with news about the waiting…

http://ginawrites.ginaconroy.com

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Read all about my WIP request journey and current status on my writing career here! All comments on the posts on that blog will be counted towards the contest as long as you post between today and tomorrow! See, more chances to win!

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No, not me or even a friend or family member…MY WIP!

I lost count as to how many HEARTs and BACKs are in my WIP. Between my the heart lurching, and jumping into throats and thudding against her ribs it’s no wonder my WIP had a BACK problem as well.

As in BACK THEN, instead of plain old then. And “she sat BACK down.” Instead of “she sat down.”

I’ve successfully added different visceral emotions to HALF of the HEART references, but I’m only halfway through the painful, yet fairly easy BACK surgery.

What are the unnecessary and repetitive words you use over and over and over again in your WIP?

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I’ve been stuck on editing the last 3o pages of my WIP for weeks. I was in the midst of the black moment and I ran out of steam. My words seemed dry and dull on the page when it was supposed to be one of the most exciting parts in the book. So I let it lie for a bout a week and did a little editing on the first part of the book.

Yesterday I picked it up, felt the creativity flowing, and got a little advice from friends. Now I’ve got a whole new plot twist and probably a couple more new scenes to add to my WIP! The thing keeps growing and growing, which is okay because I’m not quiet at 80,000 words yet.

But I’ve got renewed focused and some of my plot holes are filling up. Yesterday I was interrupted by Valentine’s Day parties at school so I didn’t get much writing done. But I hope to this weekend. My slump seems to be over and I’m so excited to be…excited about my WIP again!

So what are you working on this weekend?

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I’m very squeamish when it comes to knives and blood. I especially don’t like those graphic images CSI is so famous for. So why in the world would I subject myself to viewing an autopsy on You Tube?

Only for research!

Through finger-blocked vision, I watched the first, second and third incision, noting the visceral response my body made. Faint flutter in my belly, cool shiver, nothing dramatic, yet it was all very distrubing. The heaviness in my gut contrasted with the hallowness in my middle and then more heaviness in my chest.

I opted to not watch the folding back on the skin, (just writing about it is getting a visceral reaction in my chest, though my critique partner keeps telling me my character has too much chest action going on

I stole a peak two more times before the video turned off, thankfully before they went deeper into the autopsy.

Though I am intrigued with the mystery part of forensic science, I really can’t stomach the reality. Neither can my character. And that’s the whole reason I did it!

BTW, 70 more pages until I’m finished with first round edits. And I’ve got a growing list of things I need to add on the next pass. I’m realizing if I had written a nice women’s romance or fun chick lit, the book probably would have been published by now. But no, I had to write a complicated mystery with more twists than your intestines (had to through in the autopsy analogy) and way too much stuff I had to research (archaeology, police procedures, doctors, paramedics, universities, etc.)

Maybe my next book I’ll write about something I really know, maybe a nice momlit. And I actually have one started and enough material to finish a series!

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Friday night I locked myself in a local hotel to edit the last 100 pages of my WIP.

I started by rereading and doing edits on the last couple of chapters.

I worked nonstop, staying on the computer past midnight, with only an hour break on Saturday afternoon to watch an archaeology excavation on the Discovery Channel. And another short break for dinner.

Now it’s Sunday morning and though I haven’t left my computer except for coffee and the necessary elimination of coffee breaks, why is it that I still have 100 pages to edit?

If you think you know the answer, leave a comment!

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Things have been slow going on the writing front. It seems that now that my kids are in school I have less time to write. I used to hire a babysitter to come and I’d have her do the laundry while I wrote for a couple of hours a week. No babysitter, no writing, endless laundry!

I designated Tuesday and Thursday (days Grace is in Kindergarten) as writing days. But the boys get out early for school on those days leaving me a little over three hours to write. Not a whole lot of time. And lately, say the entire month of October, I’ve been going on field trips once a week on those designated writing days. I know I don’t have to go on field trips, but it’s one thing I love to do, plus being the control freak I am, I want to be involved in my kids’ lives as much as possible and have photos to prove it and scrapbook, eventually. But truthfully, I just like to go and be apart of the field-trips, and I’m the class mom for two of my four kids!

