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By Ellie, August 30, 2010 10:51 pm

It nagged me like an insufferable employer. Begged me like a love-starved child. And I gave in.

Despite all my resistance and reasoning, I couldn’t ignore my doorstop novel. I started editing the first part today. I’m work-whipped. What can I say? Maybe now that I’m working on it again, I’ll soon stop writing random notes for extra scenes, details, and dialogue. I’ve just about filled the shoebox I scrounged up for all these notes; what’s more frightening is that I could possibly fit them all into the second draft. The trick is trying to make this draft no longer than 150K words. insert derisive laughter here

I’ll return to Manuscript #2 soon enough. Maybe I’ll save it for the weekends or late night projects (when the Webcomic hasn’t begged for attention). But something tells me that I have to keep working on Manuscript #1 until it’s ready to be shopped around. And if a project has bugged me for this long, I like to think that it means something.

Sorry for the short post this time, but my brain’s been focused more on the whirlwind of violent air formally known as Earl. It’s like having one of my flatulent long-lost relatives announce that he’s coming by for a day or two. I’m dreading it, preparing for it, and can’t think of anything else besides the potential damage that might result and what to take with us in case of evacuation.

Dammit, one of these days, I will relocate to a hurricane-free zone.

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By Ellie, August 24, 2010 10:45 pm

Dear Author,

There’s nothing more mentally draining than seeing your corpulent form waddle into the store. You just have this air about you, this arrogance born from stubborn blindness and a staggering refusal to accept reality. You certainly haven’t endeared yourself to us, but I doubt you realize that… or care.

As much as I detest you, the curious part of my brain wants to dissect your personality. It wants to find out how you work, why you’re the way you are today, and just where you think you’re going in terms of your “career.” I think I got part of an answer the last time we met.

I finished a first draft of about 141K words in three months. I didn’t expect that to impress you; I’m not saying it to impress anyone, even though I’m amazed with myself. What’s more amazing is the editing process ahead. With another draft or two, my novel is going to be even better than it was the first time around. Who wouldn’t look forward to writing a better story?

Well, there’s you.

I really should not have been surprised to hear that you don’t like editing your own work. It explains so much. I can understand the frustration and agony that comes with returning to a piece of work. But how can you just leave a first draft the way it is and declare it the final one? How can you say you don’t want to even think about looking over your work? I’ve seen your novels. God, how could I not? They’re sitting on the local authors shelf, glaring at me, tempting me to read them cover to cover and soak up the stupid like I’m in some biblio-alternative version of MST3K.

And I almost did get through the first one. Oh, I tried. But it was like eating a whole pack of lunch meat that’s about to spoil: you know it’s wrong and possibly lethal, and there’s a chance that maybe it won’t do too much cellular damage to your large intestine… but in the end, you toss that sick pack of compressed meat by-products. Because it’s just not worth it. The headache, the killer gas, the violent contractions that eventually end in the expulsion of everything you’ve eaten since you were born… it’s not worth it.

The shit-poor characterization. The sloppily indented paragraphs. The cheesy-ass dialogue. The obvious Stephen Kingness of it all. God, it’s seared into my gray matter, and no surgical tool can ever scrape it away.

No wonder an agent or editor hasn’t signed you on, and it’s no mystery that either never will. If you can’t brave even a glance at your first attempt, then you’re never going anywhere. You’ve been at this for longer than I’ve been alive, and you’ve been self-published. You’re not some undiscovered genius who’s been beaten down by elitist, snobbish publishers and agents and has found sanctuary with an overpriced printer. You’re a wasteland of plagiarizing, unimaginative so-called talent.

Ugh. It’ll be a fine day when you stop coming in, and an even better one when you step away from your keyboard and give up for good.

No love,

Me

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By Ellie, August 4, 2010 10:41 pm

A love for languages often includes a love for letters. I’ve always been fascinated by the bold Russian letters, admired the brushlike quality of Chinese characters, and loved the sharp, chiseled cuneiform.

Nowadays some books have info on the type of font the design guys decided to use. Try it, especially with one of those young adult fantasy novels. Notice how most of these people go against Garamound, Times New Roman, and Helvetica? Goddamned Times New Roman… it’s such a bully, I swear. It just crams itself into whatever paper you need to write for class, or a manuscript for a publisher, and nnnrrrgghhhh suckmynonexistentballsTimes.

I probably won’t be able to submit a manuscript in anything but Times, nor will I have a say in how my finished book should look, but I can always dream. This is a nice place to start: Alternatives to Your Favorite Serif Typefaces.

I say dream because a lot of these cool fonts aren’t very free. They’re, like, hundreds of dollars more expensive than free. And some of them cost Euros, which is fine for you European types.

Now I’m off to search for free Times New Roman alternatives. Free still exists on the Internet, right? Right?! Dammit, I will NOT be confined to a tyrannical typeface!

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By Ellie, August 2, 2010 10:54 pm

I can’t come up with a decent title for this one. BECAUSE, that’s why.

No mini book review this Monday, either. I love Cornelia Funke’s writing. She’s done some gorgeous work… but, man, it’s a chore getting through Inkspell. I’m not even a quarter of the way through. But once I’m done with all three books, I’ll write about my general musings. For now… well, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll think of a book I’ve already read and write a review on that for next Monday.

Just thought of three: the Mortal Instruments trilogy. Now I just gotta remember all the characters I didn’t like and write about why I didn’t like them.

But the truth is that I’m not reading much these days. I don’t want to. I’m so involved with writing, looking for a job, and planning on going back to school that I’m loath to get lost in a novel. Sounds silly, I know, but I’ve learned that I can finish a project I’ve started. The only other time I’ve finished a novel was… damn, back when I was ten. It was an adventure story with animals, written in a composition notebook no longer than 100 pages.

So as you can imagine, writing a novel that could go past 500 printed pages is a damn big deal with me.

So what happens after this? There’s that Webcomic. I’m going to start posting concept art and sketches pretty soon. (Our printer doesn’t like to print anymore, but at least it’ll scan.) I’ve got the plot figured out for the most part. Now it’s just a matter of drawing and inking everything. Backgrounds are going to be a bitch.

Welp, back to Inkspell. Maybe I can get through a whole chapter!

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By Ellie, July 15, 2010 10:57 pm

This is such a nerd thing to say–I have no shame–but I want a home library. Not a room with bookcases crammed two layers deep with books, no, no. I’m talking about an entire house filled with books.

From the minute you step into the foyer, bookcases along the walls. Books about nature: rocks, waterfalls, forests, hiking trails, mountain ranges. Head into the living room. Books about… um, antiques, I guess. And the requisite coffee books, of course. Can’t make a house into a home without those.

As for the kitchen? What do you think? Diet books. And books about fat people.

The bathroom can hold books on oceans, seashells, and exotic getaways. I guess. If I want to be classy and crap, I can do that for the guest bathroom. For my bathroom–including the one I have now–I’m storing all the books that I really don’t want to read but feel obligated to because I paid real money for them. (That reminds me, I need to buy some real Bathroom Books. And move my archaeology mags.)

And the bedroom? All my favorites, including stuff for fun. Like books about fat people.

My home office will have all my dictionaries, even the ones I’ve collected just because I wanted to. (That Tagalog book might not come in handy, but I like having it around.) All my reference books will be in close reach. Including my books about fat people.

Yes, every room will have books in it. A house filled with the smell of ink and paper, a haven for readers and collectors. A home-spanning library, that’s a dream for me.

That and collecting as many books about fat people as I can. I’m going for the world record, after all.