It's cold and wet and I'm unmotivated.

All my plans to get up at 5am every morning, to write for two solid hours a day, to get to at least 25,000 words by the time I fly out… well, it’s not happening. Between the 13^th July and the 16^th July, I wrote nothing. I thought about writing, if that counts, and I researched (and that does count), but I didn’t write a thing. For the week or two before that, I got very little done as well. In my defense, I had a busy weekend with family… however, if I were a dedicated writer, I’d have fitted in some time somewhere. The fact that I didn’t is what bothers me.

I had a burst of activity on the 17^th, on a sick day from work and the worst weather day this city has seen for decades. I stayed bundled up at home, half asleep, and eventually dragged the story out and started working on it at about 4pm. I managed around 1,400 words in a few hours of erratic bursts… but it got me started into the second chapter, and it’s boosted me up a lot.

Oddly enough (or maybe not odd at all), this chapter is taking a different direction from that which I intended. My protag is making his issues clearer, and what I thought would bother him actually isn’t it at all. I guess when I’m not writing my brain is still chugging over, thinking about things and processing alternatives. Still, I’m dissatisfied with my progress. It feels like I could do a whole lot better than I am doing.

I want to be a writer that writes every day. One who has a consistent pattern: who forces her butt into the chair no matter how tired she feels, or how unmotivated. Problem is, I *want*, but I don’t do. I engage in a cycle of creative bursts interspersed with long breaks where I have little energy (physical or creative). For the past week, even when I’m awake, I’ve felt tired. Exhausted actually, like my muscles are lead and my head is filled with cotton wool. It’s not so bad now as it has been, and my excitement for going to see Emily and staying with her for a month is helping a lot.

You know, I blame the weather. I struggle to maintain motivation during winter. I always have. My energy levels are, in a large way, determined by sunlight. If it’s a dark cloudy day, I sit around and watch tv or I sleep. If it’s a bright sunny day, I get up and do things. If the weather changes during the day, goes from bright sunny to dark and cloudy, my enthusiasm switches off.

In reflection, over the past two weeks I’ve felt mildly depressed. Having experienced depression in the past (and serious bouts of it), I can safely say that I’m not clinically depressed, but my energy and motivation is way down. And, that affects what I achieve and consequently my self-perception.

Maybe I have a mild case of Seasonal Affective Disorder… there I go with my self-diagnosis. But it’s a possibility, I guess. The past two weeks have thrown us into real winter. Bitter cold, darker days… until just now, I hadn’t put it all together, but it does make sense. Even as I sit here typing this it’s 8am on Thursday morning and there’s no sun, just a pale grey cloud blanket. I feel drugged. I could quite happily retreat to the bed and sleep all day.

But, whatever is going on with my moods, in three days time it won’t matter because I’m going to America for a month and it’s summer over there!

See, I’m feeling much better already!

BR: Prey (Michael Crichton)

Amazon Link: Prey

At times this book read more like ‘New Scientist’ than a novel, yet never once did it lose my attention. In fact, it kept me riveted! I don’t, however, profess to actually understanding it all… though I appreciated the general concepts. Seems that partially completed science degree came in handy for something.

Crichton injects a satisfying balance of humanity, frailty and courage to his protag. We meet Jack as an unappreciated house husband. An intelligent man, an expert in computer engineering using biological principles, he was unfairly dismissed from a high-tech silicon-valley company after becoming aware of a colleague’s impropriety. Before he could take action, he was fired and his reputation tarnished. Getting another job proves difficult, and now his life revolves around caring for his three children and deciding on what colour table napkins he should buy. It’s hardly satisfying, yet he takes to it with gusto and parents his children with a firm, fair hand.

His wife, an executive of Xymos, a nanotechnology company also based in Silicon Valley, begins to display unusual, erratic behaviour. Working long hours, belittling Jack, over-disciplining the children: Jack suspects her of having an affair, but he is unwilling to face her, or investigate counselling or legal options. His sister accuses him of being too passive. Yes, this might be true. Jack takes his wife’s abuse, apologises for things that are not his fault, and observes her unsettling behaviour with little attempt to counter it. He experiences self doubt, and uncertainty about his future, but no-one can blame him of this.

He is not a wimp, but somewhere along the way he lost control of his own direction, and he seems unsure of exactly how to get it back. The decision is made for him when Ricky, a senior subordinate in his old company, phones him for help. They are working on a project for Xymos, using code Jack created, and a small team that Jack used to lead. It’s an uncomfortable situation, but soon that’s the least of Jack’s concern. What begins is a roller-coaster ride for Jack, where he shows true courage and intelligence in a situation that is so horrific because it’s a scenario that is possible.

For action and high thrills, this novel delivers. For characterisation and seeing Jack overcome his inertia, it excels. Most of all, this novel is disarming. As a work of fiction based on scientific fact, the possibility of a scenario such as this actually occurring is not beyond the imagination. Therein lies the true merit of Crichton’s talent.