Then early this week an amazing thing happened. No field-trips scheduled on Tuesday or Thursday. So Monday night I was all psyched to have a full six hours to write these week. I was going to get a lot of writing done, right? Wrong.

Early that evening I felt a stomach bug coming on. It hit me like vitamins on an empty stomach, and kept me up most of the night, and in bed the entire next day. My writing day. I was so wiped out and still slightly nauseous that I couldn’t write or even read! My whole day wasted in bed! I recovered after 24 hours, but on Thursday I overslept because of my whacked body schedule from the “bug” and I woke up late (hubby took Grace to school) and only had two hours to write.

Fast forward to Saturday. I planned on writing all day. I woke up and exercised for the first time since the “bug” and then took our seven year old out for his birthday breakfast ( five months late, but it’s a long story!)

After the Golden Corral breakfast buffet (I didn’t eat much for the last several days and made up for it at GC) I was full and zapped of energy. I managed to lug my computer to the library where I felt like falling asleep instead of writing. But I managed to do some editing and some reading in “Writing the Breakout Novel,” yet nothing highly creative.

So getting back to the title of this post, am I under attack or what? I feel like I’m staring in my own novel, where the writer is throwing obstacle upon obstacle my way!

Not sure what’s going on here, but I’m anxious to get back on track physically, spiritually and writerly!

Thanks for listening!

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I had already signed up for the Agent Panel late night chat. I had already had my one sheet. I already email the moderator of the late night chat telling him I was going to submit it to the panel.

When I walked into the packed room, I already had second thoughts.

It was after the agent and editor panel. Agent after agent, editor after editor had just told the assembly what they were looking for.

Bottom line.

A story that moved them.

That’s where my doubts and insecurities began to bubble up. My story wasn’t deep enough to move anyone. It was rather hokey in my opinion. Yet, I said I was going to submit and what better way to get instant feedback from three of the top agents in the CBA.

I walked into the room, stomach in knots, and found a couple of friends feeling the same way. We sat next to each other, handed our one sheets in and waited.

The first review wasn’t so good or the author. They went into detail why they wouldn’t be interested and they gave their opinion tactfully. Next one, same fate. And the next. And the next. My nerves increased with every not so good review.

Then the agents grabbed a one sheet and smiled. They read the title and tag line and the room chuckled.

It was MY one sheet!

Miracles or miracles. They liked the title. They like the tagline. They like the concept. They liked the layout!

To say I was relieved would be an understatement. I was thrilled.

After all my doubts and insecurities. Fears and second guessing, they liked it.

In fact, the agent (whom I had an appointment with later on in the week) said, “I’m meeting with her. Don’t talk to anyone else!”

If the conference had ended right there I think I would have gotten my money’s worth. It’s just the encouragement I needed to know I was on the right track, though as slow as it may be.

They went through about 30 or so other one sheets, ironically liking the ones of the people sitting in my row!

I don’t know if it was luck, grace or talent that caught the attention of the agents. But whatever it was, I’ll take it.

Later in the week I met with two of the three agents. Did they still like my concept? Did they want to represent me?

I’ll save that for next time!

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Just when I thought I was finished with chapter one. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better. Just when I thought I had finally finished a draft worthy of submission, I get Margie Lawson’s Deep Editing Lectures in my Inbox. She taught an amazing early bird session at ACFW and my head is still reeling from trying to implement just a few of the things she taught us.

Just when I thought I could move on to chapter two, I read her lecture notes and realized there was lots more work to do on chapter one.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve rewritten chaper one, but I can come close because most of them are saved in a folder. So I thought it would be fun to show the evolution of chapter one.

Draft 1

As the bright light illuminated the image, I gasped, horrified at my recent discovery. My heart thumped loud enough to raise the pharaohs from their burial tombs, yet I couldn’t pull myself away.

Cringing, I forced my fingers to feel the grooves on the weathered surface.The tiny cracks on the once flawless exterior taunted me, reminding me of its imperfection. The effects of time had spurred on the aging process. I had to accept the fact. Only a professional could restore this relic back to its original condition.

Time to schedule my next botox injection.

Draft 2

I stared into my dressing room mirror and gasped. The bright light illuminating my wrinkles made me seem as old as the relics my husband brought back from the field. I forced my fingers to feel the tiny cracks on my forehead.

