tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78942996139383195892024-02-07T00:00:23.220-08:00Out of Coffee, Out of MindLiz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.comBlogger247125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-61174762513998147882019-12-02T07:49:00.000-08:002019-12-02T07:49:29.904-08:00NaNoWriMo in Review // 2019<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />Back in 2016, I wrote 606,606 words, which is the most I have ever written during a NaNoWriMo. I had a lot of fun at the time, and even pulled three 50K days, but it also sucked in the aftermath. My wrists took forever to recover, and they are still a lot more sensitive. My brain crashed. I just majorly burnt myself out.<br /><br />NaNoWriMo 2017 was discouraging for me. I had never written the bare minimum before. I had never existed outside the identity of Over Achiever. Granted, I had set editing goals for a Camp NaNoWriMo, which I hadn’t met. While it was still discouraging, it had been different. In 2017, NaNoWriMo didn’t feel like it was my element anymore, didn’t feel like it was mine. It felt like someone had crawled inside my body and taken over the controls. <br /><br />Last NaNoWriMo was a victory for me, up there with my first NaNoWriMo, when I discovered that I could easily write more than 50K. It was also a better victory for me, because I learned that I didn’t have to write as much as humanly possible, that taking care of myself was also important. But the best thing about NaNoWriMo 2018 was that I got my writing mojo back; I got back into the swing of writing every day (or almost every day), and I learned more about my writing process than I had known before, lessons that helped me when I moved on to writing my next book, and the one after that. <br /><br />I know everyone’s writing pace is different and success is all relative. I think I used to feel like I had to prove I could be, if not the best, then one of the best. Now I’m just happy doing what feels comfortable and relaxed and fun. <br /><br />This NaNoWriMo, I worked on two separate projects, ZOMBIE FARMHOUSE and BLACK MARKET TIME, and collectively I wrote 81,818 words (I can’t resist pretty numbers, okay). I didn’t finish either project. I still have a fair amount I have to write if I’m going to meet my self-imposed deadline. But I am happy with what I wrote. <br /><br />I talked about Zombie Farmhouse a bit before, <a href="https://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2019/10/wait-its-almost-nanowrimo.html" target="_blank">in this post</a>, but as a quick review, it’s about eight insane people attempting to survive the zombie apocalypse. <a href="http://victoriasoceans.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Victoria Jackson</a> and I came up with the characters and scenario when she visited me from Australia, and she asked me to turn it into a book. <br /><br />There’s something especially freeing about writing something just for fun. I’m still going to do my best; I’m still going to edit it, but I don’t have any plans to try to publish it traditionally. This frees me up to experiment with writing style and technique, to write without any fear whatsoever, because there’s absolutely no opportunity for failure. I may eventually publish it on my blog, but I’m not even holding myself to that. <br /><br />I’ve talked about Black Market Time a bunch as well. It’s changed a good deal over the years, and it’s changed even more—significantly more—since I resurrected it several months ago. I’m not going to lie, even though I am satisifed with what I accomplished in November, I am a little disappointed that I didn’t finish it, mainly because that means it’s now kicked my butt for three separate NaNoWriMos. The longer it goes unfinished, the more I am afraid that I will never finish. Considering what progress I did make this November, that fear is a little bit ridiculous, as it is fairly obvious now that this project is not only turning into a book-shaped thing, but it is becoming something I truly love. But I have found that the hardest part of writing, for me, is overcoming irrational fear, and I have to write quickly before my fears have a chance to accumulate. <br /><br />I thought about sharing excerpts for each project like I did last year, but for whatever reason, I don’t feel ready to do that yet. I think maybe when both books are closer to completion, I’ll do a more in-depth post about each one of them. Right now I’m pretty focused on finishing their first/second draft hybrids by the end of the year. <br /><br />Over the next few days, I’m thinking I’m going to give myself a sort of working vacation. I’ll read through what I’ve written so far, to get a better feel for where I’m at, catch up on some other reading, posts some blog posts, and watch extra TV. I don’t want to take too much time off, because ideas are still coming for both stories and I don’t want to shortchange myself, but I can also see that I need to stock up on words. <br /><br /><br /><b><i>What about you? How was your NaNoWriMo? What are some projects you’re excited about? </i></b></span>Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-91223573885114646952019-10-28T07:07:00.000-07:002019-10-28T07:07:45.989-07:00Wait, It's Almost NaNoWriMo?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It’s pretty characteristic of me to know for a whole year that <a href="https://nanowrimo.org/" target="_blank">NaNoWriMo</a> is coming, and then to be shocked that it’s almost here. *wails* I thought I had more time! Also, I can't believe this is going to be my <i>sixth</i> NaNoWriMo.<br /><br />Last year, I worked on a couple projects: <a href="https://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2018/12/nanowrimo-shenanigans-part-one.html" target="_blank">PLANET EYES</a>, which I finished and queried, and <a href="https://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2018/12/nanowrimo-shenanigans-part-two.html" target="_blank">BMT</a>, which fought me, and which I did not finish. This November, I am going to tackle BMT as a NaNo novel for the third time. (At this point, medical professionals swarm me, straightjacket and cattle prods at ready. As I’m dragged away, you hear me screaming that I can do it, no, I really can do it.) <br /><br />Last November, I had a small breakthrough where I figured out all the things that were driving me nuts about the story. I even made a list. It was a very long and detailed list, and while it was helpful to know the problem, the project stalled at that point. Knowing the problem doesn’t constitute knowing the solution. <br /><br />Over the past year, I picked up the story off and on, only to find myself burning out repeatedly. I loved the concept of BMT, or at least, I felt like I still loved it. Everything else I had started to hate. When I opened the Scrivener file, my brain would grind to a halt and refuse to produce words, any words, until it had recovered from the shock. <br /><br />During that time, I was more heavily focused on several other projects, the primary one being the book I plan to start querying soon. Then, almost out of nowhere, I had a breakthrough and I was sure, sure! that this was the breakthrough I had been waiting for. And I did ride a little momentum, but again, I lost traction after a few scenes and felt myself spinning away endlessly. <br /><br />In August, I took a break from writing to do a <a href="https://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2019/08/august-1-7-week-i-read-seven-books-and.html" target="_blank">seven-books-in-seven-days reading challenge</a> with <a href="https://hotairballoonpress.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">my sister</a>, and after that, it felt like my brain switched into high gear. I had yet another breakthrough, this one building on the one from before. I switched out the narrator, reimagined the characters and the direction of the plot, and just like that, I was able to write about 20,000 words. <br /><br />This NaNoWriMo, I plan to finish the first/second draft hybrid of BMT, and if that means drinking seven cups of coffee a day, then so be it. *starts screaming uncontrollably*<br /><br />I don’t exactly have a set word count goal, but I guess if I had to pick something, I would say I want to write no less than 50,000 words, preferably more than 100K. I’m not trying to push myself to perform some fantastic feat of literary showmanship—I just want to complete at least two drafts. <br /><br />Aside from BMT, there’s another project I want to tackle this month. From now on, I will refer to it as ZOMBIE FARMHOUSE, because it doesn’t haven’t a title yet. It will probably be the most ridiculously unpublishable thing I’ve ever written. I’m so excited. <br /><br />When <a href="http://victoriasoceans.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Victoria @ The Endless Oceans of My Mind</a> came all the way from Australia to visit me this summer, she introduced me to a game where you write jobs (like doctor or janitor) on slips of paper and put them in one bowl, and attributes (like, is afraid of lightning, or, has killed seven men) in another bowl. Then you draw pieces of paper, one from each bowl, until you end up with a list of people (like, a neuroscientist who believes she’s a mermaid, or, a surgeon who doesn’t believe in germs). You have a scenario—in this case, you’re trying to last the night in a farmhouse besieged by zombies—and from your list of people, you have to pick the team you think will help you survive. This is not necessarily as easy as it sounds. <br /><br />We played several rounds of this game, but one in particular had us laughing uncontrollably, and Victoria told me I should turn it into a book. So that’s what I’m doing. There’s a chance it will be even worse than I could have ever hoped. There’s a chance I may even publish it on my blog, if I feel like risking my writing career. Who knows? But I have character and story notes, I have an outline, and I am ready to see what happens. *cracks knuckles* Plus I love zombies. I get the feeling zombie books don’t sell as well now that the market is saturated, so this is the time to do it, while I’m unpublished and don’t have to worry about deadlines. <br /><br />If I end up running out of writing material mid-month, I’ll think of something else, but I don’t want to overwhelm myself. I really liked how last year went. I got a lot of writing done, but I didn’t get stressed out like I did the year I wrote 606,606 words, so I’m going to try to do that again. Here’s to another relaxing year. *raises mug* *accidentally spills coffee on keyboard* <br /><br /><b><i>What about you? Are you doing NaNoWriMo this year? What are your projects and goals? </i></b></span>Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-87796554437771343202019-08-16T06:00:00.001-07:002019-08-16T06:07:13.403-07:00August 1-7 // The Week I Read Seven Books and Didn't Die<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Back in 2016, I remember pushing myself to read as much as I possibly could. I read 175 books and ended up burning myself out before the year was even over, to the extent that I’ve had trouble regaining that reading speed. When Abby and I decided to have our own private readathon at the beginning of the month, my first instinct was to pick three books that would fit all seven challenges so I wouldn’t have to push myself too hard or risk failing. I didn’t want to be reminded of how much my reading speed still suffers. But I ended up deciding, mainly because I’ve been feeling the press of my overwhelming TBR, to aim for seven and forgive myself if I fell short. <br /><br />The challenges were as follows: <br /><br />1. Read a book with purple on the cover.<br />2. Read a book in the same spot the entire time.<br />3. Read a book you meant to read last year.<br />4. Read an author’s first book.<br />5. Read a book with a non-human main character.<br />6. Pick a book that has five or more words in the title.<br />7. Read and watch a book to movie adaptation.<br /><br />At the beginning, I had grandiose dreams of finishing exactly one book per day. Simultaneously, I also figured I would be less likely to get bogged down if I had multiple books going at once, this all while working full time. Those two visions didn’t coexist well. Had I had the whole week off, I could have sped through the reading material more quickly, but that would have made the challenge less…challengy. It did begin on my two days off, where the only break from reading was hanging out with a friend for seven hours, as you do. After that, I used the time in the morning I typically devote to writing. I had a couple hours every evening as well, although it’s a little distracting trying to read when your kitten keeps biting your book (or you), so I spent a good deal of time outside, where her teeth and claws couldn’t find me. <br /><br />Here’s a quick review of each book I read (in the order I finished them), along with their corresponding challenges. <br /><br /><br /><i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/119322.The_Golden_Compass?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">The Golden Compass</a></i>, by Philip Pullman—Read and watch a book to movie adaptation.<br /><br />The Golden Compass had potential, and I liked the steampunk elements and the action, but there is something a little nauseating about setting out to teach children that evil might actually be good. I know that Pullman wrote Compass as a response to the Chronicles of Narnia, and I envision some future writer penning a series in response to His Dark Materials, followed by another response from a different writer, and on and on, for the rest of publishing history. <br /><br /><br /><i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/31685789-room?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">Room</a></i>, by Emma Donoghue—Read a book you meant to read last year.<br /><br />This was a hard read, one I wanted to pick up but found myself actively avoiding. The fact that it’s narrated by a five-year-old is meant to shield you from the horrors of what is actually happening, but speaking as someone who was once five, I think it makes it more painful. You have to lean into the nuance; you have to pay more attention to see past what he’s saying. You have the option to look away, but he’s so guileless, you don’t know to in time. <br /><br /><br /><i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35504431-turtles-all-the-way-down?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">Turtles All the Way Down</a></i>, by John Green—Read a book in the same spot the entire time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />I was slower to attempt this one, since I’d read some negative reviews, and I’m not a super committed John Green fan in the first place. But Abby read it and recommended it, so I decided to give it a go. It was well-written, and it was a quick read. The plot fell a little flat for me, but the mental work was worth it. I think this would be an eye-opening read for people who want to understand OCD and anxiety. <br /><br /><br /><i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/9867612-jack-the-ripper-and-the-case-for-scotland-yard-s-prime-suspect?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">Jack the Ripper and the Case for the Scotland Yard’s Prime Suspect</a></i>, by Robert House—Pick a book that has five or more words in the title. <br /><br />This is another book I was hesitant to read, and it was a last-minute choice for my reading challenges (I’m going to just refer to it as Jack the Ripper for brevity). I’d already read another, more comprehensive book on Jack the Ripper, covering all the murders and several suspects. I bought this book before I determined that Aaron Kozminksi, the suspect this work puts forth, could not possibly be guilty, so I wasn’t sure I would learn anything. But the tone of Jack the Ripper is pretty calm. The author is not trying to force you to believe anything; he is merely presenting the facts as he sees them. <br /><br />He included details that had been swept aside or simply excluded in the book I’d previously read. The problem with reading anything by Ripperologists is that there are so many emotions involved. Everyone has their own hill they are perfectly willing to die on, and that means they are willing, even if they don’t believe they are, to twist and present evidence to support their personal beliefs and disbeliefs. <br /><br />Before reading Jack the Ripper, George Chapman was my strongest (though still only circumstantially-likely suspect), but after reading it, I realize that there is more evidence supporting Kozminski’s guilt than I had previously thought, and somehow arriving at that conclusion was perfectly satisfactory for me, even though I left with no real answers and no final resolution. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">(Quick content warning: If you’re squeamish, it does included a horrific crime scene photo and a disturbing post-autopsy photo. But like, you’re reading about the world’s most famous serial killer. What did you expect?) <br /><br /><br /><i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/31451186-borne?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">Borne</a></i>, by Jeff Vandermeer—Read a book with a non-human main character.<br /><br />If you read and loved The Southern Reach trilogy, also by Jeff Vandermeer, then this book will be right up your alley. It’s weird and trippy, and the writing style is amazing. There’s an enormous flying bear, too, if you’re still on the fence about it. <br /><br /><br /><i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/39091679-the-truth-about-keeping-secrets?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">The Truth About Keeping Secrets</a></i>, by Savannah Brown—Read an author’s first book. <br /><br />So I got into Savannah Brown when I watched her slam poem, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZmDVEUsTMH8" target="_blank">Skinny Girls Bleed Flowers</a>, on Youtube, but I didn’t keep up with her as faithfully after that. When <a href="http://victoriasoceans.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Victoria @ The Endless Oceans of My Mind</a> visited, she told me about it, and I didn’t even finish listening to her tell me what it was about before I bought it. It has some of the weaknesses of first novels, but the writing—I mean, that’s some really good writing. <br /><br /><br /><i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18046369-a-room-away-from-the-wolves?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">A Room Away From the Wolves</a></i>, by Nova Ren Suma—Read a book with purple on the cover. <br /><br />Not going to lie, I’m always nervous starting a Nova Ren Suma book, not because I don’t know if I’m going to like it, but because I know it’s going to be good and disturbing and it will be a while before her next one comes out. This one had a similar feel to <i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/8603765-imaginary-girls" target="_blank">Imaginary Girls</a></i>, with a somewhat ambiguous ending where you kind of think you know what’s happened, but also you have to sit there for a few minutes trying to figure out what Suma just did to your brain. You should definitely read it. <br /><br /><br />So how do I feel after the readathon? <br /><br />There’s the fact that I may or may not have drunk more coffee than was good for me. And maybe I slept less than was good for me, too, but be that as it may. I wouldn’t do this every week, or every other week. But I didn’t burn out or lose interest in reading. I’m still maintaining a faster reading pace than I had pre-readathon, and I would say that I feel the lightened load of my TBR, but actually, almost as soon as the readathon finished, I’d already added seven more books to the list.</span><br />
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Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-81662689085701604412019-07-25T07:25:00.000-07:002019-07-25T07:25:34.787-07:002018 Reading // Wait, It's Already 2019?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I know it’s a little late for a 2018 reading recap, but I am moving at my own pace, so fight me. Last year, I didn’t read as many books as I had planned. In fact, I ended up changing my Goodreads challenge from one hundred books to eighty. I spent the majority of 2018 (and 2017, but I digress) in a reading and writing slump, and it wasn’t until around September that I felt like I was picking up speed on either front. After work, sometimes the easiest thing was just to climb into bed and let myself get thoroughly distracted by Youtube. </span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But I did end up reading a lot of books that were new to me, and I branched out from my typical genres. I read more adult books, especially thrillers, and I even developed the taste for nonfiction. <br /><br />As far as I can break down the numbers in my current coffee-induced trance, I’m pretty sure I read: <br /><br />Forty-eight books on Kindle<br /><br />Twelve books on audio (although five of those were rereads of the same book, Wolf in White Van, which requires a post of its own)<br /><br />Twenty physical books<br /><br />Those numbers are a little weird for me. For one, I never used to listen to books on audio. I’m still picky about narrators, but I’m becoming more comfortable with that platform. I did have to switch my A</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">udible subscription to once every other month, though, because I have a backlog of over thirty audiobooks. (They were on sale, okay.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />Since I’ve always been a physical book person, why did I read more on Kindle last year? Primarily for convenience. It’s a lot easier to travel with your phone or your Kindle if you’re the kind of person who a) worries about damaging your physical copies, and b) would prefer to carry multiple books at once. There’s also the small matter that I don’t like reading books in public. I’m still too nervous about being judged on what I’m reading, even though that’s not really something I should worry about, and there’s also the fact that people often take what you’re reading as a conversation starter when you just want to be left alone. <br /><br />There’s no way to talk about every single book I read last year—the post would be too long. But I want to highlight a few of the ones that stood out for various reasons. <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
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<i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32919543-the-man-from-the-train?ac=1&from_search=true">The Man From the Train</a></i>, by Bill James, was my first serial killer book in a while, and probably you are going to call the police on me for saying this, but it was <i>so</i> good. The research was thorough and impressive, and the psychology was fascinating. In fact, I liked it so much I decided to read another of James’ books, <i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/9507382-popular-crime?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">Popular Crime: Reflections on the Celebration of Violence</a></i>, which I ended up finding pretty disappointing. As far as the material goes, a lot of it was interesting, from the cases he covered to his ideas for reforming the prison system. But I couldn’t help but notice how, when critiquing popular crime books, he always comes down harder on female authors, even going so far as to call one a bimbo. Most of his criticisms weren’t actually helpful for determining whether or not I would want to read those books. Stuff like that leaves me a little sick to my stomach, not because I don’t think he’s allowed to have an opinion, but because I have encountered too many men like that who take it even further. <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
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</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Moving on to happier things, <i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36389267-a-thousand-perfect-notes?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">A Thousand Perfect Notes</a></i> was my first chance to read a full novel by <a href="https://paperfury.com/" target="_blank">Cait @ PaperFury</a>, and I loved it. She did an excellent job handling the sensitive topic of abuse while balancing out her story with moments of light and beauty. Right now, I'm halfway through her second book, <i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40170373-the-boy-who-steals-houses" target="_blank">The Boy Who Steals Houses</a></i>, which is phenomenal as well. Her blog posts are generally humorous and easy going, and you can see that same stamp in her novels as well, but they are also darker and deeper and so much more emotional. Just yeah, go read them. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Please.</span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />Of course we can’t forget about <i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24909347-obsidio?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">Obsidio</a></i>, the conclusion to the Illuminae Files, by Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff. It, too, was amazing. I mean, I’m not going to lie, there were several plot devices they used in the other two books which robbed some of the suspense, but I give Kaufman and Kristoff a pass because their writing was stellar, as always. I don’t know what it is about that duo, but they’ve got it going on. Obsidio was full of snark and humor and heartbreak, and I enjoyed reading the physical copy as well as the audio version. <br /><br />Usually I set my own pace in reading. I make my TBR based on the books that look good to me. If someone recommends a book, I put it on the list and then, usually, it gets buried by other books I would prefer. But last year I started prioritizing recommendations, and I discovered a whole new side to reading. It’s been a great way to broaden my horizons, and even though some of these books were not ones I would ordinarily pick up, it gave me a chance to appreciate stories outside my comfort zone. That’s how I ended up reading <i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/693172.Twilight_Eyes?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">Twilight Eyes</a></i>, by Dean Koontz, and <i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/19593.Floating_Dragon?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">Floating Dragon</a></i>, by Peter Straub, two of my coworker’s favorite books. They weren’t something I would ordinarily pick up in a bookstore, but they were still enjoyable, and it was fun trying something new. <br /><br />I also read <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17934530-annihilation?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">the Southern Reach trilogy</a> after Maggie Stiefvater recommended it on Twitter, which turned out to be really good timing, considering the movie came out as I was reading book two. (If you’re wondering how they compare, the movie was okay, but the books were better—weirder and more cerebral.) I’m in the middle of rereading the trilogy, because they feel like the sort of stories you need to reread to fully process. Also, the writing style is weird and intricate and amazing. <br /><br />As far as everything else I read in 2018, you can find the full list <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/user_challenges/10398799" target="_blank">here</a>.<br /><br /><br /><b><i>What were some books that stood out to you last year? Have you ever had a favorite book ruined by the author? What are some books you hoped to read last year, but didn't? </i></b></span></div>
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Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-90770042075266423962019-06-21T08:00:00.000-07:002019-06-21T08:00:12.232-07:00On NaNoWriMo And Being A Real Writer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’ve been thinking a lot lately about <a href="https://nanowrimo.org/" target="_blank">NaNoWriMo</a> and how much I love it and how sometimes it can be a bad thing. There are several thoughts running concurrently in my head, so it’s hard to tell which one is the primary narrative—the more accurate version of the truth, if you will. That’s the thing about telling the truth. Two separate, conflicting accounts can tell the story from divergent angles without compromising accuracy. I remember reading about this teacher who held up a book for the class and asked them what color it was. On their side it was one color, on his side, another. That stuck with me. <br /><br />One thing I’ve been thinking about lately is how there are too many writers, too many people trying to get published. I could joke about how I feel personally affronted by this, but I do get discouraged when I consider the thousands of people I’m competing against for an agent’s attention. I used to think that because I understood grammar and punctuation, I would be an immediate shoe-in; I would float above the detritus, a diamond in the rough. My book would be snatched up; within months there would be promises of riches, the light of future book deals so bright the sun itself would look dim. [Insert more nauseating poetry here.] Realizing the path to publication was not that straightforward was no easy feat. <br /><br />I didn’t just learn this in myself, in my failed attempts to get published, while people talked over me to my parents asking if I had a backup plan for when writing failed. I saw it in my friends, the ones whose novels I had critiqued and loved, who didn’t get picked up by agents for any number of reasons unknown to me. In the fray, it seems that horrible books get published while good ones languish; I try hard not to be pessimistic; I try hard not to begrudge anyone their joy. <br /><br />I have read literary agents’ complaints in reference to NaNoWriMo. They are swamped, they say. When November ends, hundreds of writers query them with unedited manuscripts, a veritable deluge. I have been told, don’t query during December, you are more likely to be rejected. It is sad that there is a month devoted to ignorant hope. <br /><br />One day, months ago, my <a href="https://hotairballoonpress.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">sister</a> and I were talking about how, when people produce an art form, the kind that is meant to be experienced by others, they can think that means they have the right to be published or signed to an album or displayed in a gallery. It’s difficult for writers to understand and accept the simple truth that just because you wrote a book, doesn’t mean you ought to be published. It’s hard to do that kind of work, with little-to-no promise of greater success, harder still to accept that completing the work doesn’t come with some greater, automatic and far-reaching reward. <br /><br />I’ve seen the argument, particularly from literary agents, that NaNoWriMo is not some shining star. It encourages wannabe writers; it says, “You, too, can write a book. We’re all writers here.” The truth is that there is a difference between writing a book and writing a good book, and it’s often the case that those who have written bad books are also blind to this fact. NaNoWriMo gives free license to droves of writers who will never make it; who could not possibly all make it; there are too many, and not everyone has the natural talent, or the skill to learn—there is no use lying about it and saying it is otherwise. Maybe I am one of that number. Consider the times I have sung the praises of NaNoWriMo. Real writers should be able to write outside of November, I have heard. <br /><br />For a long time I held it as a firm belief that NaNoWriMo is what jumpstarted and sustained my book-finishing abilities. I had never completed a full book before: that statement is true, depending on how you look at it. Before November 2013, my drafts were truncated and juvenile—one barely surpassed 40,000 words. They failed to finish a complete the thought. Both ended, not when I had reached any sort of natural conclusion, but simply when I had run out of words and didn’t know where else to go with the story. They lapsed into cliffhangers and were never polished to a high shine. <br /><br />November 2013 was a reset button. It taught me a lesson I so desperately needed—you are not required to edit as you go along, and your draft can be as messy as you need. I learned about momentum, and how you can change the plot and the characters and the setting mid draft, if you so choose, because you are going to edit later anyway. <br /><br />For the first time I managed to edit a manuscript and query agents. I got two requests for a full, one for a partial, none of which is saying a lot, and they all ended in rejection, but it was a taste of what could happen. I was only eighteen, and already I felt my face pointed in the right direction, NaNoWriMo at my side, a guiding hand on my shoulder. <br /><br />It’s difficult to describe the feeling I had when I sat down to query, after years and years of wishing, how I sensed the enormity of my dreams. Before then, being published had been a nebulous concept with no real anchor to reality, something that I had hoped and prayed would eventually (somehow, who knows how) happen. The whole experience, start to finish, also switched my perspective from viewing publishing as something that would be handed to me to something that I would have to fight for, in the face of rejection, with no real promise of success. <br /><br />When you consider the number of abortive drafts I have stashed away, it’s safe to say that for the longest time, I never got anywhere with my writing. I would start an idea and usually get a page or so in, sometimes closer to thirty, twice to eighty, all of this handwritten. For one story in particular, I stacked my blank notebooks, one hundred pages each, and dreamed of filling five. I had large handwriting. <br /><br />I have a box in storage at my parents’ house, a relic of my pre-computer years, crammed with writing—loose paper, notebooks, folders, detritus from a mind I no longer recognize as having been mine. I remember so little of my writing in those days, so little of the act itself. The box was big enough to hold at least one of me, at my present size, so heavy I couldn’t lift it. Long before I moved out, it had begun to break under the weight of its contents. How that box even came into my possession is a question I can no longer answer; it was a fixed point in my childhood, a towering Ozymandius. Once I hid it in my closet. <br /><br />November 2013, and the subsequent Novembers, were new awakenings, fixed points around which my life revolved. There is no way of knowing, but most times I suspect my writing would not be how it is today had it not thrived around that structure. I no longer need it as my own personal crutch; this month I finished a draft independent of November; I am free. But I am still caught in the question, that was the true question—NaNoWriMo the distraction, the red herring, the straw man. Good writers can thrive in November; they can thrive anywhere; they are dandelions growing upwards through concrete. But what of me?<br /><br />Who is to say I am separate from the populace at large, the writers who will never make it, for lack of talent, or lack of research, or lack of luck? I have spent so long trying to learn humility as a writer; I get up and I fight pride and I go to bed. To be one of those people (poor her, she wanted it so bad, but she was never published—she was never good enough, who can bear to tell her?) is a rancid thought. I exist to write; I know that now. I will write whether I am printed or not. <br /><br />What about me? I love NaNoWriMo; I expect I always will. My relationship with it has been a constantly shifting entity. First I learned confidence, then I pushed myself too hard and for the wrong reasons. And then last year, finally, I felt like I returned to the true meaning of <strike>Christmas</strike> NaNoWriMo. But always writing has been a form of self expression for me, a way to process and synthesize my experiences into something better. Without steady writing, in one form or another, there is a solid chance I would go insane. So far, NaNoWriMo has been my preferred tool for finishing drafts, the timeline and the sense of community vital to my experience. <br /><br />If you’re only writing to make money, readers can tell—publishers can tell. You have to be comfortable with writing for yourself, first and foremost, and if you’re not there yet, that’s okay. Take your time. Write during NaNoWriMo, or write when it’s most comfortable for you. Publishing is not some great reward, the final stop at the end of a long and arduous journey. It is not even a measure of success or failure. It is a happy byproduct of writing. Even if your books never make it to shelves, you are a still a writer, and what you are doing is still valuable. In your rush to put words on paper, for your own sake, don’t forget that. </span>Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-77735207452265117702019-06-13T07:45:00.000-07:002019-06-14T06:11:45.679-07:00Why I Don't Want to Self-Publish // Part Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />When I wrote <a href="http://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2019/01/why-i-dont-want-to-self-publish-part-one.html" target="_blank">Part One of why I don’t want to self-publish</a>, I hadn’t planned for it to be a two-part post, but I ended up with more material than I could cover in one. I also hadn’t been planning to take another hiatus, and I’m sorry if you’ve been waiting forever to read part two. Thank you for being patient! <br /><br />First, let me just remind you that the reasons why I don’t want to self-publish can be useful information, but only if you also realize that not all self-publishing platforms are created equal, and that it’s okay to disagree with me. One day I might change my mind and decide to self publish. You never know. So these are just my observations from where I stand. <br /><br />Someone with no knowledge of self-publishing will likely assume that there’s only one method, or that all platforms are the same. I know I did. In my last post I focused mainly on the logistics of self-publishing—namely, the money—and the dangers of rushing a book that isn’t ready. But now I want to talk about the different options available. <br /><br />For starters, there are services that offer you varying levels of control, where ultimately the ball is in your court. Case in point: with CreateSpace you can pay for editing services, cover design, and promotion, if that’s what you want. Those resources are optional—you tailor your package. Same with KDP (Kindle Direct Publishing). You create the product. You control the pricing. For the most part, you have final say. Probably these platforms will offer you the quintessential self-publishing experience. There are downsides, though. I can’t tell you how many times I have heard authors lamenting Amazon’s various hiccups, from failing to track sales to messing up formatting (please don’t ban me, Amazon). There are algorithms on Amazon designed to keep you from publishing plagiarized material, but I have seen a couple cases where they have gone haywire and wreaked havoc on an author’s career. That alone is probably what stresses me out the most. <br /><br />Now, if you have your heart set on a more high quality book, say a hardcover with a snazzy dust jacket, you have options like <a href="https://www.lulu.com/" target="_blank">LuLu</a>. With those, you are creating and buying a product, which you will then have to sell on platforms like Amazon, but these services will not always be print on demand, which means you will have to purchase back stock and store it yourself. Don’t forget that means you need to incorporate shipping into the price of your book. <br /><br />All that being said, I have never self-published. My research has led me to decide that, at least for now, I don’t want to take this route. But we’re talking about your career too, so I encourage you to do your own research and make your own decision. <br /><br />Before I launch into the evils of vanity publishing houses, another method of self-publishing, let me give some context, for those of you who don’t know a whole lot about the industry. There are five major publishing houses: Penguin Random House, HarperCollins, Macmillan, Simon & Schuster, and Hachette Livre, in no particular order. (I remember when there were six, before Penguin and Random House merged.) These houses are commonly referred to as the Big Five. (Is it just me, or does this sound like the prologue of a fantasy novel where the major publishing houses are embroiled in a centuries old war? Nope, just me? Okay.) <br /><br />The Big Five have imprints—they’re all part of the same entity, these imprints, but they specialize in publishing certain genres. I imagine you could compare this set up to a Portuguese man o’ war, only less dangerous. For instance, Tor is a science fiction/fantasy imprint. Greenwillow publishes middle grade novels, and has a higher number of teenage authors, at least from what I’ve seen, so they were my dream imprint when I was sixteen and angsty. Katherine Teigen is the imprint that published <i>Divergent</i>. Alfred A. Knopf published <i>Eragon</i>. If you’re curious about the imprint for a specific book, look at the copyright page. Usually there will be a line near the bottom that tells you the imprint and the publishing house. <br /><br />But then you have small publishing houses—also referred to as small presses or independent (indie) presses. These are not affiliated with the Big Five. These are houses like Algonquin, which published Nova Ren Suma’s <i>The Walls Around Us</i>. Cash flow defines the separation between the Big Five and small presses. <br /><br />Both big houses and small presses pay you an advance for your novel, varying in size from four digits (say, if you’re a new romance or ya author) to seven digits (if you’re established and wildly popular, like Marie Lu or Steven King). Then, the houses give you a percentage of the royalties (money made off book sales) based on what your contract specifies, once your advance pays out. But that’s a completely different conversation. However,<a href="http://mybookgoggles.blogspot.com/2014/09/damnation-books-authors-and-readers.html" target="_blank"> I would caution you about trying to navigate small presses on your own</a>.<br /><br />So then you have vanity houses. Vanity houses masquerade as indie presses, and this is your big fat warning not to publish through them. From the outside, they can seem legitimate, especially if you don’t know a whole lot about the biz. (Which is another reason why having an agent is so important—they know the difference and can help you avoid a multitude of pitfalls.) <br /><br />Usually they will claim to be selective about which submissions they choose. They might offer cover designers and affiliated editing services, and you will have to pay for these. Likely you will be required to cover the cost of printing your book, although models do vary, and while they may offer you promotion services, don’t expect them to make good on their word. They will rarely pay you an advance, although you might have to sign a contract, and since you probably don’t have legal expertise in this field, you might end up signing something nasty and career damaging. (If you’re not sure what I’m talking about, I would recommend you <a href="https://nelsonagency.com/2006/07/agenting-101-grant-of-rights-part-three/" target="_blank">educate yourself on your rights</a>.<br /><br />Go online. Google vanity publishing houses. Find ones that have gone under—they are numerous, and if you dig, you are going to find a pattern. It’s not uncommon for a con artist to start a vanity house, bilk desperate customers out of their money, go bankrupt, and move to another state where they start a vanity house under a different name. Look up testimonials of writers who have published through these venues. It’s not uncommon to hear of royalty checks bouncing, or not being sent at all, even though copies of the book continue to sell. To be fair, sometimes small presses (*cough* <a href="https://nelsonagency.com/2012/03/their-failure-is-not-mine-guest-blogger-mari-mancusi/" target="_blank">Dorchester</a> *cough*) will pull this trick, but with less frequency. <br /><br />“If they’re so awful, Liz, why do they still exist? Surely you don’t know what you’re talking about.” I’ll admit, there are probably some vanity houses out there that will do right by you. In all my research, I have yet to find one. This is what happens: say you’ve tried the agent route with no success, or you’re too apprehensive about the idea of the Rejection Onslaught to even query agents, so you decide to submit directly to publishing houses. Only most reputable publishing houses won’t accept unsolicited submissions. Some of the smaller ones will, true, but you’re not likely to get as good an advance as an un-agented writer. <br /><br />Then you hear about vanity houses, and maybe they look like a great deal, and maybe you submit to one, and they offer you a publishing contract. All your dreams are about to come true, right? No. It’s not an honor. It’s a scam, and you’re the dupe. Let me be very blunt with you. Vanity publishers exist to make money off your desperation. Look, I understand what it’s like to want so badly to be published that you feel sick. Believe me, I’ve been there. Numerous times. It can drive you so crazy you let yourself get sucked into a bad deal like <a href="http://www.snugglyoranges.com/2014/01/full-fathom-five-boycott-books/" target="_blank">Full Fathom Five</a>, because you just have to, have to, have to get published RIGHT NOW. <br /><br />You’ve been rejected so much, and then you apply to this vanity house, with its official looking website and its submission guidelines, and of course you get accepted, because of course they aren’t going to turn away willing money, but you think you’ve finally made it past the gatekeepers and proved yourself. <br /><br />I don’t recommend self publishing. I don’t. But if you are going to self-publish, I beg you: do not get tangled up with a vanity publishing house. There may be issues with other platforms, and you might have a harder time making money than you’d like, but all those hassles pale in comparison. <br /><br />Be careful when you’re self-publishing. With a reputable literary agent, at least you have someone in your corner. When you’re going solo, you are your own body guard. Suddenly you are required to be extensively knowledgable in multiple fields—you are the one who needs to be able to spot the difference between a good deal and a scam. There are so many people out there who do not care about your dreams, even if they pretend that they do. They recognize your desperation and see it as a way to make money at your expense, regardless of your suffering. You deserve better than that. <br /><br />But if, after reading these post, you decide to go ahead and self publish anyway, I wish you the absolute best of luck. </span>Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-14121832176125496022019-06-11T06:19:00.000-07:002019-06-11T06:19:59.963-07:00What Happened to Elisa Lam? // Part Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtpxgUkkCYBE8CME8aepvbIQZ-8TnMBDsLnzfTkV4vFVu9u2ES_eghB5mb1hSwavsKvrE2vs9GXkeEiYRV8GyFCKsMJxmmyB5P4Fvp74nNk0KiVVoMQnHzqEtC1p67lSJ-5W3lHKUh4xMO/s1600/220px-Elisa_Lam_LAPD_flyer_photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="220" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtpxgUkkCYBE8CME8aepvbIQZ-8TnMBDsLnzfTkV4vFVu9u2ES_eghB5mb1hSwavsKvrE2vs9GXkeEiYRV8GyFCKsMJxmmyB5P4Fvp74nNk0KiVVoMQnHzqEtC1p67lSJ-5W3lHKUh4xMO/s320/220px-Elisa_Lam_LAPD_flyer_photo.jpg" width="260" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />If you’ve stuck with me up to this point, awesome. You rock. And you should know that here’s where stuff gets a little weird. Not that it wasn’t weird before. Perhaps you are familiar with a movie called Dark Water. It features a mother named Cecilia (reminiscent of the Hotel Cecil) and her daughter, living in a seedy apartment building where various spooky events take place. The water runs black and tastes foul, and a body is later found in one of the water tanks. An elevator even malfunctions. “Wow,” you must be thinking, “someone was inspired by Elisa Lam!” Those were my thoughts, until I realized that Dark Water came out EIGHT YEARS BEFORE Elisa Lam was found dead in 2013. So maybe the better question would be, “Was someone inspired by Dark Water?” Or maybe it’s just that life imitates art. <br /><br />If that wasn’t weird enough for you, here’s another strange coincidence. Around the time all this was happening, there was a TB outbreak in Los Angeles, and the particular TB test doctors were using was call the Lam-Elisa. <a href="https://www.themostcommonthemostdeadly.com/single-post/2015/11/19/What-is-the-connection-between-LAMELISA-Test-for-TB-and-Elisa-Lam-Canadian-Tourist-who-was-found-dead-in-a-Water-Tank-in-the-Cecil-Hotel?fbclid=IwAR3B2D1h84pFuRaYtYRuUvpBeQ2AGlKPVmgGa1MsHuKuDUfOlhju_ZzHtIg" target="_blank">While there are theories regarding this</a>, they require more mental gymnastics than I am willing to go into, and regardless, no evidence of TB was found in Lam’s lungs. <br /><br />There are a few more salient points of interest worth touching on before we get into a full-blown discussion: The Cecil Hotel, which at that point had already been renamed the Stay on Main Hotel in a desperate attempt to rebrand, was so notorious for suicides that it was known to LA residents as The Suicide. <br /><br />When Lam’s family filed a wrongful death lawsuit against the hotel, it was dismissed. However, the coroner waffled on the cause of death, initially calling it an unknown death, and then calling it an accidental drowning. It took four months for the autopsy to be released. My question on this one, with my limited autopsical knowledge (totally a word), is whether it was possible to tell from the water—or lack there of—in her lungs, whether she had died inside the tank or outside. <br /><br />Several people have been murdered at the Cecil Hotel. On top of that, Richard Ramirez (the Night Stalker), and the Austrian serial killer, Jack Unterweger, were permanent residents there at separate times, leading some to believe that the hotel is haunted or cursed. <br /><br />Additionally, it has been reported, though not verified, that the Cecil Hotel was one of the last places the Black Dahlia was seen alive. <br /><br />Now let’s do some hypothesizing. <br /><br />Operating under the assumption that this was a murder, let’s break down the details. Say she got on someone’s bad side, maybe one of the people in the hostel room who complained about her behavior, maybe one of the hotel staff, someone with ready access to all the rooms in the building. A hotel seems like a pretty decent place to kill someone, a convenient way to frame someone else. <br /><br />Having never murdered anyone myself, I can only guess at this, but I’m of the persuasion that the first rule of killing someone is making sure you don’t get caught. The best way to do this is to hide the body where it will never be found (please don’t arrest me). Given her increasingly odd actions leading up to her death, if she was murdered, I’d say it was premeditated, and that she might have gotten the sense that someone had it in for her. <br /><br />Again, this is all conjecture. Bear with me. So if you’re planning to kill someone, and you’re trying to think of how to hide the body, I’m going to throw out a wild guess and say the hotel water tank is maybe one of the worst places to choose. Fun fact: Bodies rot, and they rot faster in water. In case you didn’t know, rotting bodies smell really bad; it’s kind of hard to miss. If you’re putting a body in water that people will be drinking, someone is going to notice. <br /><br />It doesn’t strike me as smart, or all that feasible, to haul a body up to the roof, either up fire escapes or past two alarmed doors, climb a ten-foot ladder, and then drop her into the water. Lam may have been a fairly small woman, but if you think any of what I have just described is easy, then you don’t understand the concept of dead weight. A climb like that could have been disastrous, if not fatal, for the murderer. Arguably, it would have also been conspicuous. There are easier, safer, and more obvious ways to dispose of a body, or so I’m told. <br /><br />On the other hand, the coroner found that Lam had a prolapsed rectum, with bleeding, although he did say that this could have happened in the natural course of decomposition. While a rape kit was done on Lam’s body, it’s been reported that it was never processed, because they felt there was no reason to believe she had been murdered. <br /><br />It’s hard to tell how much hotel management’s decisions reflect on their culpability in the entire case. Here’s what we do know. Guests were still allowed to check in, even on the day the body was found, and were required to sign a form waiving their rights to prosecute if they became ill from drinking the water. The hotel was only required to provide bottled water for drinking, and several residents claim they were never informed about the body. To top it off, those who had already paid for their rooms before Lam was found were told they would not receive a refund. <br /><br />To me, it seems unlikely that she did this herself. It’s an easy, tidy explanation to say this was caused by drugs or mental illness. With labels like that on hand, we can look nightmares like this in the face, sound in the knowledge that they will never happen to us. But Elisa Lam was never just a case file. She was a bright young woman with a rich inner thought life. She lived with a mental disorder that many people struggle with—it was an illness, not a plot device. She can’t speak up for herself now, but we owe it to her not to immediately assume that she was just another druggie or crazy person. If the evidence leads to these conclusions, then fine, at least there will be answers, but we need to at least look. <br /><br />And even though murder is also an unlikely theory, that’s the one I tend to lean toward. Is it possible that someone killed her and kept her in their room until after the police had searched the place, before depositing her in the water? I can make conjectures all night, but really, the question that I keep coming back to is that, if she wasn’t murdered, and she wasn’t high, and she wasn’t off her meds, what really happened to Elisa Lam? </span>Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-34077384008354124352019-06-10T06:45:00.000-07:002019-06-10T06:47:32.044-07:00What Happened to Elisa Lam? // Part One<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
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Probably many of you have heard of Elisa Lam and what happened to her, although you might not know her by name. On January 26, 2013, the Canadian university student checked into the Cecil Hotel. This date sticks out for me, and for whatever reason makes the case feel more real, because on that day I was attending my friend’s funeral. It’s weird knowing exactly what I was doing when these events took place. <br /><br />Originally Lam checked into a hostel type room, but was moved by hotel management to her own private quarters after others complained about her strange behavior. Many of you have probably seen the elevator clip, the last known footage of Elisa Lam before her disappearance and eventual death, but in case you haven’t, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_rfLSVIA0L0" target="_blank">you can find it here</a>. <br /><br />She was reported missing by her parents, but wasn’t found until three weeks later, after residents had been complaining that the water pressure was intermittently low, sometimes only a trickle, and that the water was black and foul tasting. <br /><br />Reports after this point are conflicting. Some say that the employee who went up to the roof to check on the complaints about the water immediately noticed that the hatch on top of one of the tanks was open. In this narrative, he found Elisa Lam right away, floating face up. Other reports claim that the hatch was closed. For me, this opens up a whole new line of questions. If the tank was open as the employee claims, when the police searched the roof with a sniffer dog after she was reported missing, a) why did they fail to notice that this tank was open, and b) why did the police K-9 not pick up on the scent? (I could suggest that, perhaps, her body was not in the tank the entire time, but there is little evidence for this, and little further cause for speculation on that front.) Regardless, whether or not the tank was open, what they found inside was the naked body of Elisa Lam, with her clothes floating beside her. Her cell phone was never recovered. <br /><br />There are some things that need to be noted about Elisa Lam. She suffered from bipolar disorder, although her last documented relapse took place a year before. (It is also worth noting that, contrary to popular belief, bipolar is a mood disorder. It does not cause hallucinations. Unless she was misdiagnosed, or had another latent disorder, her behavior leading up to her death would not have been a result of her mental illness.) Toxicology shows that she was taking her medication at the time of her death. While there was an insignificant amount of alcohol in her blood, there were no traces of hallucinogens. It has been posited that, while the footage was eerie and the circumstances around her passing were chilling, this was all the unfortunate result of a psychotic break—a tragedy, but not a mystery. However, there is at least one detail that goes against that. Namely, the elevator footage. <br /><br />When viewing the footage, you can make a couple guesses about what’s happening based on her behavior. From her body language, which is at times frantic and childlike, it seems clear that she is afraid and that she is hiding from someone. At one point, she is seen talking in an animated way, though whether she is speaking to herself, to something only she can see, or to a person standing off screen, remains unknown. It is natural to see the footage as evidence of a psychotic episode, especially paired with the knowledge of her strange behavior leading up to her disappearance. But here’s what I’d like to point out. Multiple times in that footage, she presses buttons for several floors and then steps away from the elevator doors, which then fail to close. Only when she runs away do the doors finally slide shut. So we know the elevator was working, it just wasn’t working for her. <br /><br />One commonly-noted aspect to the elevator footage, is the fact that there are pieces of the video missing, amounting to roughly a minute. People have suggested that the police might have edited parts out to protect the identities of innocent people who happened to walk by and appear on camera. Another possibility is that there are details that the police have held back, as they frequently do in investigations, in the event that this was a murder. <br /><br />Now lets move to the roof and the water tank where she was found. In order to get to the roof, she would have had to get past two locked and alarmed doors. No alarms were reported around that time. Another way to get to the roof would have been climbing up from a window, but considering her erratic behavior on the Youtube video, it’s unclear if that would have been possible. Several sources have also referenced fire escapes, which might have gotten her to the roof. Regardless, she navigated her way to the base of one of the cisterns, and somehow managed to climb the ten feet to the top even though there was no ladder on the roof when her body was found. After that she would have had to climb inside and then remove her clothes. Certain sources have also mentioned that, in order to retrieve her body, firefighters had to cut apart the tank. People have guessed that this might indicate the opening at the top of the cistern wasn’t wide enough to fit a person through, raising further questions as to how she got inside in the first place, although that might not necessarily be the case. If she was in the water for a full three weeks, getting her out would not have been an easy feat. <br /><br />This leads me to another question, a point on which I have been unable to satisfy myself. Discussing the case with <a href="http://victoriasoceans.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Victoria</a> at Starbucks, and later with <a href="https://hotairballoonpress.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Abby</a> as well, we raised the question as to why, if Lam had been floating in the water for three weeks, customers were only just starting to complain about water pressure. For that matter, why was her body affecting water pressure at all, at that point? <br /><br />The more a body decomposes, the more gases the bacteria inside produce, the more it floats. If the water system was gravity fed, her body would have affected the water flow only until it floated to the surface, so it doesn’t make sense that they were receiving customer complaints about water pressure three weeks in. At that point she would no longer have been blocking a gravity fed system. Additionally, it doesn’t make sense to have a pump fed water system on the roof of a fifteen story building, when gravity would be doing all the work for you, but maybe I just don’t understand big building design. Since we’re unable to tell what sort of system they were using—pump or gravity—it’s hard to determine if a decomposing body could have caused these issues. <br /><br />It makes a difference, whether all four water tanks feed separately to different sections of the hotel, or if all four thousand gallons of water are fed into a single water main. Victoria mentioned that pumps are designed for specific water viscosity and suspended solids, that the simple fact of Lam’s decomposition could have been burning out the pump engines. Without schematics or further details, it’s hard to tell if the body decomp would have affected water pressure under the circumstances, or if there were other factors at play. <br /><br /><br /><b><i>Stay tuned for Part Two! What do you think about this case, coffee beans? What are some of your questions?</i></b></span>Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-33466074119326149842019-06-05T08:00:00.000-07:002019-06-05T08:00:13.278-07:00Dark Days<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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For those of you wondering about why I disappeared all of a sudden, right after coming back from my last hiatus, let me explain. Long story short, I’ve been dealing with a stalker situation since mid-January. For a while, it was kind of all I could do to leave my house in the morning, because suddenly I couldn’t be sure that nothing bad was going to happen to me. Not that there was any certainty before. At any moment, wherever you are, a sinkhole could open up beneath you, a falling brick could land on your head—life is tenuous. But there’s that illusion of certainty, you know? Losing that illusion takes up a lot of mental energy. </span><div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />The little part of my brain that cares about what everyone thinks of me (hello there) has been pestering me, saying, “Oh no, you can’t tell people you had a STALKER, they will assume it was your fault, and also, you literally PUBLISHED ON YOUR BLOG that you go to Starbucks every day. What did you expect?” <br /><br />Well, I mean, not that. <br /><br />This is something I will probably talk about at greater length in the future, when I have my thoughts more collected and my opinions more defined, because while I joke about it, it’s true, my first instinct is to look for the fault in myself. What did I do to bring this down on me? It’s what I’ve been taught over the years. <br /><br />He first approached me at Starbucks, but I get the sense that he had been following me for a while longer. Somehow he figured out where I work, asked my coworkers for my work schedule, and on at least one occasion, tried to follow me home. So that was stressful. I could joke about how I only went to the police after he got upset and stopped tipping me large sums of money, but not everyone understands that I use humor as a coping mechanism. And anyway, I used all that tip money to buy two stun guns. <br /><br />Once the police were appraised of the situation and gave him the old, “Now remember, you can’t stalk people” talking to, my life got a great deal more peaceful. I’ve run into him one more time since then, and I only had half a panic attack, so that was good. I think he pretty much understands that he could get into a lot of trouble if he doesn’t leave me alone—and also that if I go missing, he’s the first person they’ll visit. </span><br style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">During the worst parts, numerous people advised me to quit going to Starbucks every day. Maybe you’ll read this and think, “Wow, she was sad about the thought of giving up Starbucks, talk about first world problems.” And you would be right in recognizing that I have been so remarkably blessed in my life. But my Starbucks routine was about more than simply pouring out my daily coffee libations to the two-tailed siren. What bothered me about the whole debacle is that I had worked so hard to carve out a space for myself. For me the whole thing symbolized my push for freedom and independence. I was enjoying a fledgling social life. I had overcome my fear of going places by myself. I felt like I was waking up (but, like, not just because I was drinking more coffee). Since I accepted Starbucks into my heart, I have finished one book and drafted another, which is more consecutive writing than I have done in years. I didn’t want to give that up because some man decided to go all predatory, even though everyone was telling me it was an unacceptable risk. <br /><br />I took necessary precautions. Among other things, I made up a secret code to use with my sister, in case I needed to call her but he was around (which I ended up having to use), and I checked in with her four times a day so she would know if something had happened. I mapped out multiple routes to the police station. I bought an inordinate amount of pepper spray. I even set up Home Alone style booby traps inside my apartment. All this time, I kept writing, every day, even when I felt like I was having a 24/7 panic attack. And guess what? This last Saturday I finished the first/second draft hybrid of another novel, which predictably, features a serial killer. I’ll probably share a snippet with you soon, but this post is long enough as it is. Suffice it to say that my fears of never having fun writing a book ever again were unfounded, because despite all the stress, or perhaps as a result of it, this book was a haven for me. <br /><br />But enough about that. Let’s talk about my new kitten! <br /><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Meet Hlao-roo. So far this sentient piece of dryer lint has a) taught me the true meaning of sleep deprivation, b) failed to catch a single spider, and c) managed to get stuck at the top of the staircase. I think we’re off to a fine start. <br /><br />And last but not least, I can’t end this post without mentioning that <a href="https://hotairballoonpress.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">my sister has a blog now</a>! Of course I fully expect to incite a blogging feud between the two of us, but shhh, don’t tell her.</span></div>
Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-13629930205513841462019-04-18T09:11:00.000-07:002019-05-06T06:34:34.206-07:00Notre Dame<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br />Not going to lie, when I came home from work late at night, exhausted and stressed, and found that Notre Dame was on fire, I felt inexplicably raw. While I practice Christianity, which people often lump together with Catholicism, I don’t have strong religious ties to Notre Dame. I didn’t have the time or mental energy to sit down that night and parse together why I was feeling the way I was feeling. It was only when I was sitting at a coffee shop the next day, trying to focus on my novel-in-progress, that I realized I had to figure out why I felt ready to cry in public, why I felt frantic to know if Notre Dame was okay, when it seemed like everyone on Facebook was panicking and saying it had burned to the ground. <br /><br />It is difficult to imagine something that seemed to promise permanence reduced to ash. Notre Dame is centuries old—it has outlived so many generations, it is meant to outlive us all. Now, especially, it feels important to have something to cling to, some symbol of stasis. When you watch that very symbol burning, hot and bright, it shakes something in you, down near your foundations, leaves you feeling a whole lot less grounded, a great deal less safe. <br /><br />Here’s the thing, though. Notre Dame did burn, but she did not burn to the ground. While the iconic spire did collapse and most, if not all, of the upper roof is gone, the lower part of the roof is still there, minus three holes. The structure itself is sound—the stone the building was built from created a heat shield, which saved the building from a great deal of damage. <br /><br />Let’s take a look at what was and wasn’t lost. Yes, the rose-colored window is gone. <a href="https://www.facebook.com/sara.uckelman/posts/10156438916182809" target="_blank">However, it was, itself, a replication of the original</a>, as were many features of Notre Dame. When I read Victor Hugo’s <i>The Hunchback of Notre Dame</i>, back in high school, I won’t lie—I snoozed through most of it. I couldn’t understand why he spent maybe a hundred pages talking about the architecture of Paris, talking, at great length, about Notre Dame. What I couldn’t appreciate, even immersed in the medieval history studies which I loved immensely, was that Hugo didn’t write that book for readers of the future. He meant it for the Parisians who had been letting Notre Dame fall into ruins, who had left it to rot as an eyesore. Were it not for him, the church would have been lost to us a couple centuries ago. If you didn’t believe in the power of literature before, I hope you do now. </span><br />
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<br />The roof itself was constructed of thirteen and nineteenth century wood, which means not all of it was original material. This is the case across the board. The church has been destroyed and rebuilt over the years, <a href="https://immortal-jellyfish.com/" target="_blank">like some weird jellyfish life cycle</a>. We don’t see it that way, normally, because our perspective is limited to modern day. Not all of us think in centuries, but there it is. For decades, there has been a plan in place for disasters like this. <a href="https://mobile.twitter.com/_theek_/status/1117895531563372544?fbclid=IwAR3DxGl_fjoIjpwPnLrNk4cc9Sou2pSC9x-V9Z3KzmQI7Es2z4GpZKkkFYA" target="_blank">The trees needed to rebuild the cathedral supports are already ready to be harvested. </a>There is something truly, deeply religious about praying for peace and planning for war—the Bible is filled with that sort of practice. Imagine if all of us lived more like this, enjoying the stasis of the normal, yet ready in case things go south, with seven years of grain stored away for when Egypt is struck by famine. What I’m saying is, there was a disaster plan in place, and the firefighters followed it. The art, the altar, the furniture, so much was saved. And the famous gargoyles? Those weren’t even on the roof at the time of the fire. All sixteen had been removed four days previous in preparation for the restoration work that was already underway. <br /><br />Nothing has been permanently destroyed here. Had Notre Dame burned to the ground, we have the knowledge to build an exact replica. The parts of her that were lost will be rebuilt faster than ever. And let’s not forget that it was insured, which brings me to my next point. If you’re deeply moved by the sight of a burning church, examine your faith, see the parts where it has been singed over the years, work on rebuilding yourself. If you feel the need to pray, pray for those affected by <a href="https://www.newsweek.com/notre-dame-fire-aqsa-mosque-1397259?utm_source=Twitter&utm_medium=Social&utm_campaign=NewsweekTwitter&fbclid=IwAR30QMMpq98Y5IAyctiWGHTguaA9aNNMhQh6aTUC-Ei-rg49Jubp9XI-iTo" target="_blank">the fire in the Al-Aqsa Mosque</a>, which was burning at the same time as Notre Dame. And if you feel the need to donate money, donate to <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2019/04/16/us/black-church-fires-donation.html" target="_blank">the three churches in Louisiana that burned over a ten day period</a>.<br /><br />Here’s the thing I want to leave you with, before I retreat back to my reclusive state, as I have taken an impromptu hiatus to recover mentally from an ongoing stalking situation: it can be easy and all too satisfying to give in to despair, to panic before you have all the details. Don’t do that. With the internet, we have a wealth of knowledge at our fingerprints, and the onus is on us to make sure we’re passing along accurate information. So before you write that dramatic post about how Notre Dame burned down and you always wanted to go there and now you’ll never get to, please search out the facts first, to spare yourself—and others—unnecessary pain.</span>Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-37758906774084002612019-01-30T07:54:00.000-08:002019-01-30T07:54:14.696-08:00Guest Post // An Introduction<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHQt5VrOs3QFuTZ3DYDgRPv2dZ8fPtTBSk1oF8maQIz45cTAV9Jm5rRQnL1bFgUIzlQ4qtXfm3obNu8My2hAyG_pAd52P46URKfZEEjxkrI3Dvq00IJFAsixgLE-iW8sY0yNWkExyG6_FV/s1600/26239584_1978363265736937_2895992697850818950_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="956" data-original-width="960" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHQt5VrOs3QFuTZ3DYDgRPv2dZ8fPtTBSk1oF8maQIz45cTAV9Jm5rRQnL1bFgUIzlQ4qtXfm3obNu8My2hAyG_pAd52P46URKfZEEjxkrI3Dvq00IJFAsixgLE-iW8sY0yNWkExyG6_FV/s320/26239584_1978363265736937_2895992697850818950_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Featured from left to right: Danielle (who has <a href="https://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2017/03/guest-post-danielle-hines.html" target="_blank">guest posted</a> on this blog before), me (with hair styled by </span><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Wind</span></i><span style="font-size: x-small;">, because I am a classy broad), and Abby (the culprit responsible for this blog post). </span></span></div>
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<br /><span style="color: #134f5c;">Note: Today I bring you a guest post from my sister, Abby. I apologize in advance. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I think you know me, coffee beans. At least, I think you know me a little. I’m the sister that pops up from time to time in Liz’s narratives. One time I even <a href="https://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2016/11/do-you-nano-pep-talk-from-mere-mortal.html" target="_blank">wrote a guest post</a>, and I think Liz has shared <a href="https://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2016/08/abbys-poetry.html" target="_blank">some of my poetry</a> with you. I don’t know if you’ve ever wanted to know more about me, but for a long time, I’ve wanted to get to know you. <br /><br />I’m not going to tell you my life story, because Liz has pretty much taken care of that. We haven’t shared every single life experience, and we haven’t responded in the same ways (in fact, we’ve often responded in opposite ways), but we’ve shared enough to be the same kind of different. Which is why we think maybe you won’t mind if I start to write for Out of Coffee, Out of Mind with some regularity. Maybe once a month. Maybe once a year. Who knows? But don’t worry, Liz is still in charge. She won’t let me post anything stupid. **Liz, you won’t let me say anything stupid right?**<b> (</b>Liz: *shifty eyes* Yeah, sure, whatever you say.)<br /><br />So, for an introduction, let me just start with what I’m reading. Except first I should tell you that I work at an interior design company about an hour from where I live, so I have an hour each morning and an hour each evening to read via audiobook. An hour commute each way might sound absolutely horrible to you, but it’s really not. The Virginia countryside is rural and gorgeous, while the Maryland portion of my drive is...uh...okay. So I get two hours of mandatory reading Per Day. Isn’t that amazing??? Best. Life. Ever. <br /><br /><a href="https://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2018/12/life-update-2-upheaval-and-no-internet.html" target="_blank"> The reason I have this job is complicated and ugly and messy and horrible</a>, so I’m really trying to stay positive here (I say, filling our landlord’s swimming pool with all the lemonade I’m making from the metric ton of lemons I’ve been handed).<br /><br />Anyways. I just reread ERAGON by Christopher Paolini. I read it and loved it when I was thirteen, but Not Nearly Enough. Say what you will about how parts seem a little like LORD OF THE RINGS fanfiction. No one world-builds like Paolini. No one. And that kid was nineteen. Geeze. What am I doing with my life? Five out of five. <br /><br /> Just before that, I listened my way through Ally Carter’s NOT IF I SAVE YOU FIRST, just licking up all those Russian accents (yes, my ears can lick). (Liz: Ew.) Ally gives us a secret service agent’s daughter living in the wilds of Alaska, throwing glammed up hatchets with alarming accuracy, trying to save her best friend/worst enemy, the first son of the United States, and keeping her lipstick fresh in the process. Solid. Four out of five. <br /><br /> I’m currently reading Megan Whalen Turner’s The Queen’s Thief series for the first time even though my friends have been hounding me about it for years. I’m working on THE KING OF ATTOLIA right now, and this installment is for sure my favorite so far. I’m also working on SHADES OF EARTH, the last book in Beth Revis’ Across the Universe trilogy. I’m actually reading that one physically, which is nice. I’ve given each of the books in both of these series either a four or a five on <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/59252626-abigail" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> so far.<br /><br /> But best of all, best of all, I am beta reading Liz’s newest project: PLANET EYES. WHAT IS PLANET EYES? You ask. Calm down. Actually don’t calm down. It’s freaking brilliant. PLANET EYES is the working title Liz settled on for <a href="https://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2018/12/nanowrimo-shenanigans-part-one.html" target="_blank">HIRAETH</a> when we all realized that no one could tell when we were saying the name of her book and when we were sneezing. **Bless you, Liz….Oh...Oh right, right I’m on chapter 15.** <br /><br /> This feels like a good time to segue into what I’m writing. Not that you should care too much. (Liz: It’s okay. I don’t.) Liz is still the Mycroft to my Sherlock in all things, especially writing, but whatever. First off, you already know that I write poetry. I also write thoughtful and informative emails So Evil they get me fired from churches. I’m over it. Not bitter. **Chants: I love my new job. I love my two hours of mandatory reading. I love my life.**<br /><br /> But that’s not really what I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you that I’ve been working on a novel, WILL THE BOLD, for the last six years. It’s about an artist and a soldier and a sister and a trail of paintings that the soldier and his sister hope will help him get his life back. And it’s almost done. So that’s exciting. At least, it excites me. I know I don’t have the right to expect you to care about your favorite blogger’s (Please, of course she’s your favorite) sister’s questionably-talented writing ventures, but I’ve got this dream of Liz and me being the new Brontë sisters. So, you know, look out world, and all that.<br /><br /> Aside from reading and writing and working my butt off, I like to hang out with friends, watch TV with Liz, watch TV with my boyfriend, watch TV with my coffee, run around in the rain, beg my boyfriend for a puppy, eat pie, play ukulele, dance to Bieber in the kitchen, cook in the kitchen, and last but certainly not least, leave the kitchen because I am a strong, independent woman with a career at uh...Carefree Kitchens **sigh**.<br /><br /><br /><b><i><span style="color: #134f5c;"> That’s it, coffee beans, that’s me. Ask me all the questions! Throw tomatoes. Joke’s on you, I make a great tomato sauce. What would you like to know? </span></i></b><br /><br /><br />P.S. After my initial draft of this post, I did indeed finish PLANET EYES. DANG. Five out of five. Liz and I have had many a good conversation since about possible edits (not that it needed many), and the themes of her work. Let me just say, it is my privilege and genuine pleasure every time I get the chance to have any kind of input on her work. </span></div>
Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-81996189518496057222019-01-16T16:37:00.000-08:002019-01-16T16:37:27.072-08:00Why I Don't Want To Self-Publish // Part One<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />Recently I talked about <a href="https://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2019/01/query-writing.html" target="_blank">query writing</a>, and I mentioned I wanted to write a post about why I don’t want to self-publish. This is that post. <br /><br />I have come a long way since my younger days when I considered self-publishing as nothing more than a platform for untalented writers. I have since read self-published gems like Sierra Abrams’ <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22892448-the-color-project?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">THE COLOR PROJECT</a>. And let’s not forget that Hugh Howey’s <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36215128-wool" target="_blank">WOOL</a> and Andy Weir’s <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18007564-the-martian?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">THE MARTIAN</a> were originally self-published. There was a good stretch of time, about a year, when I strongly considered that route myself, when I still wanted to have my books out there, but I had lost faith in my ability to make the cut. <br /><br />People don’t realize how big a deal it is, doing everything by yourself. If you want to do your due diligence, you are probably going to need to hire a professional cover designer and a professional editor. That costs money. You can cut corners with those, if you want, but you are going to risk hurting the final result. I’m going to say something unpopular and discouraging here, and it won’t be the last of it’s kind in this post: you are not as good at editing and writing and cover design as your mom says you are. I have read too many samples of self-published works that were rife with typos and lazy formatting and bizarre grammatical errors. Most readers are not willing to spend their time and money on those. <br /><br />Unless you are sticking with digital publishing, you are going to need to pay for print copies. You also need to either a) figure out how to format a novel well, which is not as easy as you think, unless you know about formatting issues like widows and orphans (and I’m not talking about the Baudelaire kind), or b) you need to hire a professional to format your novel. <br /><br />This isn’t meant as a harangue on self-published authors, since there are some who do their due diligence, but because there is no gatekeeper in self-publishing to tell people, “Hey, wait a minute, you don’t know what you’re doing,” most books don’t get vetted. Suddenly if your mom says you have written the next Great American Novel, then that’s good enough, might as well stick a barcode on that baby. <br /><br />But back to the issue of money. If you’re going to do it right, it can take somewhere between two and five thousand dollars. You might, <i>might</i> earn back that investment. Let’s say you spend two thousand dollars, and let’s say you charge twelve dollars for each book, if you’re doing print. You are going to have to sell upwards of one hundred sixty-seven print copies before you start to see any kind of income, and that’s not necessarily factoring in the cost of printing all one hundred sixty-seven of those copies, because the initial two thousand won’t cover that many, so it’s actually going to be longer. Also, as you make all this money to pay back your two thousand, you have to remember that taxes for self-employed people, which is the category you fall under as a writer, are twice as high, because right now your workplace pays half of your taxes, so the money will basically evaporate. That means it’s going to be longer before you earn out, and even longer before you start to make any sort of appreciable profit. I could go on. But I hope you see what I mean. You can curtail some of these expenses by sticking with digital or using a platform that does not require you to pay for your print copies, but you’re still going to have to pay for editing, cover designing, book formatting, and promotion, which you shouldn’t skip. <br /><br />Something a lot of people don’t realize is that you don’t pay a traditional publisher. The publisher buys your book. Like, with money. Essentially, they’re paying for the privilege of editing your book with you, designing the cover, printing it out, etc... I would much prefer a setup where I don’t have to pay to do things I could otherwise get payed to do. Simple math. <br /><br />And here’s where too many authors get scammed. You never ever ever pay a reputable literary agent out of pocket. After your book sells, they get a percentage (usually 15 to 25%, depending on the agent and what kind of deal it is—print, foreign, film, etc…) before you get your cut. True, most advances are not worth bragging about, and after taxes and your agent’s percentage get taken out, what remains is less than impressive. But it is still preferable to footing the bill. <br /><br />Let’s get even more depressing. Self-published books normally don’t get placement in bookstores, which doesn’t have to be a major deal now that Amazon has become a huge marketplace, but you would still be losing sales opportunities. You would also be passing up on the chance to see your book in a bookstore, freak out, and take a million photos. So, there’s that. <br /><br />You’re not going to want to hear me say this, but I’m glad younger me heard it over and over, so I am going to say it. With self-publishing, there is a very real danger of jumping the gun and harming your career. Let me give you some limited perspective. If you rush and query an imperfect manuscript, generally the worst that will happen is that you won’t get published that time around. Not a career wrecker, unless you’re unprofessional about it. With self-publishing, unless you are getting feedback from unbiased people who are knowledgable about writing craft, you are not necessarily going to get an honest view of your book. I cannot stress it enough: you need someone to tell you when your book isn’t good, and you need someone who knows how to help you make it better. Everyone does. If you rush yourself and self-publish a low quality manuscript, you have shot yourself in the foot. Your chances of getting an agent after that are a lot lower. Now that they’ve seen how you’ve performed as a writer, they’re less likely to risk their time on you. Not to mention that self-publishing as a method of breaking into traditional publishing is inadvisable, because unless your book is a smashing success, it is almost impossible to get an agent interested in an already-published work. <br /><br />A lot of people self-publish their first novels. If self-publishing had been my chosen route, I would have done the same, because I thought TIB was awesome-sauce. I still think it’s a good book, but I also know that it needs work. The same for my second. But writing is a craft that takes years to develop, and the only way to develop it is through practice. No one really wants to hear this, but I am going to say it anyway, because I am so grateful that I finally understand. Your first book is probably not going to be good. Your second and third and fourth might also be subpar. It depends on how quickly you learn, as a writer. I saw some statistics once, and I wish I could find them for you, that showed your chances of getting traditionally published increase with each book, but the point where they start to skyrocket is on your fourth. Your <i>fourth</i> book. If you’re looking at that number and thinking, “Wow, that’s discouraging, I guess I’ll self-publish instead,” you’re missing the point. It’s not a numbers game. To learn the skills, you have to put in the time. More people get published on their fourth book, not because four is some magic number, but because that is how long it takes a lot of people to get good at their craft. <br /><br />I know it’s hard, because you can get it into your mind that, oh, I finished a book, that must mean I know what I’m doing. It doesn’t. All it means is that you finished a book. It does not necessarily mean that your book is any good. Self-publishing lets you skip vital steps in your development as a writer. I know traditional publishing can be disillusioning. Because it’s so subjective, it’s entirely possible for a wonderful book to get rejected across the board, so I am not saying never self-publish. But, generally speaking, the gatekeepers are there for a reason. Agents and publishers are actually very good at their jobs. Most of them have been doing it for years, so they know how to spot talent. And while it’s not fun to think about, the rejection storm I received when I was querying TIB wasn’t because the agents I queried were mean or blind, it’s because my book wasn’t good enough. <br /><br />There were times I was tempted to self-publish because I just wanted to have my book out there, because I felt this maddening need to be published that became, at times, all-consuming. It’s so hard to hear that you’re not ready yet, harder still to delay your dreams. But I learned valuable lessons from being told no so many times, lessons I needed to learn, and I’m grateful for that. </span>Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-20385832542725003112019-01-02T03:57:00.000-08:002019-01-02T03:57:56.972-08:00Query Writing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Part One// The Nitty Gritty</span></i></span></div>
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<br />For those of you who don’t know what a query letter is, or how traditional publishing works, the first half of this post is for you. Let me walk you through what I’ve learned along the way, because I get asked a lot if I plan to self publish. When I say I want to be a published author, people tend to assume that’s what I mean. I think the general populace of non-writers has this nebulous concept of publishing—either you self publish, which seems to be what more people are familiar with, or you send your novel to a publishing house where an editor will be more than happy to print it out and send it to bookstores. <br /><br />Not many people seem to be educated on how the process actually works, and that’s okay. But after a while, it gets a little disheartening, especially when it’s hard to tell if questions are coming from a lack of understanding or a lack of confidence in my ability, an “Oh, you want to write, that’s cute, but you’ll obviously never make the cut to be published professionally” approach. And I try not to take offense, when I sense someone is taking that specific tack, but it’s a little insulting all the same. <br /><br />Let me clear the air. Eventually, I will write a post about why I would rather not self publish. Glossing over this topic today feels unintentionally rude to people who do self publish, which is sad, because I have beta read for self-published authors (<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22892448-the-color-project?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">Sierra Abrams</a> and <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/42686669-love-and-the-sea-and-everything-in-between?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">Brian McBride</a>), and I have a lot of respect for them. So I will write a post about that soon, because it’s a personal choice, and I know it’s no one’s fault, really, but I’m tired of the question, after all these years. Right now, let’s just move forward knowing I would prefer to be traditionally-published. <br /><br />The fun—and by fun, I mean not-so-fun—part of traditional publishing is that, to be considered by most reputable publishing houses, you have to have an agent. The agent is the gatekeeper, someone who thinks your manuscript is good and is now invested in getting an editor to buy it. This is great for editors, who are insanely busy, because they can at least know that what’s being sent to them has been vetted. Beyond that, it’s good to have an agent, because then you have someone in your corner who knows the business, who knows how to negotiate legal contracts, get you better advances, pitch to editors, and work out film deals, and more (not necessarily in that order). <br /><br />Now that we’ve covered what agents do, let’s talk about query letters and why I’m writing one even though the whole process makes me want to tear my novel into tiny strips and use it as confetti. A query letter is, primarily, a short summary of your novel, like you would read on the inside flap of a book jacket. It gives agents an idea of what your book is about, and its job is to be intriguing. If it fails at that, then it is a sad, sad failure. (No, I don’t feel overwhelming pressure, what are you talking about?) Long story short, a good query letter is meant to convince an agent to read your book, because if they read it and like it, then they might want to represent it. <br /><br />Something else to note, before we move on, is that rejection is a huge part of the process, and that does not necessarily have anything to do with whether or not you are a failure. JK Rowling received her fair share of rejection and was told not to quit her day job. Even if you have written an astonishingly good book, there are going to be people who don’t think it’s worth the paper used to print it. Go on Goodreads and look up reviews for your favorite novel. There will be people who hated it. So getting an agent is not necessarily as straightforward as it sounds, because everyone has their own personal taste. This is all ignoring the issue of making sure, if an agent <i>is</i> interested in representing you, that they are a good fit for you and your projected career path. Nothing is as simple as it looks from the outside. So, before you ask an author if they are published yet, consider maintaining a healthy distance, enough to give you a running start if they decide to stab you. <br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Part Two // Query Woes</span></i></div>
<br />Now that we’re all—hopefully—on the same page, I can complain about query writing. It’s hard. Like, so hard. (Truly, I have such a way with words.) Back in 2012, when I began reading numerous successful query letters and researching how to write my own, I thought it was going to be a breeze. Coming into it, you think it’s going to be easy, and people will tell you that it should be easy, which makes it even worse. But then you actually sit down to write it, and you realize that it takes a lot of work to make something look effortless. <br /><br />Here’s the thing. You have just spent a considerable amount of time writing, editing, and polishing your novel. At this point, you are so familiar with it that you no longer know how to see it like it’s new, which shouldn’t be a problem, but it is, because you have to step into the shoes of someone unfamiliar with your story to know how the summary comes across. They don’t know how awesome your book is—all they know is what you tell them, so you have to tell them the right stuff, and that doesn’t mean writing a query letter that says: My book is really good. Pls believe me. <br /><br />I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Jim, but I am a <strike>doctor</strike> writer, not a salesperson. If I had wanted to get into sales, I would have gotten into sales. Nevertheless, here I am, feeling like someone going door to door trying to sell vacuums to people who already own multiple vacuums. <br /><br />I have to extract the essence of my story, all that makes it interesting, and condense it into as few words as possible (closer to 250 than 500). I have to make this letter cohesive and well-written and fascinating. And I have to communicate that I think my book has what it takes without sounding like a pompous nutcase. On top of that, I have to do this knowing I have failed twice before, which is even less fun than it sounds. <br /><br />That’s why I’m giving myself a month to finish the query letter for HIRAETH, as well as the synopsis, which is longer and more detailed and spoils the ending. That one is less frustrating, although it still feels alien. <br /><br />So if my next few posts read like they were written by a deranged person, you’ll understand why. </span>Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-65907646683084302492019-01-01T09:11:00.000-08:002019-01-01T09:11:13.450-08:00Post-NaNoWriMo Self Care<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />Since it’s already the new year, I know it’s a bit late in the game to be discussing post-<a href="https://nanowrimo.org/" target="_blank">NaNoWriMo</a> self care. Additionally, it’s a little weird to be covering this topic, as it’s something I’ve never considered in the past, apart from my general practice of taking December off. <br /><br />I’m just now discussing post-NaNo self care because I wanted to experience it for myself before jabbering about it to you. Talking about this year in reference to previous years is difficult because it’s like comparing completely-unrelated entities. Somewhere, over the course of 2018, my brain rebooted itself. So I can’t really say that a new approach would have been a game changer last year, only that it was a game changer this year. <br /><br />This November, I paced myself, and yes, I wrote 121,121 words, and yes, towards the end I was starting to feel tired. But I had just gotten into the hang of writing every day, starting in late October, <a href="https://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2018/12/routine.html" target="_blank">which you have probably already heard me talk about ad nauseam</a>. I didn’t want to unlearn a good thing. So I allowed myself two days to read a book and absorb its beautiful, interesting prose during my normal writing time. <br /><br />By December third, I was ready to go, but I was nervous about what I was going to write, since I wanted to let <a href="https://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2018/12/nanowrimo-shenanigans-part-one.html" target="_blank">HIRAETH</a> sit for a while. Then it occurred to me that blogging is totally a thing, that I do. So I could, you know, blog. (Sometimes my sheer brilliance astounds me.) I spent the next few days drafting and editing a small flurry of blog posts. After that, I spent a week with DRACONIAN, which was as long as I could stand, at which point I was already way tired of not working on HIRAETH. I also recognized, and I’m glad I did, that I was starting to get increasingly apprehensive about adding 10,000 words to HIRAETH to get it up to weight. The fear that I was going to mess the whole thing up with any additions, even necessary ones, was getting stronger, and I needed to act quickly. <br /><br />Having added all that I needed to, I think I can say with confidence that there was no reason to be afraid. So we can all breathe a sigh of relief. I also know some of you are going to want to punch me for saying this, but you’re not allowed to punch me today, because it’s my birthday. As someone who is accustomed to drafting quickly, to whom 20,000 words isn’t that challenging, it was a strange experience to be daunted by the prospect of writing 10,000. <br /><br />But, back to the topic of breaks. In years past, I think I have viewed my various writing projects through too narrow a lens. My custom was to take a month off between drafts, which was all well and good, but I didn’t work on other projects in the meantime. Part of it was that I needed some vacation time, which was fine. But a bigger part was my perceived need to stay exclusively in the world of my story. Maybe I had a more limited attention span at the time, and I just don’t remember how bad it was, or maybe I was imposing unnecessary strictures on my writing, but I was afraid that it would throw me off too much, editing multiple projects simultaneously—even though, as of November 2014, I knew that I could manage simultaneous drafting. <br /><br />For those of you who are maybe not so knowledgable about writing, let me clarify why I was taking breaks between drafts. When you’ve finished a draft, it doesn’t matter which number, it’s advisable to let it sit for a while. Taking a step back lets you clear your mind a little—when you return to the draft, you see issues you had missed before, because after looking at something for too long, you stop seeing the details. If you’re trying to find a good rule of thumb for how long your breaks should be, you’ll find that numbers vary. Some authors recommend two to three months. Others say two weeks. Some authors, especially when on deadline, do drafts back to back, without any breaks at all. I have always felt like a month is the most natural amount of time for me, but I have no scientific backing for this. A month is as long as I can generally stand to wait, is maybe what I should say. <br /><br />There’s nothing wrong with being monogamous in editing. But I think it contributed to my poor mental state over the past few years. I put all my hope in TIME IN A BOTTLE, because none of my other projects were even close to done. So I felt like I needed to get published with TIB, otherwise it would be at least a year before I was ready to start querying again, which felt like too much time for my teenage brain. The same with DRACONIAN, only worse, because it took so long to finish that one, and also because even though I was excited about it, I was also so discouraged by that point that I didn’t have all that much confidence it would work out. It put too much pressure on my individual novels. I could have used my various writing breaks to spread out the weight, to ease the collective load, like I sort of ended up doing with HIRAETH, which worked out amazing. <br /><br />While HIRAETH is cooling its heels, I’m turning to blogging again for a change of pace. Turns out that when I’m tired of writing, I’m usually tired of a specific kind of writing, so switching things up is sometimes the same as taking a break. <br /><br />I have also begun what I expect to become my next main project, which completely took me by surprise. The only thing I will tell you right now is that I have already written two thousand words of brainstorming and random scene drafting, as I work to get to know this thing. It’s a scary space story. HIRAETH is a scary space story too, but scary in a different way, I think. This one feels chilling. Not going to lie, even though I’m excited about this one, I don’t love writing rough drafts, and I am already looking forward to editing. <br /><br />Oh, and let’s not forget my favorite type of writing. <a href="https://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2018/12/what-am-i-doing.html" target="_blank">As I mentioned in my last post</a>, I have begun work on the query letter and the synopsis for HIRAETH. *bangs head against keyboard* You know those people who write the summaries that get put on the inside flap of a book jacket? Those people are my heroes. They deserve free Starbucks for the rest of their illustrious lives. I don’t know what sort of magic goes on in their heads, but I am in awe of them. I will be posting more about query writing tomorrow, so I’ll leave it at that for today. <br /><br />Long story short, I didn’t really do anything specific in the name of post-NaNo self care this year, but I did what I needed to maintain momentum and prevent burnout, and I’m happy with the results. <br /><br />And also, it’s my birthday today, so feel free to use that as an excuse to treat yourself. </span>Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-68000586838126755272018-12-31T06:50:00.000-08:002018-12-31T06:50:40.233-08:00What Am I Doing?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />In case I’ve been unclear as to my game plan for <a href="https://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2018/12/nanowrimo-shenanigans-part-one.html" target="_blank">HIRAETH</a>, I’m letting it sit for at least two weeks, and my goal is to have it finished and ready for querying by the end of January. That could change. My beta readers could find some huge, glaring flaws, which wouldn’t be the end of the world. But January 31st is my current plan. <br /><br />Which begs the question: Liz, what are you doing right now? <br /><br />Well, I’m glad you asked. <br /><br />Actually, I have a fair amount of writing I hope to get done before January fifteenth, which is weird, because when I finished my draft several days ago, I pictured myself sitting around with not a whole lot to do, slowly becoming more and more neurotic. <br /><br />Let’s start with my most exciting goal. I would like to finish an 8-11,000 word rough draft/outline hybrid for my new creepy space story, which I will reference again very soon. I’ll set it aside while I’m finishing HIRAETH, so I would like to have it at that natural point where I would be taking a break from it anyway. In theory, 8-11,000 words is a very manageable goal for me, and anyway, I don’t want to drag out this part of the process. Mainly, I just want to have something solid to occupy my brain space so I don’t go crazy while I’m querying. <br /><br />Additionally, there are several blog posts I want to draft and several more I want to edit. I have two others besides this one that I would like to post over the next couple days, if I can get my act together, because they make better sequential sense that way. You’ll understand. <br /><br />I also am overdue sending an email to a friend, and when I say we write long emails to each other, I mean that my next email will, in all likelihood, be four to five thousand words. <br /><br />On top of that, and most importantly, I am editing the query letter for HIRAETH as well as the synopsis. The synopsis is not as hard. The query letter, on the other hand, is a nightmare. I mainly want to get an agent just so that I never have to write another query letter again. I feel like that’s a fair reason. *nods sagely* <br /><br />All that to say, I don’t think there’s any danger of me being bored over the next two weeks. <br /><br />This might end up being too much writing for such a short amount of time, which is fine. But if I keep myself busy, I won’t be so tempted to pick up HIRAETH prematurely. Also, yesterday, I sat down and calculated how many hours per week I actually spend writing, and it’s around 21. All told, 42 hours feels like it should be sufficient to get everything done. <br /><br />Having said all that, right now all I want to do is reread HIRAETH, so this might not be so easy after all. <br /><br />In other news, my birthday is tomorrow, and since I have the day off, my idea of a good time is spending the morning writing before meeting up with my sister and her boyfriend to watch a movie in theaters. Because I’m a New Years baby, everyone else will be celebrating my birthday as well. I’m pretty sure that’s how this works.<br /> <br /><br /><b><i><span style="color: #134f5c;">Happy New Year, coffee beans! </span></i></b></span>Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-28807462679683990822018-12-30T08:24:00.000-08:002018-12-30T08:24:38.876-08:00Routine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />The people at Starbucks probably think I’m homeless, because I’m there at least once a day. Soon I will have to start paying rent. <br /><br />This routine started out as my reading getaway. I would go there for an hour every morning, sit with my latte, and read on my phone. Once I’d grown accustomed to that, I switched from reading to writing. I used to struggle with horrible, often crippling anxiety, and this was one of its last strongholds. I was afraid to a) write every day and b) write in a coffee shop. Both of these fears were bizarre because a) I used to write every day, and b) I have known for several years now that I do my best writing at coffee shops. <br /><br />At least part of my fear had to do with the fact that, with how tight my schedule is, I have to go straight from Starbucks to work, which means I need to bring my laptop to work with me, where it could get stolen, or stepped on, or, I don’t know, put in an oven or something. In the end, I decided that I had to just get over my fear, because <a href="https://nanowrimo.org/" target="_blank">NaNoWriMo</a> was too important to risk not being able to write every day. (Now I’m so chill about it, I’m like, well, my laptop is going to have to be okay, because there is no way I am not going to write today.) <br /><br />Starbucks is expensive, so you might be asking yourself why I go there so frequently, even just to read on my writing vacations. For a while, I tried to make Starbucks only a treat, a twice-weekly occurrence, but now I’ve been doing this writing routine for over two months, I understand why it’s important for me. <br /><br />There are very good arguments for not limiting yourself to a routine, one of which being that you can train your brain to perform only under specific circumstances, which is suboptimal (<a href="https://themaddragonhatter.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">one of my awesome coffee beans</a> mentioned this to me, and I thought it was really cool). I say that that’s fair, but also that it doesn’t apply to me, or rather, without a routine, I don’t get as much writing done. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It’s not a bad thing if you don’t have a schedule or if you don’t write every day; it’s just not for me. </span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />There’s nothing like going to the same place for an hour or two (at least) every day for the sole purpose of putting words on the screen. My brain knows what’s expected of it, so it (usually) performs. There are times when it’s a drag, and all I want to do is bash my head against my computer screen until the baristas kick me out. But one thing about going somewhere, for a set amount of time, to do a set thing, is that you tend to do the thing, even if you don’t want to. Or, at least, I do. There are times when I find myself with half an hour left before it’s time to head to work, and I don’t feel like writing more, but I tell myself to write anyway, because there’s not a whole lot else to do. I make sure to limit my available entertainment options when I’m at Starbucks for that reason. That practice is why posts like this exist. <br /><br />So why Starbucks? Why not just establish an at-home writing routine? First of all, there are innumerable distractions at home. I could make food. I could eat food. I could wash dishes. I could go outside and play with the dogs. I could count the number of books I own. I could have an existential crisis. Etc. It’s not as bad at the new apartment, since we don’t have internet or reliable cell reception, and there’s something about the ambiance there that’s more conducive to concentration. So I do write there, but when I write at home, it’s spontaneous, incidental; it happens because I feel the words bubbling up inside me and need to let them out immediately. <br /><br />With my routine, even working full time and allowing myself most evenings to read, <a href="https://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2018/12/nanowrimo-shenanigans-part-one.html" target="_blank">I managed to write 121,121 words for NaNoWriMo</a>. Most of that writing happened on my days off and in the two hour window I grabbed every morning before work. Pre-Starbucks, I struggled for three years to integrate some semblance of order into my writing habits, my closest thing to success being when I wrote at my old church, which was like writing at home, but with more distractions. Another victory is that I have a long-standing routine of going to a different café, actually a patisserie, and writing for several hours every Thursday, which for several months was the only writing I was getting done. It made for an excruciatingly slow pace, but it was also better than nothing, and it was the highlight of my week. <br /><br />I think what it boils down to is this: writers love writing, but we also hate writing, and usually we will put a fair bit of energy into avoiding our work. If you are in an environment where distractions are possible, they will become probable. If you don’t go looking for them, they will come looking for you. But an environment that forbids distractions is, inherently, a game changer. <br /><br />“But Liz,” I hear you saying, “there’s internet at Starbucks. Isn’t that a distraction?” Sometimes. It’s useful for Spotify, so I can have a wider music selection. And I’ll scroll through Twitter while I’m waiting on my latte or when I need a quick mental break. But I’m afraid I’ll look like a bum who spends all day on social media. I don’t generally advise worrying what other people will think about you, but in circumstances like this, if it helps me stay on the straight and narrow, I guess it works. <br /><br />Maybe the dedication for my first book should be something like this: <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>to my vanity, without which this book would not exist </i></div>
<br />I feel like that would go over well. <br /><br />I completely understand if you’re reading this post and recoiling in horror because the thought of a Starbucks routine is as low on your list of appealing options as it could possibly be, right down there with “finding a dead body”. If you can’t get work done in an environment where people might read over your shoulder and sometimes old men get too chatty and the background noise can border on obnoxious, that’s okay. <br /><br />I won’t lie. These were issues for me at first. (No one cares about your fake best friend, Sharon. The whole shop doesn’t need to hear about her implants.) This enterprise has been an exercise in stepping out of my comfort zone, across the board. I still have to block out the noise with my earbuds sometimes, but the background chatter does well to neutralize my tinnitus. I still write notes in my draft aimed at anyone who might be snooping, sweet nothings like, “This is a rough draft, don’t judge,” and “No one loves you,” and, “I will burn your house down.” I get squirrelly about the whole reading over my shoulder thing, because there are stages in my writing where I would show you my draft, but then I’d have to—well, you know. (I think it’s a testament to how confident I am with HIRAETH that I was rarely worried about that. Although there was that day when I was editing a fairly gory scene, and the chatty dude next to me clammed up real quick and moved to the next chair over. So I guess there are perks to this arrangement, after all.) <br /><br />But there’s nothing like casually eavesdropping on people’s conversations (because when they’re talking that loud, you <i>know</i> they want to be heard), nothing like working alongside other people, learning the faces of regulars, getting to know the baristas by name and realizing they’re the closest thing you have to friends. *awkward laugh* <br /><br />Now that I’ve established this routine, I don’t want to go back. <br /><br /><br /><i><b><span style="color: #134f5c;">What about you, coffee beans? What are your writing routines? Do you like to write at coffee shops? Where do you prefer to write? What do you do to combat the whole reading over your shoulder thing? </span></b></i></span></div>
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Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-79050956460747480892018-12-27T07:44:00.001-08:002018-12-27T07:44:18.830-08:00Life Update 3 // DRACONIAN<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Ages ago, in the forgotten year of 2017, I started querying DRACONIAN, which you may know as DSS. I talked a bit about it in <a href="https://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2018/12/my-writing-process-doesnt-exist.html" target="_blank">this post</a>. <br /><br />In that post, I reference a sweet, kind agent who offered me a snippet of personalized feedback for my novel. Although it was still, ultimately, a rejection, and although I didn’t do anything about it right away, it got the gears in my head spinning. I knew that I hadn’t been getting as much interest in my queries for DRACONIAN as I had with TIB. I felt like I was missing something vital, like I had taken a step backward in the quality of my writing. So after I got over a bit of burn out, I pulled myself out of my funk, sat down with my story, and made myself face what I knew was wrong. <br /><br />A long while ago (everything was a long while ago for me), I read some writing advice that said something to the effect of, “If you know you have a weakness in your story, and you’ve done your best to fix it, so you know you’re not being lazy, it’s okay to go ahead and query. No book is going to be perfect.” I’m still on the fence about whether or not that’s good advice. In my case, it wasn’t, because it gave me an out. I tried to fix the problem. I found I couldn’t. So I let myself query a novel I felt supremely insecure about, when I should have been like, “No, no, we are going to sit here, right here. We are going to look at this problem, and we are not going to leave this Starbucks booth until we know where the story’s going wrong.” <br /><br />Okay, so maybe that’s a little overdramatic. <br /><br />Let’s talk about the sticking point in DRACONIAN. It happens to be the most unfortunate, I dare say most common one. My beginning wasn’t working. It’s bugged me for years, has always felt like a low-level criminal offense. In its earliest iterations, when I was thirteen, it was pure exposition, all the telling and none of the showing. It stayed that way until I was eighteen. In my defense, I think that’s when I did succeed in streamlining it and introducing a good sense of rising tension. Where the breakdown happened was a few pages in, during a scene where I have a revelation that reads as too clichéd, the beginning of every single fantasy novel ever. I spent so much time trying to think around the issue. For the sake of the plot, my main character has to learn a significant secret her parents have been keeping from her, not because this will then launch her into glory and fame and riches, but because the betrayal will hurt her more than anything else, and it will affect how she behaves from that point on. But the way I had written it, it came off as tropey. There was no way for any agent to know, upon reading the first few pages, that I was trying something different. <br /><br />When I finally sat down to address the problem from a new angle, I don’t know if I owe the subsequent revelation to timing, brooding, or pure happenstance. (I have this theory that stories are the sum of the times and places they were written, that where and when a scene is birthed changes its genetic makeup, that until you have written a thing, it is in flux, rich with infinite possibilities, infinite directions you could take that depend on the thinnest threads of fate and chance. Like, if you’re in the wrong place when you write something, you’ll miss some great revelation, and you won’t do it right. Or, if you write it too soon, you won’t have a vital, game changing thought that was scheduled to occur to you two months later. It’s at this point that I have to shut down this line of reasoning, because I can follow it in circles until I’m in the throes of an existential crisis, migraine and all. So, moving on.) <br /><br />Somehow, (don’t look at the existential crisis, Liz, don’t do it), I finally thought of a way to restructure the beginning, to erase the aspects of it that had led to my querying woes. Of course, you know that whole, I’ll just tug on this one thread, just one more tug, one more, and then suddenly the sweater you were holding is gone, replaced by a pile of yarn. That’s what happened with DRACONIAN, but in a far less destructive way. <br /><br />Altering vital details in the beginning has affected how the rest of the story plays out. Addressing those changes has, in turn, caused a cascade of differences down the line. I’ve kept a journal with extensive notes to track every stray thought that crosses my brain as I do this (it has two dragons on the cover), because there are so many balls to keep in the air. I’m about two-thirds done with the first pass now, but I don’t know how much work remains. I expect I’ll have to go through the whole thing at least two more times, so I catch all the errors and inconsistencies I’ve introduced. <br /><br />I have been moving at a glacial pace on this story, usually only tackling it for (in a good session) four hours every Thursday. To which you are probably asking, if you haven’t read <a href="https://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2018/10/life-update-1-november-is-coming.html" target="_blank">my pre-NaNo post</a>, “If you were so frustrated with your slow progress, why wasn’t this one your NaNo project?” Two things. Firstly, I’m not frustrated, not generally. I’ll get to that later. And secondly, burn out is a hideous thing, and I was starting to feel it creeping up behind me. I decided I needed to set DRACONIAN aside and duck out for a month-long fling with some other stories. <br /><br />The consequence of this hands-plunged-in-all-the-way-up-to-the-elbows-deep-clean edit is that my book is stronger, and I’d like to think richer, than it was before. My world building has improved; my characters have grown. I’ve shored up plot holes I’d never noticed before. My insecurity—it’s almost gone. DRACONIAN isn’t done yet. It might not be done for another six months. It might be done in two. Who knows? But I can see the bright shiny spark of what it’s supposed to be, now, and I’m entranced. Even if this book never sits on store shelves, this effort will have still been valuable. It has taught me so much about editing, so much about patience and determination and endurance. I’ve relearned, through this experience, how to love writing for the sake of writing. <br /><br />As for the whole querying question, before November, I had fully intended to keep DRACONIAN as my main project, the one I prioritize finishing. There are now a few reasons why my plans have changed. <br /><br />For one, it could be a while until it’s done, and it’s become such an intricate, loving revision, that I don’t want to rush it like I’ve rushed it before. I owe this book the time and effort it requires. That means that it’s going to have to become one of my side projects, at least for the moment. <br /><br />Another thing is, and maybe this is a silly reason, that having already queried this one, I might want to put some distance between those efforts and renewed ones. I know people revise and re-query, and I know there are still so many agents I never queried with this project. But it’s also harder to jump back on the bandwagon with a book you’ve tried and failed with once before. <br /><br />My last, and I think most compelling, reason is this: HIRAETH is suddenly so much further along, and while I have renewed confidence in DRACONIAN, it pales in comparison with how I see HIRAETH. HIRAETH feels like the one in ways that my previous two didn’t. As I mentioned <a href="https://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2018/12/nanowrimo-shenanigans-part-one.html" target="_blank">in this post</a>, I still have scenes to add and, realistically speaking, it will probably be a few months before I’m ready to query, maybe longer. Even if it was ready, I don’t think I’d send out queries until midway through January, so they don’t get lost in the holiday mix. But I want to take it and run with it. <br /><br />That being said, I will still fight to get DRACONIAN to you someday, coffee beans, even if that means I have to print it out on rolls of toilet paper and leave them on your porch in the dead of the night.<br /><br /><br /><b><i><span style="color: #134f5c;">That’s it for today, coffee beans. What are some stories you’ve wrestled with for years? What are some of your greatest revision triumphs? Are you currently in the query trenches/planning to jump in soon? </span></i></b><br /> </span>Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-63350226291407701372018-12-18T06:00:00.000-08:002018-12-18T10:03:57.371-08:00My Writing Process Doesn't Exist<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /><br />Fair warning, coffee beans, this is going to be a long post. So buckle in and make sure to keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times. <br /><br />Now that I’ve edited two complete novels and am close to finishing my third, not to mention my various editing dalliances and numerous rough drafts along the way, I feel like I have a bit more perspective on my writing process than I did when I started this blog. That means it’s time to confront some of my overconfidence. <br /><br />There’s nothing like finishing your first novel to make you think you know what you’re doing. You wrote a book. You conquered. Now you are equipped to sit sagely, handing out advice, telling others how to climb their own mountains, banish their own demons, etc, etc. It becomes uncomfortably obvious that you don’t actually know what you’re talking about when your own advice doesn’t help you write your next book. <br /><br />I’ve noticed a pattern with myself. Every time I write something, big or small, I end up thinking I know who I am as a writer, how my process works. But this is a stultifying, dangerous perspective, because it limits my ability to move forward. <br /><br />When I finished TIB, I knew that I was a writer who drafted in chronological order, who wrote quickly and edited quickly, who needed a minimal number of drafts. I looked at my success and told myself, okay, whipping out a book each year is easy. Knowing that I hadn’t pushed myself as hard as I could with TIB meant I could probably even manage two books per year. (Wow, Liz. Wow. I did not raise you to be this arrogant.) <br /><br />Through that experience, I learned a great deal about the mechanics of my editing process, which I consider to be, in many ways, divorced from my writing process. How I approach the editing itself has never changed. I rewrite everything word for word. I subtract in the second draft, add in the third. My brain works well with that sort of structure. But the way I go about editing—the broader picture, how I approach the draft as a whole—differs. <br /><br />There were things I learned through the TIB experience that I thought were steadfast aspects of my writerly identity. I got up early—4:00 am early—every morning, and wrote with my Earl Grey in bed, listening to music. I wrote after school, until supper, and after supper I wrote more. Weekends I worked late into the night after watching Star Trek. I was a writing machine. <br /><br />After TIB, I picked up DRACONIAN, and I thought, with all this new knowledge and, gasp, expertise that I have garnered, surely this will be a breeze. Spoilers. It was a breeze in the way that a hurricane force wind that rips your clothes off and lands you a free trampoline in your demolished backyard could be considered a breeze. What’s worse is that the whole experience was deceptively fun at first. Drafting it was straightforward. Even the first round of editing wasn’t so horrible, though it took longer than I had planned. I was still pleased with my story, still confident that I knew what I was doing. <br /><br />Then disaster struck. It was inevitable, a land slide that started ages before, whose rumblings I chose to ignore. The whole time I was working on DRACONIAN, I was querying agents for TIB. I think I sent out letters for six months to a year. I don’t remember the exact timeline, but it was a while. I received a stream of rejections for even longer than that. One came five months or so after I marked it off as an assumed rejection. I could give you more accurate numbers, but opening that Excel spread sheet is a walk in a different sort of park, the kind where you need to carry shivs and mace and everyone looks at you like you would be fun to murder. <br /><br />I received an onslaught of rejections. Had I so desired, I could have printed them out and folded enough origami swans to have like, fifty origami swans. (Seriously, how am I not published?) <br /><br />I experienced some life changes around this time. I graduated high school, got my first job. Then I moved to Virginia and started rooming with my sister. Like, literally rooming. Our first apartment was a single room, with a bathroom and a shared kitchen. All of these various events made my 4:30/4:00 am mornings first improbable, then impossible. I think it was easy to let that routine go, to not fight for it, and then to tell myself that I was failing at writing because, see, I wasn’t able to get up early in the mornings anymore. <br /><br />What made the whole situation more unbearable is that I had a beta reader, on what I think was the third draft, who hated my book and tore it to shreds. I had it in my mind that you are allowed to ignore beta feedback you don’t think will make your story better, but you aren’t allowed to ignore feedback out of spite or because you’re hurt by it. I figured that I had to overcompensate for my emotions by listening to everything she said, no matter how untrue it felt to my story. Eventually I reached a point, some ten thousand words before the end, when I finally realized that if I looked at another one of her critiques, I was probably going to delete my entire draft. <br /><br />When I handed my poor, battered book-child off to my next critique partner, this time my sister, she pointed out that all the edits I had input in the name of responding well to criticism had caused my book to take a massive step backwards. I don’t want to write a harangue on beta readers, because they are a necessary part of the process, but it really shook me, the whole experience, has made me a lot slower to seek out feedback from strangers, even vetted ones. <br /><br />In 2017 I got DRACONIAN to the point where I felt it was as close to done as I could make it, so I started querying. I think I sent out around twelve query letters before realizing they all had a pretty glaring typo in them, which I had somehow missed even when I tried to fix it. I think that, more than anything, shows me how horrible my eating disorder brain fog was. And I was still trying to function like I was at 100%. <br /><br />I didn’t hear back from most of those agents. One super sweet, super kind agent gave me some light, personalized feedback on my first fifty pages, and she said basically what I had been fearing, that, among other things, my world building needed more work. <br /><br />I didn’t make any sort of set decision, but it just kind of happened naturally. I always meant to send out more queries, did the research on more agents, prepped more letters. I never sent them. (Don’t despair. I haven’t trunked DRACONIAN. I have another editing update that I plan to post soon.) <br /><br />The lesson from that whole experience, as I saw it through the lens of how I felt as a writer post TIB, is that my writing process worked, but that I was broken. I couldn’t stick to the roadmap, so something must have been wrong with my vision. <br /><br />I’m not going to argue that there was one single thing that I did wrong in the process with DRACONIAN that, if avoided, would have altered the entire course of events. There were so many things that went wrong, and there were additional factors that were out of my control. <br /><br />But let’s move on to HIRAETH. I drafted HIRAETH out of order, just threw everything on the page, and none of it made sense, but all of it was exhilarating. The adults had exited the building; I could do whatever I wanted. I could make as much of a mess as I needed to in order to draft the thing, because I didn’t have to clean it up in any sort of hurry. My only plan for the story, at that point, was to share it on this blog someday, maybe, if it was good, if I felt like it. Zero pressure for me to perform. That release made it fun for me, made the story a refuge, something secret I got to keep for myself. <br /><br />What I’ve learned, I think, is that my writing process doesn’t exist. With TIB, I wrote how I felt I was supposed to write, in order, quickly, with more confidence than was my due. With DRACONIAN, I thought that I could apply the same mold and get the same results. I thought I could ignore everyone saying your sophomore novel is the one that makes you want to quit, because I thought I was special and therefore exempt. <br /><br />Here is something that you should know. You are allowed to write however you want, and you don’t have to have any set way you do things. Whatever works for you in the moment is your writing process. You can write at home for one book, at a coffee shop for another, in your unsuspecting neighbor’s basement for your next. Whatever gets the words on the page.<br /><br />I think it’s maybe a bad idea to label yourself as a panster or a plotter, to force yourself into that dichotomy. If that works for you, awesome, and if you want the label, then wear it proudly. I spent so long telling myself that I was a panster that I never even let myself try plotting, except with the understanding that it was something I would hate. It’s hard to explain that brain space. Your subconscious takes over, turns your preconceived notions into rules which you follow to your detriment. You don’t like something because you tell yourself you don’t like it. <br /><br />I outlined HIRAETH. True, I did so after the fact, when I had a handful of random scenes I was juggling, when I had to bring some semblance of order to the words on the page, but that was something I would have never even let myself consider before. <br /><br />That’s what I’m trying with BMT, outlining, writing out of order, pantsing, a little bit of everything. For the first time in four years with this book, I think I finally see a hint of light at the end of the tunnel. (Although it’s weird, because I keep hearing these choo choo noises. Anyone know what that’s about?) <br /><br />All this being said, it wouldn’t surprise me if, three years down the line, I decide to write a new post about how wrong I am in this one. So this is nothing definite, just something I am mulling over. But writing it down has helped me put my thoughts in order, and I hope reading it will help you too. <br /><br /><br /><b><i><span style="color: #134f5c;">That’s it for today, coffee beans. What are some misconceptions you have had about your writing process along the way? </span></i></b></span>Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-84423509241764851612018-12-11T03:00:00.000-08:002018-12-11T05:16:57.737-08:00Life Update 2 // Upheaval and No Internet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /><br />I never got around to finishing my series of life updates before November rolled around, so this blog is going to maintain its status as update central for the next few posts, I think. Let’s take a quick break from writing to talk about life. (What am I saying? Writing <i>is</i> life.) <br /><br />I guess the first thing I want to cover doesn’t come first chronologically, but it’s the easiest to talk about, and so I’ll lead with it. I moved. Not far—I’m still in Virginia. This has been my third move, and my third town, in as many years. Our original deal with our landlords was that we could rent their basement until their daughter decided to return home to live with them. Long story short, that’s what ended up happening, and they were able to give us sixty days to find a new apartment and move out. For some of you, sixty days may feel like a wealth of time, and we managed, but we were also supposed to be traveling for roughly two weeks of that, which made it more interesting. <br /><br />We’ve been all moved into our new apartment for three months now. The downside to our new place is that we don’t have internet. My understanding is that our landlords have tried to get internet, but providers aren’t willing to come out and give service to this area. VA encounters issues like this, despite how wealthy this county is. Actually, in some ways, because of it, since when you’re rich you think you can afford to demand that there be no ugly eyesores like cell towers and at the same time ask yourself why you never have more than one bar of reception. So yeah, no internet, and while my sister and I have unlimited data on our phones, there are only a few spots in the apartment where we can access the LTE network. Eventually we will look into a booster, but that hasn’t been our priority. <br /><br />The silver lining to this whole situation is that, while it’s not especially convenient to not have internet, and I’m not being rewarded a million dollars for my suffering as certain memes have hinted, my productivity has skyrocketed. I no longer have the option of sitting around on YouTube, unless I wanted to stand outside and enjoy the brisk, below freezing breeze. This has turned writing into a generally more appealing option. <br /><br />We live in an expensive county, and while we were blessed with low rent two apartments in a row, our new place is significantly more expensive, so I’ve been picking up more hours at work. (We also pet sit for our landlords on the regular, which lowers the rent. Their dogs are adorable, too, so that’s a perk.) <br /><br />This all leads me to my next update, which is a long time in coming, but for months I wasn’t ready to share, and I couldn’t give you all the details, even if I’d wanted to. I got a new job ten months ago. I work at a pie shop now, and I love it. Sure, I have to deal with rude, angry, thoughtless, indecisive, clueless people all day, intermingled with the regulars I’ve come to love. But I love my boss, my coworkers, the location. (It’s smack dab in the middle of town, houses squeezed together and businesses clustered like close friends, but there’s a field WITH COWS IN IT, like, RIGHT BESIDE THE ROAD. Businesses, houses, COWS, more buildings. *shakes head*) The work is physical and challenging, but even though I’m on my feet all day, lugging around heavy trays of pie, I don’t go home every night feeling like I have to crawl into bed. I don’t spend my days off trying not to have an anxiety attack at the creeping thought that it’s a matter of time before I will have to go back to work. Probably I will talk someday about what it’s like as an eating disorder survivor working at a pie shop, but today is not that day. <br /><br />I needed to take another step in my personal growth, and getting a new job was that step. Phrasing it that way feels a little dishonest to me, because it implies that there was an abundance of agency on my part, and in retrospect I did make a life-changing decision and act of my own accord for my own good, but at the time I felt like I got backed into a corner. I was extremely unhappy in my old job. It had been getting worse, and I had been buying into the lie that another job, especially in a secular environment, would be just as bad. Things reached a breaking point when I finally decided to speak up about something that had been happening to me. The whole situation was really dark (to the point where I drove around, for several days, with a teddy bear in my passenger seat as moral support), but the bright spots were equally bright. Prime example: the day after I quit my job, where they were kind enough to let me leave without an official two weeks’ notice, and where they also gave me thirty days paid leave, I had my job interview at the shop, and I was able to start work the next week. I could have started sooner, if I had wanted to, but I needed time to collect myself. <br /><br />Now I work more hours than I used to, at higher pay, and while I’m not rolling in wealth, I have a better shot at independence than I did before. Mostly I’m just happy to have more money for Starbucks. <br /><br />I’ve had to gloss over a lot of details in this update, and I will have to skip a lot more before it’s done, because there are people I don’t want to hurt, and there are people who will be angry at me if I talk about what they did, are already angry at me for telling the truth in other venues. But if I’m going to tell you everything that’s been happening in my life, I am not going to skip over the most glaring section. You have the right to know, and I have the right to talk about it. <br /><br />The bare bones is this, and maybe I’m saying too much, but I want to say something. I left my job because it turned toxic, and while that specific issue was resolved beautifully, and the person I had to forgive is a better friend than before, another issue popped up after that. And another. Because it wasn’t the job that was toxic, it was the people and the environment they created. These people were my friends; this was my church. I came to them for help when someone was leaving me afraid for my safety and well-being, and they punished me for it. They punished my sister for standing up for me and trying to clarify details that had been lost in the mix. They betrayed us in ways we should have expected and braced for, but didn’t because we thought too highly of them. I worked for almost three years to achieve a level of vulnerability and trust with my church friends that I now regret. I think it would take an actual miracle for me to go back to attending that church, and there are certain people that I never want to see again. <br /><br />Someday, I think I want to talk about how Christians fail, because not enough people are having this discussion, or allowing it, and it benefits no one when we hide our ugly. Now I understand why people leave their churches, leave the community, leave the faith. This is not a hurt that is easily described or overcome. So if you are the praying type, I would appreciate your prayers. This happened five months ago, but I’m still living in the aftermath, and I’m going to be honest with you, I am having a very hard time forgiving these people. I have spoken to my therapist numerous times about how to do this, and I am trying. <br /><br />I realize this update got dark pretty fast, and I apologize if it was too depressing for you. I appreciate you sticking with me. If you’re worried about me, please don’t be. I have my writing, and I have my job. I have a new house, and I have a few friends still left to my name. I will be okay. But I wanted to be honest with you about what’s been happening, and this is where I’m at. <br /><br /><br /><b><i><span style="color: #134f5c;">What about you, coffee beans? What are some hard times you’ve been experiencing lately? </span></i></b><br /> </span>Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-14316696946069456142018-12-07T03:00:00.000-08:002018-12-07T03:13:45.982-08:00NaNoWriMo Shenanigans // Part Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And now for part two of my NaNoWriMo update. If you're looking for part one, you can find it <a href="https://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2018/12/nanowrimo-shenanigans-part-one.html" target="_blank">here</a>. </span></span></div>
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<br />After finishing draft two of HIRAETH, I had plenty of <a href="https://nanowrimo.org/dashboard" target="_blank">NaNoWriMo</a> stretching out before me and, in the spirit of the month, I wanted to churn out a ton more words. But I had a serious book writing hangover. I wanted to be working on HIRAETH. I wanted to be reading HIRAETH. I wanted to crawl inside it and let it seep into my blood. Other books felt dumb and boring in comparison. So I did what any rational person would do—I decided to tackle the project that has, every time I’ve touched it, given me the worst case of writer’s block ever. It’s name is BMT. <br /><br />This book and I, we’ve known each other for four years. I spent a whole year daydreaming about it before we got together. We’re that couple that everyone gapes at and then asks themselves, “Why are they even together?” BMT has begun to feel like a running joke to me. Am I feeling bad about my writing? I can always pick up BMT and feel worse. Do I want to turn my brain into sad writer soup? I know where to turn. <br /><br />It was almost NaNoWriMo suicide. Every day, I felt my gaze wandering from BMT to other projects, other words. I wanted to cheat on that book so bad. I did have a quick fling with a short story, but it was over in a day, and then I was back, staring at BMT’s ugly mug. Sometimes I think that my continued dedication to wrestling this book into submission is proof that I really do dislike myself. <br /><br />I ended up editing a lot of what I had edited in 2016 and 2017, just running the story through my fingers, trying to get the threads, trying to figure out what went wrong, where it went wrong, where it always goes wrong. I drafted some stuff, too, in an effort to break from my normal chronological headspace and write out of order like I did when I was drafting HIRAETH in 2016. (To clarify, I wrote a full rough draft for BMT in 2015, but most of it is rancid garbage and so I am trying to start fresh.) <br /><br />Eventually I had to rip off the bandage and look at the ugly, infected sore I’ve been dancing around for four years. I hate this book. I hate almost everything about it. Nothing works. The colors are wrong, the feel is wrong, everything is wrong, wrong, wrong, but there is just enough right, hidden beneath it all, that I have not been able to walk away, still don’t want to walk away. I wrote a super long list of all my problems with the story, everything that makes me want to stop writing and, instead, knit sweaters for snakes in the Arizona desert (you know, so they won’t get cold at night). Then I took that list of problems, and I brainstormed ways to address each issue. It seems obvious that I should have done this years ago, so maybe I lose some writer cred in saying I didn’t think to do it sooner, but I didn’t think to do it sooner.<br /><br />Some of the issues were easy to address. For instance, I needed to establish clear rules within which my time travel world was going to operate. My story has been plagued with inconsistencies and plot holes spawned mainly by my inability to put up a fence around my playground. I’d waffled, writing one scene where time travel works one way, another where it works differently, and this zig zag running made it difficult to head in any set direction. It was starting to feel like that whole “sound and fury, signifying nothing” scenario. The quote feels especially apt, because most days I end up feeling like BMT is more than just a little melodramatic. <br /><br />Here’s another fun confession. Lazy writers make ugly art, and I was making ugly art. I spent so much time avoiding scenes that I knew I needed to include, and it left my story flimsy and overwrought. I avoided those scenes because some subconscious part of my brain that I wasn’t willing to look at or address kept telling me they were too technically challenging to write, that I wasn’t the sort of writer who could write scenes like those, so there was no point in even trying, and the hilarious thing is that I think I spent so much more energy trying to write around those scenes, trying to write out of sinkholes I wrote myself into, than I would have if I’d just done the work. Lesson learned. Don’t be a lazy, fearful writer. Do the hard thing. It <strike>probably</strike> won’t kill you. <br /><br />The topper on this sad wedding cake of a relationship is that I don’t like the characters. No, that’s not accurate. I don’t like the color beige; I don’t like the smell of lilacs. I hate the characters, every single one of them. I can’t expect any reader to love these characters if I don’t even want to look at them. I can’t write this story if I don’t want to spend time in its world. I’m still brainstorming solutions for this issue, because it’s extensive, and I may need to do some character transplants, if that’s a thing. But I’ve named the monster—I know what it looks like. Now all I have to do is cut off its head. <br /><br />There are more issues, but I think everything else can be dealt with by plotting and planning and taking notes, and since I am no longer allergic to outlining, even though it isn’t what comes most naturally to me, I don’t expect that will be much of an obstacle. <br /><br />As for what the story itself is about, I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before, but I’ll summarize it here: When Ember’s attempt to use black market time to save her boyfriend fails horribly, she kidnaps a time traveler and sets off to undo her mistake before time runs out. <br /><br />Here, have two completely out of context snippets. Also, please note that Vince and Fred are stand in names until I think of something better.</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">—</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She turns to Vince. “Tell me about the scanners.” <br /><br />He glares at her. <br /><br />Her hand rests on her gun, still tucked into her shoulder holster. “You know, the sooner we save Fred, the sooner I set you free and you can go to a hospital. I would get to work, if I were you.” As she says it, she sees the thought she has tried to hide from herself, only lets her mind touch it for a moment before wrenching it away, back to the task at hand. If she lets him go, he will tell her grandfather, and it will ruin everything. She does not think she will be able to let him walk away from this, even if she wants to. <br /><br />—<br /><br />“Tell me how we’re going to find him, then.” Ember tries to focus on the word he used, disintegration, how it sounds too much like decomposition. Until now, the solution has seemed fairly straightforward to her. Grab Fred from the time vortex, pull him out. She hasn’t considered that they might be working with a very small window in which saving him will matter. <br /><br />“Finding him should be easy enough,” Vince says, and she has to focus on his words to understand them, her thoughts are so distant and scattered. “The scanners are always on, always tracking and recording activity in the vortex. So they will show when he entered and where he’s been since he did. We can extrapolate from there where he’s likely to end up next, and how long he’s likely to hold together. A lot of it will be guesswork, but we’ll have a starting point and a framework to go on.” <br /><br />Ember nudges him aside and takes a seat at the desk. Almost without thinking, she traces her hand across the screen, feels the fuzz of static beneath her fingers. For an instant, as she watches the hundreds of blips, she feels as if she could will them all to safety, clear out the time vortex with nothing more than wishful thinking. <br /><br />She doesn’t know why they are all there, but there are so many blips, more than she could have ever guessed. The longer she looks at them, the more they seem like bacteria on a slide, stained blue and viewed through a microscope. They move in imperfect circles, intersecting, bouncing off each other, every blip its own center of gravity, like they’re hitched onto one point in time, and they’re spinning around it in ever widening revolutions. It’s not as clean as that, but that’s how she prefers to look at it. Which one is Fred? She massages her temples, tries not to think about how good a strong cup of coffee would be right now. <br /><br />She turns away from the scanner, her pulse a jackhammer in her throat. “Okay, so tell me which one he is.”<br /><br />—<br /><br /><br /><b><i><span style="color: #134f5c;">And that’s it for today, Coffee Beans. Have you ever spent a long time working on a project you don’t like? Have you ever conquered writing a story with characters you can’t stand? Teach me your ways. </span></i></b></span></div>
Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-26399138632789695952018-12-04T07:14:00.000-08:002018-12-04T07:14:42.673-08:00NaNoWriMo Shenanigans // Part One<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />How did my <a href="https://nanowrimo.org/dashboard" target="_blank">NaNoWriMo</a> go, you ask? Let me tell you, it went better than I thought. I realize that sounds anticlimactic, considering how disappointing last year was for me. If you’ll recall, my goal was to write anywhere between 50K and 100K words. I ended up with 121,121. Definitely not something to turn up your nose at. Compared to last year, when I felt like I was digging words out of my brain with a spoon, this NaNo was a cakewalk. Even in the best month, not every writing day is going to be amazing. Most days are just average. But this month was full of more amazing days than I think was my fair allotment. <br /><br />I’m going to cover this NaNo update with two posts, because I worked on two major projects, and I have a lot to gush about. I also figure I’ll share a snippet or two per project, because I’m feeling magnanimous. <br /><br />You might recall that, way back in November 2016, I drafted a story I have oft referred to as my Super Secret Novella Side Project (SSNSP). My plan had been to whip that thing into shape and share it on my blog, back when it was supposed to be, you know, a novella. Then I got sick, and it sat untouched for a long time. When I finally picked it up and started working on it again, it was only as (brace for it) a side project, something I pulled out when my main WIP was stalling. Somewhere along the line, I decided that while it would make a decent novella, I also wanted to expand on it and explore how it would play out as a novel. <br /><br />I may have, from time to time, referred to SSNSP as GITM, though I can’t remember. Either way, GITM is a meaningless title, a stand in with little relevance to what the story has become, so feel free to forget it immediately. When I began drafting it in 2016, I’d wanted to write a story with a glitch in the matrix sort of feel, so that’s what I called it, but it very quickly veered off course to something I like a whole lot better. Right now, it still doesn’t have an official title, but I’m changing the stand in to HIRAETH, which is a great deal more applicable. <br /><br />When I started work on it this November, it was a feeble, 20K word story, gap-toothed and malnourished. I already had a chunk of it edited, but my main challenge was to beef it up and give it a good, thorough scrubbing. <br /><br />About halfway through the month, I finished the draft, which is a weird sort of draft 2 hybrid. Let me clarify. My first draft was 100,000 words or so of mayhem, in which I drafted the story multiple times, back to back and in no particular order, trying to get a handle on what I wanted to say. Then I went into an editing frenzy and hacked away at it, keeping only the scenes and, in most cases, paragraphs that I thought had potential. I had the gall to call it a second draft, but it was only an 8,000 word, semi-coherent, extra-detailed outline. That round included zero editing, only chopping, so it doesn’t deserve a draft number, in my opinion. Then I started adding to it and editing as I went, that being the process I finished this November. I’m choosing to call this completed draft a second draft, because that’s how it looks chronology-wise, but I’ve been told it’s very clean for a second draft, and it certainly feels that way. <br /><br />Currently, it is still a feeble book-thing. It weighs 42,000 words soaking wet, which, translated into normal-people-speak, is not even 200 pages. I love it. I love it to pieces. I have already read it twice through, just for fun, and I don’t normally do that sort of thing, because it’s hard not to see flaws everywhere I look. This book has been the easiest, most painless piece of writing I have ever pulled from my brain box, and it’s a breath of fresh air on the heels of DRACONIAN. <br /><br />I still need to feed it some protein powder to give it muscles, because it’s a scrappy little thing, and my goal has gone from being a nice person and sharing it on this blog, to seeking out traditional publishing. I’ll need to insert some scenes, at least 8,000 words worth, (which feels like coming full circle) and I have some anxieties about that, because the pacing feels tight, and I don’t want to throw off the balance I think I’ve achieved. But I also have to make the science in it accurate and sufficiently nerdy, and I’ve got some ideas. I’m ruminating. I already got one set of beta feedback, which made me cry happy tears. <br /><br />Here’s a quick rundown on what it’s about, without giving too much information: The crew of the <i>Hiraeth</i>, the most advanced spaceship Earth has ever produced, is tasked with terraforming a planet lightyears from home, but soon the mission devolves into chaos as the ship begins to break down, and, one by one, people start to go mad. <br /><br />I could gush about this thing forever, but I think I’ll end up turning into one of those moms who talks up their snot-nosed little Johnny so much everyone secretly hopes Lassie will push him into the well. So I’ll just leave you with this snippet. <br /><br />—<br /><br />Objectively, you know that there are six thousand windows on the <i>Hiraeth</i>. Until recently, you had not realized exactly how many windows that is. It is a staggering number. You can avoid them a great deal during the day, if you stick to the inner portions of the ship. Where they present the most trouble for you is when you are on the flight deck, which contains the largest window of them all, and when you walk to your quarters at night. For whatever reason, the ship’s designers thought the captain would want a view of the outdoors, and so they built your quarters on the outer ring. You must walk along a corridor of windows to reach your room, and once inside, you are faced with another. It is almost as if they thought you would want to look out at the stars. <br /><br />Over the past couple nights, you have considered relocating your quarters, but for a long list of reasons—the first being convenience and the last being your desire to maintain an appearance of normalcy—you have decided not to do that yet. <br /><br />With every window you pass on the stretch of corridor, like an endless house of mirrors, you feel eyes on you. It’s subtle. If you force yourself to focus on other things, you can even forget it for a while. But then, inevitably, you remember—you feel it again. It’s less a sense of being watched and more of being observed. Not like being seen, like being looked at. So there it stays, in the back of your mind, an adrenaline drip building up in your blood. <br /><br />—<br /><br /><br /><b><i><span style="color: #134f5c;">That’s it for today, Coffee Beans. If you participated in NaNoWriMo, what projects did you work on? What are you excited about (writing or otherwise)? </span></i></b></span>Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-23413377100108377082018-10-25T07:20:00.001-07:002018-10-25T07:20:33.227-07:00Life Update #1 // November is Coming<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />How? How is it almost NaNoWriMo already? Of course, <a href="https://nanowrimo.org/dashboard" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">NaNoWriMo</a> is awesome, and I can’t wait. But how so soon? TELL ME. I’m still having trouble realizing <i>it’s only a few days away</i>. I’m not prepared. <br /><br />*takes deep breath* I am calm. <br /><br />It occurs to me that I never updated you on my last NaNoWriMo and how it went. I mean that not in an “it just occurred to me” way, but more of a “this occurs to me on a regular basis and I have already drafted multiple posts as a result and then failed to publish them” way. Since work on my current main project is reaching a period of semi-burnout, which I would like to keep as brief as possible, I figure it’s time to take a break and tend to my sorely-neglected blog. There are so many posts and updates I want to finish and share with you. My Out of Coffee, Out of Mind drafts folder is starting to feel like a diary of sad dead ends. <br /><br />Before we discuss this coming NaNoWriMo, let’s deal with the previous one, since that’s what’s been bugging me the most. Last I spoke with you on the subject, I had plans to write a ton of words, albeit not as many as I have in NaNoWriMos past. In case you didn’t notice, I didn’t succeed. Or rather, I hit 50,000 words, so in all respects, I did win NaNoWriMo. *throws confetti* I don’t mean that in a disparaging way. I am not trying to be down on myself for the number of words I wrote. There is nothing wrong with 50K, and those who write only 50K are still winners in every respect. But for me, it was a sad achievement because I have done better in the past. I was used to overachieving, I enjoyed it, and I had looked forward to doing it again. <br /><br />Last November was hard. It was sandwiched between difficult months. On one end, I was struggling with the leftover brain fog from my last bout with an eating disorder, and on the other hand, I was fighting another relapse. Almost as soon as November began, I realized that I was too close to a complete mental burnout to try anything more than the minimum needed to win. In comparison with what I have done before, it felt like I barely participated. When I saw all my fellow overachievers from years past going pedal to the metal, I’ll admit, I did cry a little. I had been part of something that meant a great deal to me, and I had lost that, even if it was only temporary. There was this huge gap between what I wanted to create and what I was able to create. The muse just wasn’t there; my vocabulary felt stunted, my attention span limited. It was like a bruise that I didn’t want to poke. So that month, taking care of myself meant taking a step back and only writing what I needed to keep up my winner’s streak. <br /><br />That’s not to say I didn’t love what I was writing. Over the course of the month, I fleshed out several ideas, drafted a bunch of blog posts, wrote some poetry, and ultimately, did whatever I could to get the creative juices flowing. I didn’t finish a novel, or even come close. That would have been asking too much of my brain, especially given the story ideas I had chosen. My biggest triumph that month, aside from choosing to take care of myself, was drafting the beginnings of a story that, while emotionally difficult to write, felt more rewarding and more promising than anything I had worked on in a while. Funny thing is, it came to me while I was watching a video on poisonous mushrooms, and it came all at once, in a deafening rush. Even though I have yet to tack down the nitty gritty details, I have all the bones of the thing—I found its skeleton, hidden in the back of my mind, complete and tangible. Actually writing it was surprisingly difficult, given the existing framework, like moving sand with tweezers, but it was difficult in a “I am trying to paint what I am seeing and I am trying to paint it well” way, and less of a “I don’t know what to paint” way. I picked it up yesterday, fleshed out more ideas, got excited and bought a writing journal for it. Every time I touch it, I get an electrical shock. <br /><br />As for what I’ll be doing this November, I’m not sure. Naturally, I know that I’ll try for at least 50,000 words. Over the course of the last month or so, I have developed a routine where I try to read for an hour each day at a coffee shop. During November, and the days leading up to it, I plan to turn that reading time into additional writing time. Since I’m working forty hours a week now, I don’t know if I will have as much time to overachieve as I have had in the past, and I don’t know if it would be healthy for me to try just yet. This has been a hard year. So I don’t know if I’m going to attempt more than 100,000 words.<br /><br />With regards to what I’m going to write, I don’t know. I have several options. I might cheat this NaNoWriMo and edit an existing project instead of drafting a new one—I have several novels I’m trying to polish, and I’m not excited about setting them aside completely for a whole month, although it might be good for me to take a vacation from them. I could also pull out my trunked novel and, for nostalgia’s sake, give it a complete revamp. Last November’s promising story is still begging to be finished, so that’s a possibility. There’s another novel I really want to work on as well, one that’s begging for a complete fresh start, beginning with a new rough draft. Those are my options, I think. I have so many balls in the air already, I don’t want to add any more just yet. <br /><br />But I doubt I will know for sure until November first. </span>Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-73058429178401678632018-10-11T08:27:00.000-07:002018-10-11T08:35:39.229-07:00THE CRYSTAL TREE by Imogen Elvis // Five Stars<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /><br /><span style="color: #666666;">Note: I was given a digital review copy of THE CRYSTAL TREE by the author. </span><br /><br /><br />First things first, I am so late in getting this review up. Even though I haven’t marked it on Goodreads yet (I am also way behind on updating my Goodreads), I finished reading <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40829624-the-crystal-tree?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">THE CRYSTAL TREE</a>, by Imogen Elvis, more than a month ago. I’ve been in the process of moving for the past several months, but now that I have the chance to sit and catch my breath, it’s time to take care of everything I’ve been neglecting. <br /><br />Imogen Elvis is a great person. I feel like I can’t launch into a review of her book without first talking about her. Normally, I know, book reviews shouldn’t be personal. At least, that’s a rule I try to follow, but it’s more for when I’m writing a one star review, in order to keep myself from saying something mean. This is totally different. I like Imogen a whole lot. <a href="http://imogenelvis.blogspot.com/?m=0" target="_blank">If you haven’t read her blog yet, you should do that</a>. She is always sweet and kind, and though she hasn't posted in a while, all her old content is great. She’s one of the people who makes the blogging community feel less like a sterile nothingness, a place where you scream into the void, and more like a home, where people listen. So when I saw that she wanted reviewers for her novel, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. <br /><br />One of the first things I noticed about THE CRYSTAL TREE is that it has a similar feel to the Great Tree of Avalon books by T. A. Barron that I read growing up (I guess they’re now just known as the Merlin series). It made me nostalgic and cozy, like I was diving back into the safest parts of my childhood. Maybe I’m weird, but any book that makes me want to reread my favorite books is a good book. <br /><br />I think one of the issues I have with knowing an author to any degree is that I see them as more immediately human, which means I expect them to be nicer to their characters. It’s kind of like, but I knew that serial killer, he was a great guy—how could he be a serial killer? Not going to lie, Imogen definitely surprised me here. She doesn’t pull her punches (not that I’m complaining, except WHY IMOGEN, WHY? You know what you did). So while Imogen is not a serial killer, I think maybe I should take her characters away from her and put them somewhere safe, at least for a while. <br /><br />Of course, this review wouldn’t be complete without at least a mention of the magic system. Normally, I’m not a huge magic person, because most magic systems feel stale at this point, like people keep using and reusing the same concept. The magic in THE CRYSTAL TREE is refreshingly different, at least to what I’ve read. The idea of song as a means of working magic? The idea that we all have a life song that someone else can interact with and/or manipulate? Sign me up. It is vivid, beautiful and, at times, frightening. It fills the book with urgency and depth. The main character, Briar, can heal people with her song, which is super cool, but I especially loved her limitations and how they affect her. <br /><br />And finally, at the risk of sounding spoilery, I like how sometimes the girl saves the guy. That one hundred percent earns you points in my mind. <br /><br />If THE CRYSTAL TREE is any indication, Imogen has great potential as an author, and I am excited to see what she’ll do next. But I’ll stop talking now so you can go read her book. </span>Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-55128751375180369482018-08-11T17:21:00.002-07:002018-08-11T17:21:58.917-07:00Stale Coffee<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /><i>Note: Long story short, I’ve been extra busy over the past couple weeks, traveling and getting ready to move. So instead of writing a fresh post for you coffee beans, I’m pulling one from the wasteland of half-finished pieces I’ve had knocking around in my Out of Coffee, Out of Mind Scrivener file for ages (call it stale coffee). I wrote this one over a year ago, when I was working for my former church under my second boss there. (I guess you will have to wait a little longer to read posts from Liz, the new-and-improved edition.) If it’s got a couple typos here and there, I apologize. I’m trying to edit, but for whatever reason, after drinking less than a cup of coffee, I can barely see straight. Also, it’s summer, but my apartment has been so cold, even with a blanket and a hoodie, I’ve somehow managed to catch a chill. Call me bulletproof. But yeah, I wanted to get this post up for you today because I won’t have another full day off until Thursday. </i><br /><br /><br />Here I am, in line at Starbucks. I’ve just finished work at the church, where my hours have been rearranged so I have more time off on Sundays. This is a big deal. Until recently, Sundays were one of the hardest days for me; I was on my feet, go-go-going from six in the morning till nine or ten at night. