Bloody Days

trying to relax

I’ve almost forgotten I blog.

Heading toward the Christmas season things took an unexpected turn. A routine mammogram ended in a biopsy and two surgeries, and I can’t say it’s all done yet. The main distraction is the incision that has continued to bleed for over a week.

There are plenty more serious health issues in the world, and I’m trying to keep this in perspective. But as far as annoyances go, seeing bandage after bandage fill with blood whether at work, hanging with the kiddo, or sleeping is maddening. Who wants to leave blood on sheets and pillows, bathrobes, towels, and bras?

Perhaps that is too much information. I might be beyond caring. Besides, I don’t know about you, but I knowledge of things like breast cancer was very limited. I had some understanding of chemo (No verdict yet on whether I’ll need radiation. Might not.) and like most of us I’ve seen all those pink ribbon campaigns, but it might have been helpful to have heard specifics. Have you ever had those moments when you look at a cut or a bruise or something not right on your body and you wonder, “Is it supposed to look like that?!”

It’s been a distraction.

With any luck, the worst of this is over and I can think. MOst of the time I don’t feel like I’m thinking. I just feel like I’m moving on to the next thing that needs to get done. Do you ever feel that way?

But I am still working on the line edits for my novel. That isn’t going to come out when I originally thought. Things have fallen behind. But my publisher and I are getting there, and that’s what matters.

And this and this and this…

an effort to draw a horse

A person is supposed to try new things, right? Like a year and a half ago I began speed quad skating. I thought it was a crazy thing to do, but now I love it.

In art, I’ve drawn a few things I didn’t think I could. Like a whale and a tiger. (Not together, mind you.) But I’m taking a break from art shows. I need something different to justify another show.

I want to try a comic. Or graphic novel. Whatever you prefer to call it. I have these two characters–Ink and Mirabelle–who are bunnies. Maybe I loved Watership Down too much as a kid. The story lines wouldn’t be about action, just their relationship. Maybe that’s boring? But Ink loves Mirabelle but Mirabelle being up on the moon more than she loves being on the earth with Ink. He tries so hard to persuade her to come back to him.

Ink and Mirabelle

And I want to write a series, but I’m not sure about that. Mostly I like the idea of being able to follow a character for more than one book. Creating a world and being able to go back there time and time again. The manuscripts I have written do take place in the same town (mostly), and some of the characters overlap. A main character in one story is a secondary character in another, and then has a tiny walk-on part in yet another. Maybe that can get too twee, but if I feel the character belongs there, I love doing that.

And I would love to try animation. Unfortunately, I don’t have the equipment for that. I’ve tried a few things, and they’ve been okay as far as experiments go, but they aren’t what I want to do really.

I’ve made a few handmade books. I definitely want to make more, but I can’t manage to sell them and they cost money to make. So they aren’t practical.

Wait. Is any of this practical?

I thought not.

Oh well. There’s too much to do, and I’ve got a book to edit for publication first.

What projects would you like to tackle? Anything you dream of doing?

Perfect Sentences and Other Lies

Some people promise to diet or to exercise every day or to be more patient. Do you do that? Swear you’re going to be different and somewhere between three minutes and three days that is all shot to hell?

Mine is that I’m going to be less neurotic.

I’ve been trying to come up with one sentence that captures the feelings/mood/idea of my novel. I felt like I’d been left alone on the edge of a mountain with the instructions to fly down or don’t come down at all and all I’ve got are some feathers and duct tape.

But really. All I have to do is write a sentence. Why I have to make it difficult is beyond me.

So, I’ve come up with a sentence. Here’s my first draft. I’m not happy with the word ‘trauma’ but can’t think of a better word right now.

Two sixteen-year-old girls, best friends, use magic and their wits to recover from trauma and to get revenge.

Thoughts?

Is that the best you can do?

In high school I spent one year on the yearbook staff. I started the class really excited, and I ended the class hoping never to speak of it again. When my mother saw the section I’d worked on–the advertising section, which I hated but did work hard on–she said, “That doesn’t look very good. That’s the best you can do?”

Or maybe she said, “That’s terrible.”

It’s hard to remember exactly because what I remember best was the pain that went through my chest. My mother wasn’t a mother of false praise.

The ads weren’t good though. I’d struggled with designing the ads. My relationship with the teacher was a disaster since I realized I wasn’t pretty enough to warrant his attention.

Maybe that wasn’t the problem. But I knew the popular boys and girls invited him to their parties and that sometimes he went.

You probably don’t need to be told I wasn’t ever invited to these parties. But I didn’t want to go to their parties. I wanted my mother to tell me I’d done a great job, that I had talent, that I should be an artist when I grew up.

She said (and this I remember), “I wouldn’t show that work to anyone if I were you.”

Twenty-five years later and I still haven’t.

So, last night I sent my “final” draft of my novel to my publisher. (Final until I get edits backs, that is.) All I have to do is wait for her to read the rewrites and tell me what she thinks.

It’s funny how something said to you years ago can stay lodged in your brain for decades. I wouldn’t show that work to anyone.

And here’s me trying to send my novel out for the world to see. (Although, the world isn’t going to see it. A tiny group of friends and some random strangers.)

We’ll see how it goes.

Why is it dark in here?

my art + photoshop elements

Recently I joked, “I could’ve written a light comedy.” And my husband replied, “I don’t think you have light comedy in you.”

A friend said, “It’s odd because you’re a funny person.”

Hey, I didn’t set out to write a dark, emotional novel. I started with an image and went from there. But I don’t sit down with an agenda. I always start with an image.

The novel that is to be published this winter began with the sound of marbles hitting a wood floor. Just that. No characters. No plot. But I asked, why would the marbles be spilled on the ground like that? And all these words later there is a tale of abuse and violence and survival and friendship.

Another novel started with an image I’ve had since childhood–a girl with a paintbrush that can change whatever she wants. That became a story of murder and jealousy.

And another novel started with the image of a young man who loses the ability to sleep–which is about jealousy too, and secrets, curses, and death.

And another with a young woman putting on red lipstick–which became a story about falling in love with the wrong person and going through hell for them.

But for all I know I could write a comedy. You never know.

As I edit my novel, I’m having to think about some of the things I’ve put a character through, and I think, she may be too damaged to come out all right in the end. Then again, I know people in the real world who’ve been through very real hell, and on the surface anyway, they seem to be doing fine. It’s hard to know though, isn’t it?

You have to find a way to do justice to a character’s suffering. I don’t mean that the bad guy will end up in jail or realize the error of his ways. If you put a character through trauma, that character can’t just shrug it off and be fine.

Something JK Rowling said recently about how Harry Potter would function after all he’d been through–not very well. Don’t you imagine he suffers from bad dreams that wake Ginny up in the middle of the night? Or that sometimes he’s a morose and remote father–loving, and generally good, but a man who needs time alone to brood. Wouldn’t his children sense his sadness at all his losses?

JK Rowling doesn’t put that in the books, but she doesn’t make it an impossibility either.

My character is going through a dark time, and I’m not sure how she’s going to be.

I’m not sure what it is about me that compels me to write stories of loss and trauma, and I can’t afford the therapy to find out.

You? Are your stories mostly happy? Sad? Funny? Why is that do you think?

Editing Rehab

my work

Hello. My name is Marta, and I’m an editaholic.
I’ve spent hours editing, gotten lost editing, and been unable to remember what I just wrote after editing. After a long night of editing, I’ve woken up with strange characters in my head. During my breaks at work, I’d be eating my lunch and sneaking in some editing. When I’m away from my editing, editing is all I can think about. And even when I get some editing done, I think I could handle a little more editing. I knew I’d hit editing bottom when I edited my story to death.

Editing: The Mutant Virus Edition

If you want to be a published author, you have to edit your work. No matter the publishing path, editing is along the way.

Sometimes editing makes me feel like I know what I’m doing. Really. I see the problem. Take my pen to it. Look at the page and see all those marks, and hey, me, I’ve accomplished something. I can even flash that paper at someone and say, “Look what I did today!” It’s a bit like showing off my latest skate injury. It hurts, but I’m proud.

But editing (writing) isn’t always like that. Sometimes looking at my work makes me feel as if a flesh eating virus has wheedled, twisted, and hooked its way from my brow to my heart. I will have to wear a veil to hide the horror of it.

Yes, I like a bit of melodrama.

But a bit like the psychological drama of showing your face to the world if you know the world won’t want to see it…the world may not want to see my writing (I type here, showing the world my writing…). Maybe it would be best to veil the words. What is the point of showing one’s self to the world? Why do we want to do it?

No, I’m not going to cover up and hide. I am going to edit and all will be fine. I am a tiny speck of space dust and my book added to the planet won’t affect the earth’s gravitational pull or anything. But eventually it will make me happy. Happy-ish. The happy-ish speck of space dust.

Sounds like a comic strip.

So, when you edit your work, how do you feel?