Mari, Duggins, you shouldn’t be concerned with my appearance; after all it’s what’s inside that counts, right?

But as hostess of the acclaimed university cable show, Archeology Today, I new I had to compete with a younger generation and at thirty-five the camera lens wouldn’t forgive my obvious signs of aging. Neither would my audience, and I couldn’t afford to lose any more ratings.

Draft 3

Drawing in three cleansing breaths, I sank into the television studio’s interview chair. The warn cushions eased my tension, and for once I didn’t mind the tacky chenille fabric and outdated cranberry color. Everything would work out fine, I told myself. Then why couldn’t I shake the recent confrontation between my colleagues, Professor Peter Kipling and Martin Henderson head of Archeology and my first guest.

I pulled a mirror from my Gucci purse, and I gasped. Great! Just great. Thanks Fellas. I’d have to send them both the Botox bill. I forced my fingers to feel the tiny cracks on my forehead and sighed. The studio lighting accentuated my flaws, making me seem as old as the artifacts my husband brought back from the field.

Mari Duggins, you shouldn’t be so concerned with your appearance; after all it’s what’s inside that counts.

Tell that to the network.

Draft 4

My Gucci heels clicked on the tile counting down the seconds as I rushed toward the campus television studio. The intoxicating aroma of fried pastries wafted off the buffet table, but my resolve held thanks to my churning stomach. I couldn’t even choke down a cardboard-tasting protein bar if I wanted to. I glanced at my watch. My gut tightened. Not again. I couldn’t be late today.

“Don’t think you’ll get away with this, Henderson.” Archeology Professor Peter Kipling stood toe to toe with department Martin Henderson outside of the green room. Their voices carried through the empty hallway.

I bit my lip. What was Peter doing down here? Just what I needed before the biggest show of my career.

Draft 5

My Gucci heels echoed on the worn grey tile counting down the seconds as I rushed through the sun-starved corridor toward the dungeon, otherwise known as the campus television studio. The intoxicating aroma of fried pastries wafted off the buffet table, diabolically located between my dressing room and the green room. As I squeezed by the forbidden fat grams, my resolve held, thanks to my churning stomach. I couldn’t even choke down a cardboard-flavored diet bar if I wanted to. I glanced at my watch. My gut tightened.

Not again. I couldn’t be late today.

Draft 6

When I stepped out of my dressing room into the dark hallway, I should have heard death’s gentle taunting. I should have seen it hovering in the glow of the flickering florescent lighting over my colleagues just beyond the green room. I should have felt its seducing talons.

Instead, I rushed toward the campus television studio, my heels ticking like a time bomb.

Archaeology professor Peter Kipling stood toe to toe with the mammoth department head, Theron Henderson. Personal space, obviously not an issue.

I bit my lip.

What was Peter doing here? Didn’t he have an eight o’clock class?

Draft 7 (After ACFW)

When I stepped out of my dressing room into the dim hallway, I should have heard death’s gentle taunting. I should have seen it hovering in the glow of the flickering lights over my colleagues. I should have felt its seducing talons pulling me closer to the abyss.

Instead, I rushed toward the campus television studio, my heels ticking like a time bomb as I checked my make-up one more time in my compact mirror.

The intoxicating aroma of fried pastries wafted through hall. My mouth watered. Mental note, find the Einstein who put the breakfast buffet between my dressing room and the green room and have him lobotomized.

At thirty-five, I had a hard enough time maintaining my weight to please that mother-in-law of a camera. An impossible feat for anyone over a size two, I know. But my stubborn Sicilian heritage kept me in denial.

I returned the mirror to my purse and glanced at my watch. My chest tightened. 7:48. I couldn’t be late this morning.

Beyond the green room, Archaeology professor Peter Kipling hounded the department head like a stubborn pup challenging the Alpha male.

“Stay away from her.” Peter’s voice barked through the empty hallway.

My shoulders tensed. What was he doing here? Didn’t he have an eight o’clock class?

Current and probably NOT last DRAFT

When I stepped out of my dressing room into the dim hallway, I should have heard death’s gentle taunting. I should have seen it hovering in the glow of the flickering lights. I should have felt its seducing talons pulling me closer to the abyss.

