Anatomy of A Murder

There were no witnesses. The house was empty, except for the cat and dog, and they're not talking.

I called up the chapter all innocent like. I even read it through one last time. The rest was painless.

With quick, clean clicks, I highlighted and deleted the 20-plus pages. Before they realized they'd been hanging in cyberspace far longer than usual, I renamed the file. And the necessary deed was done.

I've been working on the new chapter since then. The one that will connect the quilt pieces of my story, allowing me to stitch together the best of the many drafts I completed during my two years at Vermont College.

Will there be any regrets? I'm thinking not. The deed needed doing. Besides, I can always go back to the earlier version if I change my mind. Not that I expect to. Like the crate that houses the Ark of the Covenant in the first Indiana Jones movie, I never seem to need to revive my "saved" versions, after I dispatch them.

Dead Darling Walking

A couple of posts ago, I announced plans to murder my darling. Well, today's the day.

Last words before I press delete:

Oh, my darling. She's an exciting, heart-stopping chapter--a caving expedition gone wrong--ripe with action, danger, snappy dialogue, and likeable characters struggling to survive. Unfortunately, the chapter's no longer appropriate. Not given the current draft.

Eight months ago (while completing my creative thesis), the scene made sense. Six months ago, none of my work sounded right in the light of the news about E's new aneurysm; so, I wasn't about to do anything rash. Three months ago, my muse knew the scene no longer worked, but I wasn't ready to sacrifice it.

Today, I'm ready. Dead darling walking.

It's Away!

Pressed send today on my SCBWI contest entry. And experienced a plethora of unexpected emotions. Most notable: elation at having submitted something, followed by panic that I'd sent the wrong version, followed by cackling and snide remarks courtesy of my inner critic.

The comment that stuck: the not-so-subtle suggestion that maybe sending no version at all would have been the best choice.

Wallowed in self-doubt until I managed to muzzle my inner critic. Not entirely certain how this happened, but I know some of the things that helped. For one, this month's contest excited my muse. For another, the exercise helped me discover a viable story idea I have to explore soon. And, like Luke Skywalker's one shot on the Death Star, it's away.

In Flux and Murdering My Darling

I don't think I'll ever get used to transitioning from hospital time to real time. The closest analogy I can make to the real world is comparing the switch to changing the course of an aircraft carrier.

It ain't easy.

Appetite for writing: Munchy.

Current project: Final revisions to my entry for the current SCBWI writing contest. I don't usually submit to the contest because I often learn about it too late. But the timing was right this month, and something about the prompt (and the 75-word limit) inspired and challenged me.

On deck: crits for various writing buddies, followed by the ritual killing of my darling in KM, my current work-in-progress. *Shivers slightly* Ugh. Just announcing my plans for my darling leaves me feeling a bit sickish. And yet, if I want to quilt the pieces of my novel together in an aesthetic way, it has to go.

Getting Back to Normal, The Nexus, and Controlling Belief

One thing I've noticed about the process of getting back to normal is how difficult it is to focus on any one task completely.

Every time I start a project, my brain wanders off in E's direction. I worry. About E getting bumped in the hallway by one of her towering classmates. About E losing her balance while navigating the classroom. About E being too tired to tell her aide that something hurts.

It's an odd place to find myself--wanting to reclaim a sense of normal, needing to reclaim it. And yet, not being able to.

In a Twilight Zone-y kind of way, it's almost as if a dark part of me--the part that's read too many thriller novels and watched too many scary movies--is waiting for the director to cue the off-key background music.

While trying to find the Pooh moment in all of this, I've realized something. It's an aha sort of moment. One I believe will finally allow me the focus I need to write E's story.

I'll have many points of view to choose from. Each with a unique controlling belief. Take mine, for example. Last summer, I finally let myself believe E was on a good road, and that our family could enjoy the ride.

Unfortunately, my controlling belief was challenged in August after we learned about E's new aneurysm. Events over the last six months collided with my core belief, moving my story forward, bringing me to this place.

This place. It's unproductive, isolated, and, in the end, very personal. But as uncomfortable as it is, this nexus is also a place of beginnings.

I must sit here. I must sit and endure it, and, hopefully, be Pooh about what happens next. I must hope that when my controlling belief finally arises, tempered by the events of the last six months, it will be changed for the better.

And stronger because of E's story.

School, Life Lessons, and Taking Stock

The sun's shining, daytime highs have finally risen above zero, and E's doing so well, she's starting back to school tomorrow.

Tomorrow! Can you believe it? Less than two weeks after brain surgery, and she's good to go.

The plan is to send E to class part-time for the rest of the week. We're targeting mornings, probably only a couple or three hours at a stretch since she tires easily these days. Next week, we'll ease into longer days.

In anticipation of E's return to school, I've been doing my part to reclaim a regular writing schedule. This blog's been a lifesaver of sorts by forcing me to focus, and giving me permission to exercise my brain cells on a regular basis. I've also been taking stock of the notes I've made in the last six months on new and existing projects, prioritizing what to work on next.

First up, prepping for my March SCBWI presentation about endowed objects and their ability to reveal heart on the stage of a story. The topic's dear to my heart, based on my Vermont College critical thesis, and graduate lecture.

My bag of props is good to go, but my notecards need to be reordered and edited. Thank goodness I have a couple of weeks.

Indiana Jones' Last Crusade, Writing, and Other Leaps of Faith

Before Indiana Jones can retrieve the cup that will save his father from a mortal wound in the movie Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, he must pass a series of tests. His physical and mental fortitude are tested. So is his faith.

No matter how many times I watch the scene, I am gripped by the leap of faith Jones is called to make in order to achieve his goal. Not only must he cross a bottomless chasm, he must face his fears and risk death.

Though I know all ends well, I root for Jones every time. One reason I suspect the scene grips me so deeply is that I take hope from the choices he makes in the face of adversity.

Isn't this why readers embrace Kate DiCamillo's little mouse Despereaux in his quest to save the princess in The Tale of Despereaux? And why we root for Frodo as he carries the one ring closer to Mount Doom? Don't we hope our readers will follow our own characters through thick and thin as they seek light in the darkness?

I can't yet fully articulate where or how I found the strength to embrace my fears about E's health these last six months rather than let them consume me. But I know where I found my solace during my darkest days. In my own writing, with my favorite characters and books, and in the company of friends and family.

Here's to Indie, Frodo, Despereaux, and all the heroes and heroines that bring us light in the darkness.