaming those darn aliens.

Lying?? Nope. Not me, my minions. I’m about as honest as they come. But, I do happen to be happily caught in a wicked web. It’s called First Draft Land and I’m wrapped up in it fairly snugly.

Late last night the muse was working overtime. He, Vlad, and I jotted down over 1,200 words–the only trouble being that they weren’t part of the Ninth Grade Sucks manuscript. They were notes. Detailed notes that have shown me the way to those two words shining in the distance: The End.

I wrote more, of course, but the notes were a huge epiphany for me, as I could feel myself losing track of where Vlad and I were going. I looked at Vlad and said, “But what’s the mystery? Tell me about that.”

To my horror, Vlad shrugged.

Of course, once the muse grunted and fluffed his tutu, Vlad was very chitty-chatty. (Phew!) And this morning, he’s biting to get started (Ow! Stop that!).

Most good books (I would dare to say all, but as I haven’t read them all, I can’t) contain a mystery of some sort. A question that must be answered before you reach the back cover. I’m relieved (and thrilled!) that my weird trio has figured out NGS’s mystery and I’m anxious to move on to writing it. So…I’ll bid you good day, my minions. And happy writing! (and to all my goth minions–morose, soul-wrenching prose)

Just this morning, I was asked what the best advice is that I could give to aspiring authors. The answer is more obvious than you’d think and has been phrased in many ways.

Kill your darlings.

In short, it means to stop being afraid of that delete key and know when to press it. When in doubt, delete, delete, delete.

My word count for yesterday was 2,600 words and today I’ve written another 800 so far. But you can’t tell by my manuscript. I’ve deleted quite a bit. I saw what was wrong and rather than wait for a big mess to clean up at the end, I hacked my darlings to itty bitty bits and started anew in several areas, leaving me with a total of 13,000 words for Ninth Grade Sucks. Now, don’t get me wrong–I almost never revise as I write something. But if I feel the story heading toward doom, I’m apt to yank its chain a bit. Don’t let the story get away from you too much or you might end up at the bottom of a pit wondering, “How on earth did I get here and how the heck am I going to get out of it?”

So sharpen your sickles, my minions. And hack away at your darlings until all that remains is a thing of beauty.

(wait…haven’t I used that title before?)

After a horrendous twenty words last night (yeah…you read it right. Twenty. 20. Two-zero.), my muse cracked his knuckles, nudged me aside, fluffed his tutu, bit down on his cigar and got to work early this morning. I managed to delete 1,4oo words and replace them with 1,600 new ones. The book is much better for it and I feel like I can now move forward without pause. (Thanks, muse!)

Now, I’m not a person who believes in writer’s block, but I do believe that writers do occasionally allow themselves to become distracted. And as soon as the phrase, “I can’t write” left my lips yesterday, I knew that I only couldn’t write because I wasn’t making myself write.

Cue the muse.

He may not be the most attractive being, but he knows when to step in, bless him. I’m glad he did.

Today I’ll be working a bit more on Chapter Three, as, due to the muse shuffling things around and deleting, that’s where I’m left. No biggie. I’m writing this thing in random order anyway. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle.

A jigsaw puzzle with fangs and a hunger for blood.

1. Bow down in loving worship of me.
2. Register for the upcoming Backspace writers conference, so that you may bow down to me in person this July.
3. Mark your calendars for the release of Hell’s Belles by Jackie Kessler–the delicious tale of a succubus on the loose from Hell. (Kensington, January 2007)

Those aren’t so hard to remember, are they?

Also, be sure to read this blog entry over at Anatomy of Melancholy. I’m glad I’m not the only one let down by The Historian.

It’s been a weird week. I’ve been easily distracted, my minions…easily distracted. *stares off in the distance at a random shiny object*

Last night (after miraculously writing 500 words for Ninth Grade Sucks), I was having a conversation with my husband and I sort of drifted in and out of it, until he laughed and said, “You’re not even listening.” It’s true–I wasn’t. Because my head is in another place.

I miss my head.

Anyhoo, I’ve found that it’s been a challenge all week to become involved in anything remotely resembling deep conversation, or to even immerse myself so far into a book that I forget about the world outside. Even sleep is only on the surface for me this week. I’m really looking forward to the excitement of submissions ending, so I can return to my normal, drab, cobwebby, blah, hermitty life.

As for today’s blog, I thought we’d discuss…ooh…what’s that over there? It’s so shiny…