Haus of Rhi

A very interesting blog article written by my Rather Stellar Co-Writer, Aleks. Discussing the finer points of plot development, tension, character flaws, and antagonists. Not saying every screenwriter gets it right; daytime soap operas are evidence of that, clearly. But when one gets it right like the writers of Burn Notice do, it's a slam dunk. And, ultimately, that's what I aspire to write. Don't know about the majority of professional writers out there, but I'm not willing to let go of a story until it's everything it is capable of being. Everything it should be. Which is why the trunk novel still sits collecting dust in the trunk. *lol* But Aleks tells me I'm not allowed to nab a copy of the series and start watching it just yet.  Because then I'll disappear from the internets for a few weeks and that's just not acceptable. And of course, I agree with that.  Really need to get Black finished. Can't do that if I'm vegging on the couch ...

...what I hope is the last for this ms, to be honest. Black is coming along. It's the homestretch, and I've still a lot of work to do. 295 of 363 pages. 97.4k word count. That's with a total of 43 pages of content cut, so far. Most of that will be recovered in the rewriting of scenes, the reordering and reworking of the plot climax and resolution. I can see where it's going, I just can't see how smoothly its going to get there. The picture lacks the clarity of detail -- but it likely will until I get to the scenes and work through them one by one. Some of the smexxing is gone. I don't mourn the loss, but all the sudden this book is more intrigue and thriller than "hawt manluv" ... which doesn't surprise me, because I think that's what it was intended to be all along. Black's relationship with Garthelle isn't the main plot thread. It's secondary, and it's finally coming out that way. I suck at the "when all else fails...

I set myself a deadline to have the "Black" manuscript edited/revised completely by the beginning of December. So that I can focus on some other projects floating around in the ether. The current state of the ms sits at 278 of 401 pages, with a 106.5k-word count. This last section has a few sections in need of heavy revision and/or rewrite, in order to pull the story together properly. Day job and general funk working against me, but I've a few mornings and two full days off in which to tackle this story and beat the antagonists into submission. And thus far the rewrites have come along nicely... or so I think. And so... to wrap up the pre-Turkey Day editing frenzy, I've a snippet to share. This scene made it through the edits with only a few tweaks, mostly because I just like it too much the way it stands: “Don’t you feel it?”  He whispers, mouth hovering just a fraction from mine.  “Please, tell me you feel it.”  The words come out rushed, almost hoarse.  ...

Not really. Promise. It just sounded catchy. And grabbing the reader's attention is what it's all about, right? Of course, I'm just now starting my second cup of coffee so anything I write can be construed as, and likely is, lacking any inherent value. My brain is rarely in gear before Cup Number Three. Writer's block. One of those things that everyone who writes either mentions or whines about or even uses as an excuse or avoidance tactic at one point or another. Hell, I've certainly encountered it enough times over the years. This isn't a psych eval though, and I'm not your shrink. =) Lack of ideas. Lack of emotional engagement in the story content. Lack of direction. Lack of motivation, intrinsic or otherwise. In each case, the issue revolves around the surge of energy. Artistic energy. Creative energy. It's a resource that ebbs and flows like the tides of the ocean. Endless, but the presence at any given point in the process of writing is no...

Been waiting  for roughly ten days to hear back from the publisher regarding deal sheet. Waiting rather impatiently, I might add. Then again, I don't have patience for my own tendency to procrastinate. So... Deal sheet came today, though. Yay! Giddiness all over again. I spent the past week in a dreamlike limbo, the mindset of "You were imagining things, Rhi! You dreamed it, vividly. It wasn't real."  It was impetus to keep me working on other projects. Keep me writing, editing. Keep that giddiness momentum going, ride it as long as possible. Yes, I know. That logic has a distinct rational flaw. It's okay. It worked. That's all that matters. Deal sheet, though! Haha, take that you devious psyche.  The vivid dreams are never the ones I remember. If I'm lucky. I stumbled over a few of the details in the deal sheet, though. Found myself reconsidering the prospect of locating an agent. I'm not going to do it right this moment; the contract detai...

Readers always ask where the characters come from. The inspiration, the source, the process... how does one get from intangible fog-bank of concepts, ideas, to the person who comes to life with a few words on the page.  The truly fascinating characters I read -- I share that obsession. How did  that one get birthed, anyways? Toward that end, I thought I would begin a once-monthly series of posts. Each one highlighting a specific muse or character. Introduce them. Try to, when possible, explain how it was they came into existence.  For each muse, there will be three once-weekly posts. The first will include a short excerpt of prose to introduce the character to the audience.  The second will consist of an explanation of how they came to be. And the third week will involve an active interview sequence with the muse. I do agree with the sentiment that art in its truest form shouldn't be over-analyzed, but instead appreciated for the depth and richness of its beauty. ...

Good morning, world. I'm sitting here with my Sumatran Blend and my additive-free nicotine, pondering the philosophical implications of "blank" ink. And working up the intestinal fortitude and determination to tackle a few chapters of Black today. Elderly gentleman with silver hair comes up to me yesterday evening, with a small crumbled piece of paper ripped from a larger sheet. It has some writing scrawled in barely legible penmanship. "Hi there, can you help me? I need an ink cartridge for an Epson printer." I walk him to the printer aisle, where the replacement cartridges are arrayed on the shelf.  He tells me the number jotted on the paper, and I point out the correct replacements.  "Did you need a black or color cartridge?" I ask. "Oh, this says blank ink cartridge. You don't carry blank ink?" "I'm sorry, sir, the printers only use black or color ink. I've never heard of blank ink. What does one use that for? ...

I have every intention of completing edits/rewrites to "Black" by the end of the month. It's just going to require a bit of pep-talk. That guy from the Adam Sandler movies comes to mind: "Yoooo can doooooo eet!" Yeah. While I still hold a distilled essence of that renewed vigor -- I did it once, I can do it again, dammit -- I've reached that point where I'm getting sick of looking at it. It sucks. All of it sucks, and I should just scrap the whole damned thing and be done with it. Start over from scratch with a fresh and invigorating idea and -- Right about here is where I tell myself to shut the fuck up and get my sorry ass back to editing. Whining about it doesn't get it finished. There are other projects out there, other stories that want written, need told.  This one comes first, though. I refuse to give up on it. I have that -- what would one call it, precisely?  Bulldog mentality. I don't give up even when I know I probably should. I d...

Or, a day in the life of a writer. The mundane little things that make the larger picture actually come together. My day began about two hours ago. Sitting here in my Writer Corner (it's horridly cluttered, no I won't take a picture of it right now, maybe some other time) with my cup of joe, poking around the internets. Just the daily wake-up routine to get the brain out of neutral before I get started. And the Wee Racy Red (my Aspire One, the procrastination tool) starts having keyboard spasms. I know  I'm hitting the space bar. It's just not registering. *eyeroll* This is what comes of multi-tasking. Technology and crumbs do not make a good combination, as most people are aware. I happen to know for a fact that the local superstore retailer doesn't carry keyboard protectors of any kind. Not for standard desktop keyboards, let alone laptop skins. They're a relatively cheap product, only cost a couple bucks. But no! I would either have to drive to ... god ...

After completing the zero draft of FOAT back in September, my co-writer and I spent approximately one week doing a round of edits. I hate editing. I have this compulsive obsession, this love/hate relationship, with editing. It takes conscious effort to restrain myself from performing the task indefinitely. Perfection is unattainable; that doesn't deter me from striving for it. Being the co-writer with decidedly less experience in the publishing industry (i.e. none, thus far) I deferred to his suggestions for submission location. He sent it off around the 15th of September. Imagine my shock when I opened my email on November 9th to discover an email from the editor at Carina Press, offering a publishing contract for FOAT with a tentative release date of August 2011. There were a few moments of response lag, during which I stared at the words on the screen, reread the ones compiled into such key phrasing. And then I screamed. Really, really loud. Let me just clarify, here. I do...