I walk away from this novel caring about Jack, horrified by what he experienced, encouraged by his strength of spirit and will. He is a smart man who shows true courage and the ability to think fast when faced with the unthinkable. Yet, he is not infallible, he's a 40 year old flabby gutted computer nerd with a family and a wife he barely recognises. He is an ordinary guy, and that’s what makes this work.

My only complaint, on reflection, is that the novel felt a little rushed. I believed how Jack worked things out, however when the action first started I momentarily felt as though I’d missed something. It's a minor gripe, but I wouldn’t have complained if the novel had been padded out with an extra 50 or so pages, in the centre somewhere, just to slow things down a little and allow me to better absorb the interrelationships and the science. But, this is a minor complaint. Overall, the novel is outstanding and I shall be looking for more stories from Michael Crichton… though maybe not those ones which I’ve already seen the movie for.

BR: Naomi's Story (Jon Casimir)

Book Link: Naomi's Story

This is a delightful, heart-warming read, something a little different from my usual choice of horror, psychological thriller and action. It’s nice to mix it up a bit. Throw in something different to the compost heap that is my writing mind.

Jon Casimir decides, even before his daughter is conceived, to keep a diary that he can pass on to her to show how loved she is. He never expected his wife, Helen, to experience such a traumatic pregnancy, and he never imagined that his baby would be born with serious health issues. Jon handles it well, but not without heart, tears and humour, and it’s his sensitivity and ability to keep his head up even when he and his wife are emotionally shredded, that makes this book a quality read. And, at times, he portrays himself in a less than bright light, and he is to be admired for his honesty.

From the outset, I fell in love with Jon’s writing style. His words flow easily; honestly, so raw that it’s hurts to witness his heartache, his helplessness to protect his baby from suffering. He carries this as a crushing weight at times, feeling that his role of protector and father is denied because of something he has done – some failure, weakness, inherent flaw that left his daughter vulnerable. It’s misplaced, of course, but guilt manifests in unfortunate ways, and when he asks a doctor which of the parents find it hardest to cope with child illnesses, it’s unsurprising to learn it’s the fathers.

In no way is this book maudlin. Jon’s humorous, dry sarcasm and self-depreciation lightens what could be a torturous read. He recognises how things could be so much worse, and aches for those who aren’t as fortunate as he and Helen… and Naomi.

The funniest part: as an Australian about to go to America for a month, I laughed out loud at Aussie-Jon visiting a Los Angeles supermarket just to ogle at the huge variety of cereals. I’m going to check this out myself. See if it really is true that the US excel at variety… I mean, how many types of cereal can there be? In a week and a half, I will find out for myself. I can’t wait!

Top-down writing

My enthusiastic idea of getting up at 5am every morning and writing for at least two hours every day hasn't worked out yet. I got sick. I feared it might be another form of procrastination, because my brain can be sneaky that way, but my brother is also ill with similar symptoms so I figure maybe it's a viral thing. It's still annoying though. All I want to do is sleep... and that won't pay the bills or get my novel written.

So, since my last blog posting, I've managed only a few hours scattered here and there. I have, however, managed to finish the first chapter. At just over 12,000 words it feels more like it should be split into two, but there isn't any logical place to split it. Em has read it and given me feedback and I can hardly stop smiling. She's always honest with me, and I trust her inherently... and, she represents my final reading audience. If it works for her, I know it works. And that is a great feeling! Finally, I feel as though I know Codee. Really know him, and it seems that is now evident in what I write. I can't even begin to explain how great that is!

I have also settled into a writing approach to each new chapter (each new scene). I'm using a top-down approach (to borrow a software development term). That is, when I start writing I know the starting point, the end point and an overview of what needs to happen in between. I put that all on the page, and often it's about 500 words or so. I then nibble into that depending on what takes my fancy. Over the following weeks (I'm hoping to get this down to one or two weeks rather than four or five), I flesh this out by building up each scene segment, layering, expanding and moving things around. I view the entire scene as individual blocks. I work on each block, commit myself fully to that single block, until I've got it as good as it can be. Then I move on to another block. I connect them as I go, or sometimes, if I'm struggling with a connection, I highlight the text in yellow and leave it, knowing I'll have to go back at the end.

It's an approach that I'm sure other writers use. It's not the 'keep writing and don't look back' approach that is often recommended. I've tried that approach, and it's just not me. Living each scene for several weeks is the only way I can really engage. It feels good to have reached this point, to finally know my writing style and be able to honour it. To know it works and the end product is something I am proud of.

Now, I just need to routinely get up at 5am and work for two solid hours every morning. Using this top-down approach every day will make my writing even stronger. I know it will. I just need the energy to be able to do it.

And now I'm reading...

