Ick! Would you look at the last three blog entries?? On second thought, don’t look. They’re just a pile of random, weird thoughts–the clear result of an impatient woman being forced to wait. (I’ve always been this way–I distinctly remember writing to Santa when I was seven to ask him if he could just please hurry up and come. It was June.)

Thrilling things are going on behind the curtain here at Heatherland, but nothing–just yet–that I can share. As a result, my brain has packed its bags and headed for warmer climates, leaving me with nothing but cobwebs and an unfinished manuscript. I know I’ll write the moment the sale of Eighth Grade Bites is settled. It’s just a matter of time.

In fact, I’m determined to sit in my chair today and do something…anything…related to Ninth Grade Sucks.

….

….

….does blogging count?

Today (well, tonight, really, but honestly, who’s keeping track of when I post? I mean, other than those faithful stalkers I refer to as “my minions”…heh. That would be you…) I’m feeling a bit like Happy Fun Ball. Do you remember that SNL skit? It was one of my faves–back when SNL was funny. So, for fun, we’re going to toss out anything even remotely writing related and exchange the phrase “Happy Fun Ball” for “Heather”.

Enjoy. (or don’t…this is purely a self-absorbed moment)

Warning: Pregnant women, the elderly and children under 10 should avoid prolonged exposure to Heather.

Caution: Heather may suddenly accelerate to dangerous speeds.

Heather contains a liquid core, which, if exposed due to rupture, should not be touched, inhaled, or looked at.

Do not use Heather on concrete.

Discontinue use of Heather if any of the following occurs:

Itching
Vertigo
Dizziness
Tingling in extremities
Loss of balance or coordination
Slurred speech
Temporary blindness
Profuse sweating
Heart palpitations

If Heather begins to smoke, get away immediately. Seek shelter and cover head.

Heather may stick to certain types of skin.

When not in use, Heather should be returned to her special container and kept under refrigeration…

Failure to do so relieves the makers of Heather, Wacky Products Incorporated, and its parent company Global Chemical Unlimited, of any and all liability.

Ingredients of Heather include an unknown glowing substance which fell to Earth, presumably from outer space.

Heather has been shipped to our troops in Saudi Arabia and is also being dropped by our warplanes on Iraq.

Do not taunt Heather.

Heather comes with a lifetime guarantee.

Heather…
ACCEPT NO SUBSTITUTES!

My book is doomed. You know, Eighth Grade Bites…the book of a lifetime, great idea, lots of blood-sucking slurpiness? According to the Lulu Titlescorer, Eighth Grade Bites has only a 14.6% chance of being a bestseller. I’m completely devastated.

Not only that, but Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone shares the same percentage! 14.6%

It looks like JK Rowling and I are doomed to failure.

Woe is me. (er…woe are we)

Time to celebrate, minions! It’s the luckiest day of the year! Here’s wishing you all a wonderful, productive, inspirational day!

Today is such a good day that I can’t even blog about it.

Seriously. I don’t want to jinx anything.

What I will say is that I am one busy little Heather…if you count research that I’m not mentioning and phone calls that I’m not waiting for.

Today, minions, I’m focusing (well, trying to focus) on the rest of Chapter Four. My fabulous critique partner (who is an amazing goddess) clued me in to the problems I was having in Chapter One. So now I can move on. For those keeping track, I now have chapters 1, 2, 3, 5, 8 and part of 4 written for Ninth Grade Sucks. Don’t ask me why Vlad tells it to me in strange clumps…I’m just the writer.

So go forth, my minion horde (heh…I bet you’re asking yourself, “Since when are we a horde??” The answer, of course is, “Since now.”)…and await some news from Auntie Heather.

Because it’s coming soon. I can feel it.

*slams forehead on desk*

Yep. It’s one of those days.

The Chapter That Wouldn’t Die is haunting me–mostly because I did a foolish thing and reread the original version last night. I’ve never been so torn. So I’m going to reread both this morning and then send them off to my fabulous critique partner for her thoughts.

Dude, have I mentioned how much being on submission sucks?? I mean, I’m enjoying it–don’t get me wrong. I’m completely fixated on the glimmer of hope in the distance (“Hope dangles on a string, like slow spinning redemption. Winding in and winding out. The shine of it has caught my eye.”–Dashboard Confessional, Vindicated). I’m loving the attention, the promise, the infinite feeling of maybe.

But it’s seriously screwing with my writing routine.

I can’t focus. Normally I wake up, grab a Diet Pepsi, check email, return emails, read blogs, read Backspace forum posts, write in my blog, work on whatever scene(s) I thought about as I was falling asleep the night before. I have become, much to my amazement, a creature of habit. Like a bunny. An evil bunny with big, gnashing teeth and a tail of flames…just wandering the hillside in search of tasty flesh.

Or not.

I’ve been really distracted lately.

So now my routine has become: wake up, grab Diet Pepsi (some things are imbedded deep in my DNA), stare out the window, stare at cell phone, check email, return emails, wander around the internet looking up humorous and/or intriguing articles, stare at phone some more, open Ninth Grade Sucks file, read last paragraph of where I left off, minimize file, check Backspace forums, check email again, get another Diet Pepsi, close Ninth Grade Sucks window, launch Sims, play for five minutes–then close the application, daydream about Eighth Grade Bites being a real book on a shelf and everything, wonder how thick it will be, wonder if publishers will be remotely interested in my ideas for cover art, check Backspace forums again, read blogs, get yet another Diet Pepsi, force self to write.