Instead, I rushed through the hall toward the campus television studio, my heels ticking like a time bomb.

As I checked my make-up once more in the compact mirror, an intoxicating aroma of grease-laden pastries consumed every quivering taste bud. At thirty-five, I had a hard enough time maintaining my weight to please that mother-in-law of a camera. An impossible feat for anyone over a size two, I know. But my stubborn Sicilian heritage kept me in denial.

I sipped my nonfat, sugar-free, vanilla latte, but the allure of the forbidden fat grams, assaulted my senses, my desire transcending Eden temptation.

Mental note, find the Einstein who put the breakfast buffet between my dressing room and the green room and have him lobotomized.

Dropping the mirror in my purse, I glanced at my watch. 7.48. My heart lurched, then sprinted along with the rest of me. I couldn’t be late this morning.

Beyond the green room Archaeology Professor Peter Kipling hounded the department head like a stubborn pup challenging the Alpha male. His usually well-groomed, muddy-brown hair, disheveled as if he’d combed it with a trowel.

Tension weighed on my shoulders.

What was Peter doing here? Didn’t he have an eight o’clock class?

So what do you think? Did I make it better or should I just start from scratch, again. Or perhaps you prefer some draft in the middle?

This weekend I’m giving my WIP a rest! Rest is what my brain and spirit needs. Maybe when I’m back from my camping trip I’ll be able to see things more clearly.

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I’m not excited about it, but my family is. So we’re heading off for the wilderness in our comfy pop-up camper. I never said I was going to rough it.

We’re meeting friends for the first day and then we’re on our own. Tomorrow night we have to run back home (1 hour away) for play practice and football. I think Grace and I will stay with our friends at the campsite.

I debated whether or not to take my computer, but I think my WIP needs to sit for a while. I’ll be taking my DEEP EDITING notes and a good book or two. That’s it!

I guess I’ll be roughing it after all!

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I’m on a vicious cycle right now, writing and rewriting my first couple of chapters.

After getting my critiques back from the Genesis contest in the Spring, I went to work, perfecting and cleaning up my writing. Then I got busy writing the synopsis and proposal for the ACFW conference. When I finally returned to do edits I wanted to fall asleep at the words I had written. It was BORING! And I fell into my old trap…editing the voice out of my work.

Several people/agents encouraged me to deepen the characterization and add more chutzpah to my character. So I dove in and “voiced” all over the pages. I “voiced” so much I think my writing has gotten hoarse and now when I look at it what once was brilliant and witty yesterday seems like purple “pukish” prose.

So what is this perfectionist to do? I’m way too insecure and embarrassed to show it to any of the agents that requested it, so I sent it off to my critique partners hoping the can wade through the mess I just made!

ACK! Maybe it’s time to shift gears and work on cutting my synopsis from six pages to three.

In the meantime, anyone one have any words of wisdom???

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I want my first published novel to be amazing. Something worthy of one of those medals they put on the front of the really good books. I don’t want it to be something I cranked out that fits into a publishable mold.

Reality check! If that’s the case I’ll probably be fifty before I’m published!

Unfortunately, I think my first novel won’t be anything spectacular which is probably not such a bad idea. Think about it, if you have an amazing first book, everything else has to be better. What if it isn’t?

So if I start of with a run of the mill (albeit Gina-style novel) should I really look down on myself? If it’s just good, then there’s a whole lot of room for improvement.

The one thing I know that is standing in the way of that amazing novel is the voices outside of my head squelching my inner voice. I’m learning there’s a fine line between voice and bad writing. I’m trying to figure out where that line is.

But until then, I will try and craft the best story I can, now! If it sells, great! If it’s not great, I’ll live to writer another day.

Still a part of me dreams of writing that amazing, heart tugging story that just makes the reader sigh at the end and think about it for days!

Maybe someday!

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I must be a little loopy after so much synopsis rewriting. I think I could probably rewrite it forever. But during a break that old song “5o ways to Leave your Lover” came floating back into my head, except with different lyrics. So indulge me while I let loose before I dive back in to my real work!

There’s gotta be 50 ways to edit your WIP

“The problem is all inside your WIP”, my editor told me
“The answer is easy if you want to write for me
I’d like to help you in your struggle to be free
There must be fifty ways to edit your WIP.”

See, it’s really my editor’s habit to intrude
Furthermore, with dozens of pages of edits his meaning can’t be misconstrued
So I’ll repeat his words at the risk of being rude
“There must be fifty ways to edit your WIP
Fifty ways to edit your WIP.”

“Just hit the delete, Pete
Get a new plot, Scott
You don’t need the backstory
Just get your WIP free

“Shore up the mid, Sid
Clean up the end, Ken
You don’t need to rewrite much
Just kill off the man, Stan
And set your WIP free

“Ooo hit the delete, Pete
Get a new plot, Scott
You don’t need the backstory
Just listen to me

“Shore up the mid, Sid
Clean up the end, Ken
You don’t need to rewrite much
Just kill off the man, Stan
And set your WIP free”

He said, “it grieves me so to see you in such pain
I wish there was something I could do, but your WIP is just lame.”
I said, “I appreciate that, but would you please explain
About the fifty ways to edit my WIP.”

He said, “why don’t we both just go our own way
I’ll just rip up your contract, and I won’t have to pay
And then he sent me to spam, and I cried all through the night
Remembering… fifty ways to edit my WIP
Fifty ways to edit my WIP

So I’ll hit the delete, Pete
Get a new plot, Scott
I’ll cut out the backstory
and set my WIP free…
Okay, I’m done!

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My first draft, and synopsis is finished! Now it’s time for me to go back and make sure my plot and police proceedure lines up. I feel a bit overwhelmed with all the research that is in front of me. Maybe I should have researched everything first, but if I did I’d never finish the WIP. How do I know? I have several unfinished WIPs to prove it.

So after some self doubts and serious thinking about why in the world I decided to write a mystery, I found an awesome online source. The crimescenewriters yahoo group is a group of about 1000 members who throw out scenarios and proceedure questions. I’ve only been browsing for a couple of days, but one of the main contributors is a retired Senior Crime Scene Analyst with a wealth of knowlege. I’ve learned so much just from reading other people’s questions.

I’ve already learned that my original scenario might not fly as is, but all is not lost. In fact my oversight will actually make my story stronger. It’s times like these I really think God knows more about my story than I do. Now if I’d just remember to consult him about the plot before I start writing!

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I’m posting at Writer…Interrupted today! Go check it out!

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It is finished!!!

51, 383!!!

THE END!!

And 52 days to spare!!!

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Yesterday I was on a writing roll. After a week of emotionally bland writing, I found my grove. My characters let loose on their emotions and I sailed through the black moment, quickly and passionately.

Today the momentum has stopped. I feel like I’m just coughing up words on a blank page again, devoid of emotion. There’s so much to wrap up and explain, and I’m so focused on the plot and getting it all in that the emotions of the characters are stifled. I know they’ll come, but my writing felt so alive yesterday. Today it’s blah, blah, blah! I just pray I can get through this next scene without boring myself!

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Someone told me slow and steady finishes a novel. I’m trying it out this week.

Today I wrote 1518 words. Cleaned up a few plot points and plotted out the next couple of chapters.

I’m at 35,000 words. I’m shooting for 60,000 and hoping to do it in less than a month.

That’s 1,000 words a day for 25 days!

When I break it down like that it seems attainable, especially since I know I CAN write 10,000 words in a weekend if given the opportunity.

Maybe if I keep at this slow and steady pace, I won’t have to.

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It’s 3:22 on a Sunday afternoon and my creative juices have run dry. I kind of cheated on the last 80 words trying to make my 10,000 goal. They’re not really complete sentences, but at least the scene is complete and I really have to think about what happens next.

It’s probably a good idea if I go back and read all fifteen chapters to see how many holes I left and how to fill them. Did I ever mention how hard it is to write a mystery, especially one with two different crimes going on at the same time.

I’ve been thinking about branding lately and wondering what my “brand” will be. Randy Ingermanson has several great posts over at his blog. But I’m still not sure where I fit into this branding. I just don’t know if I’m physically cut out for mysteries. Of course, there has to be an easier way to plot a mystery than how I’ve done it. But it’s all a learning process, a journey…

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9:46 pm

By the way, never made it to the morgue. Stopped off at the coffee shop first!

Good Night!

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