I have started reading ‘Naomi’s Story’ by Jon Casimir. It’s loosely termed a pathography (true stories told by sufferers of illnesses or by those affected by the illness/death of a loved one). This book is Jon’s diary of anticipation leading up to, and experiences and emotions following, the birth of his first child. A little girl born with Oesophageal Atresia .

The book opens with: January 10. 9:46pm. Just impregnated your mother. Feeling good. Off to the pub to brag about it to my friends… Okay, none of this is strictly true (I have no friends), but it seems a good way to start.

And instantly I’m hooked. Jon’s natural, easy-going voice is immediately endearing. He’s a sweetie. I fear this guy is going to break my heart once the bad things start to happen, and this is a story where bad things do happen. I do not know the outcome, whether Naomi lives or dies. I hope (beyond all hope) that she lives, but I refuse to find that out until I have read this story. Reading Bryce Courtney’s ‘April Fool’s Day’ about his son’s heroic experiences with haemophilia was draining… but uplifting, I expect this to be the same. I just hope I don’t cry on the train. That could be embarrassing.

BR: Bag of Bones (Stephen King)

Slow moving, but generally worth the read. I quit halfway through, switched to an action novel which cleared my head and allowed me to continue the slow trudge.

The best thing about this novel, aside from reaching the end (660 pages… it could have been pared back to 450 and I would have been happy), was its intricacy. Almost everything tied in to the end. Of course, for a novelist like Stephen King, I would expect nothing less. However, I found the protag’s involvement left me feeling uneasy. Could Mike have figured everything out sooner and prevented much of the bloodshed? I found Mike to be too blasé about some of the things that happened to him, around him. Yes, they all turned out to have significance, but for a long while he ignored things that he really should have worked much harder to understand. Clues that he tried to find answers to, but then gave up.

In fact, he accepts (with little regret) that the answers were so close at hand but he was distracted from searching for them. Admittedly, the distractions were significant, but there were still large gaps where Mike could have picked up the puzzle pieces and figured things out. Another factor that detracted from my enjoyment was the (almost) apology that SK makes (through Mike) in the epilogue. I won’t ruin it for anyone who wishes to read, but Mike (who was a novelist) mused on the convenience of another character’s death. It neatened things up, removed him from a moral dilemma, and it did feel staged, as though SK couldn’t bring himself to allow this scenario to continue. It is said that a story tells something of the author, I wonder if this tells something of SK?

Mike was an enjoyable guy to get to know. He was real, human, and his reactions were, on the most part, believable. His pace and speed of reaction was slow, however it could be argued that the supernatural influences that bore down on him were smothering his natural inquisitiveness, his natural instincts.

I did enjoy the book, and I did care for Mike, but nowhere near as much as I care for most of DK’s characters. Mike was put upon, troubled by his wife’s death – maligned by it actually, however aside from this single event he had no other emotional depth. Mike’s only psychological hitch was his inability to ask for help, or to express his emotions to others. This was never explored, never explained – even to those whom were in grave danger and *should* have been informed of the potential threat. I expected Mike to journey through this, to be forced to ask for help at the end… but no, he continued to keep much of what was happening to himself and consequently tragedy befell those around him because of this selfishness. Was this a flaw on SK’s part? Did he put that in as a way to illustrate the type of man Mike was? I thought this would be Mike’s journey (growing up and learning to ask for help -- to let other people in to the struggles he endured), but no. Not at all. In fact Mike had no personal journey, he didn’t grow, he didn’t change, he just was.

Or, again, was this a tactic to show how the evil spirit controlled Mike, dominated and directed him? I’m not so sure… if it was a matter of control, then Mike could have been overpowered long before the climax.

DK’s characters grow and change. They learn. I think this is the basis of my dissatisfaction with SK. His characters don’t grow, they just are. The books I enjoy the most are those in which characters evolve. It's often subtle, but there is some kind of shift. Even ordinary guy turned into hero to save a loved one, or a hero revealed to have a deeper psychological impetus for his courageous drive, or a weak character who has to find strength to save themselves. No, not Mike. He just trundled along, self-absorbed, focussed on his own loss, his own desires.

Or is *that* the point? Does SK write characters who aren't entirely likeable? Though, I had the feeling we were meant to like Mike.

Even in ’48, with Hoke who killed without a backward glance, he had a journey. He stayed in that city for a reason, he endured the awful uncertainty and the constant threat of death for a personal reason, he wasn't just an adrenalin jock. We learn this at the end. That made me care for him, remember him… Mike Noonan, not so much.

I’m glad I finished the book. But I will focus on other writers for a while rather than attempting to return to another SK novel.

600 words

My 'write-all-day-Sunday' sort of flushed itself down the toilet. But my car is fixed, at least we hope it is. There were two things it could be, the coil or the distributor. Chris and Steve changed the coil, so now it's wait and see if that fixes it. The car starts, drives, runs fine... but it did this morning as well after it had been left to cool down overnight. So, we'll see.

Yes, writing... well, I got some done. 600 words to be exact, well, give or take. Not quite what I had hoped for, but it has been another busy day with the car, Chris, getting things ready to go overseas. It's surprising all the little things that have to be done... little things I didn't even think of. Like asking the neighbours to keep an eye on the house. Ross dropped by while Chris and Steve were fixing the car, so I nailed him! He'll keep an eye out for any big furniture trucks trying to take things away. It's a good street though, so I figure it'll all be okay.

The car breakdown brought a resolution to the 'what do to with Paddy' dilemma that has been causing some angst between my mother and I over the past few months. I now don't trust the car, and am unwilling to give it to her because I can't promise it won't break down. I told her, and she near danced (maybe she even did, she did sound awfully pleased!), she admitted she had been dreading having it, and so it's with much relief that I have a resolution to that. It means more travelling, and the car will stay down here while I'm away and I'll travel up to her before and after my trip, but that's okay. It's a final decision, and that's the main thing. Plus, it's mum's birthday the weekend before I fly out, so I'll go up and visit with her for the weekend, leave Paddy there and then have a whole week to mourn his absence before I fly out. I swear, I'll be phoning her every night for updates! He better behave!

Hopefully something can be worked out so he can be back here for when I return, otherwise it'll be six weeks where I won't have him with me, rather than just four. That'll be hard. Real hard. I'm missing him already and he's asleep under my feet right now, my foot rubbing his belly.

Realistically, I don't expect to get much writing done between now and flying out. But I'll try to squeeze some in, here and there. No reason for me not getting lots of reading done though... especially on the plane. I just have to choose what book will be best... or books. Hmm... I'm sure I could get a lot of reading done in 24 hours. Who needs sleep? Eyeballs? Movement? Air!? Ack! I hate flying!! No, I lie. I like taking off and landing, but the bits in between are hard.

I'm not writing... why!?

It's Sunday morning and I have a whole (well, mostly) day to write. Yet, here I am updating my blog with titles from my bookshelf (yes, it's procrastination, but it's something I have wanted to do since I set up my blog... see, I can even justify this to myself!), wondering when my brother will come around to fix my car (so I can chatter with him and his mate), eyeing the kitchen and wondering if I should do some cooking/cleaning/eating, looking at Paddy and his sorrowful (take me walkies) face, figuring that the heating is on far too high cos I'm overly warm and really need to get out of my pyjamas and into something half decent... but most of all I NEED TO WRITE!

So, why aren't I?

I haven't written in almost a week. Or does it just feel that long? No, I think it is actually that long. And writing is like diving into a cold swimming pool when you haven't been swimming for quite some time. It takes some courage, and the initial immersion is a shock. There is truth in the advice of writing everyday, except I suck at that.

Okay, now it's almost 11am. Enough procrastination. I'm going to get dressed and get serious. I'll check in later with my revised word count... or tales of how I procrastinated the WHOLE day away!

BR: '48 (James Herbert)

Amazon Link: '48

This book opens with a bang, an exhilarating near-capture of the protagonist, Hoke, an American pilot living in war-ruined London amongst hundreds of thousands of time-charred corpses. In this novel, in 1945 Hitler unleashed a virus that decimated all blood groups except for AB type. Hoke has AB type blood, and he’s been on the run for three years from a slow-dying group of crazies known as Blackshirts… they want his blood for their leader (a blood transfusion which they believe will save his life and their own. It's false science, but logic and reason don’t mean much to these people. They will do anything to get that blood – to get Hoke.

The novel is fast paced and exhilarating. The scenes of death and suffering are shocking, but the descriptions never become stale. Herbert has a gift of making every scene vibrant, and the horrific, crumbling corpses that pervade almost every moment of these character’s lives, are newly disturbing every time I was faced with one (or dozens, as the case may be).

Hoke is a hardened man, he keeps his grief (and feelings) at a distance, but he is not inhuman, and as the novel progresses and the hunt becomes increasingly dire and complicated, Hoke is run ragged – physically and emotionally. It is late in the novel that we learn the truth of what he has endured, and it’s not pretty.

If I ever live to write action sequences even half as good as these, I’ll be a happy woman. But, until then, I’m going to search out more of James Herbert’s novels. His is a writing style that I could quickly learn to love.

On the negative, the novel is short, it is what I consider to be a thrill-and-spill, that is, it gets the blood pumping but doesn't leave a lasting impression. There is no deeper message here, at least I didn't gain one, and there's little emphasis on characterisation. This purely is action-adventure, and it works. It really does work. If I read too many of these kinds of novels though, I think I'd have a coronary. Maybe SK's slow pace isn't so bad afterall... sometimes.