That usually takes care of my first hour or so of the day.

And I’m out of Diet Pepsi.

*returns head to desk*

Well…it died, at any rate. The first chapter of Ninth Grade Sucks, despite still existing as an ugly blobby thing that squeeches (it’s a word now, look it up in A Guide to Speaking Heather) its way across the floor, is finished. And, strangely, it looks a lot like my first go.

I’m much happier with it now and can finally move on to where I left off–finishing up the fourth chapter. I already have the fifth and eighth chapters written. (Vlad was in the mood to share them, I was in the mood to write them) And, so far, writing Ninth Grade Sucks is just as strange as writing Eighth Grade Bites was. It’s a bizarre mishmash of moments which, according to my experience with Eighth Grade Bites, will eventually smooth out into quite the tale. I just have to trust that Vlad will get me there again. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I don’t tell the story, Vlad does. I merely transcribe it.

What are you transcribing lately?

How many times can a writer write the first chapter of a book? According to my experience with Ninth Grade Sucks, about five-hundred-million-bajillion times.

Or four, in layman’s terms.

Well…four so far, anyway. Ask me when the book is finished.

I had a difficult night of restless sleep and bizarro dreams last night (including a nightmare where my fabulous agent sold Eighth Grade Bites for $4–he was ecstatic), but this morning has been much better. Not one Lightbulb of Inspiration (we should capitalize that from now on, don’t you think, minions?) flickered on over my head, but two.

So now I’m rewriting the first chapter *grumble, spit, swear* and, once I’m done, I’m fixing something that’s so big, it can’t wait for revisions.

If you’re looking for some stranger-than-fiction details to occupy your procrastinating eyeballs, check out the tale of Lisa Kackney on Writer Beware’s blog. It’s almost impossible to believe, and yet, completely true.

Me? I’m off to write that first chapter…again…

Today, my minions, we’re going to discuss running.

I know what you’re thinking, “Running?? Has Auntie Heather finally lost it? This is a blog about writing! And Diet Pepsi! And…vampires!” But don’t run off to gather the torches and pitchforks just yet. I’m about to make an analogy that, I believe, makes a lot of sense.

A friend of mine recently told me that he’s had over twelve short stories published. Now, this same friend has been working on his novel for something like six years and says that he’ll “get around” to finishing it someday, which I believe he will. But for him, the short story’s the thing. He loves that quick gratification. He loves that pile of writing credits. My friend is a sprinter.

I’ve never liked writing short stories. I have a difficult time saying what I want to say in only a few thousand words, so I stick, for the most part, with novels (though I have had a few shorts published here and there). To my credit, the first draft of the first book I ever finished writing was completed in four weeks. I foolishly assumed it was finished two months after that and queried the entire planet. It still needs work, but I’d have to say it was one of the most emotional things I’ve ever written (and no, this one wasn’t about vampires–it was about a man dealing with addiction and searching for acceptance, a powerful piece that I now call A Whisper of Need: appropriate, as the man, Seth, hears voices–one named Need and one named Reason, the personifications of his conscience and his habit). The second book I finished writing took much longer, say ten years. The Roses of Carrion, of course, still needs a lot of work, but the concept is unique and solid…I think. (a dark fantasy about a sorceress who discovers a world between worlds, ruled by a vampyre king)

I love both books.

Then I wrote and polished Eighth Grade Bites. Vlad was with me for about four months of actual work, five if you count the break I took to clear my head. The first draft was like pulling teeth, but I shouldn’t have been surprised. Vlad was taking me through some scary stuff. All of a sudden I was in junior high again…and, as if that wasn’t bad enough, I was hanging out with an outcast vampire kid. But we got through it. Ninth Grade Sucks is proving fairly easy to write.

But when I look at the short stories I’ve written–there are only five that stand out in my mind–I don’t get the tingle that I get when I think of my books. To be frank, I only started writing short stories for the publication credits. I don’t enjoy them. For me, they’re just a newspaper clipping to what might have been.

I’m a long distance runner.

The whole point of this, which I’m sure you’re thankful I’m finally reaching (put that torch back down, we’re almost there), is that it doesn’t matter how you run–you can sprint several hundred times or you can go on three long runs–just that you run.

Because, in the end, it’s not about distance or speed…it’s about getting there.

And if you’re a writer, I don’t have to tell you where ‘there’ is. You already know. ‘There’ is different for all of us…but none of us can get there if we don’t run.

This may be the longest. weekend. ever.

Apart from it being cold, (winter…blah) and my desk being horrifically cluttered, the lightbulb that hovers eternally above my head flickered on last night…and doom ensued.

Now, mind you, my dear, sweet minions, that normally I welcome the warm, sudden glow of the lightbulb of inspiration. But yesterday it flickered on and spilled a pool of light over some mega changes I have to make in Ninth Grade Sucks already. *grumble, spit, swear* These changes will make the book go from good to GOOD, but the whiny spoiled child in me is kicking her feet and saying, “NONONONONONONONONONONO!”

Somebody hand me a muzzle.

So here I am, knowing what needs to be changed, but staring at my screen and wondering if, at this very moment, an editor could be reading Eighth Grade Bites. I wonder what they’ll think of it. I wonder if they’ll laugh when they’re supposed to and feel empathy for Vlad. But mostly, I wonder if they think I’m the slightest bit talented or just a huge joke. Then I drink some Diet Pepsi, insist that I’m going to do those changes now…and then I wonder something else.

It’s annoying. I’m annoying. And I still have work to do.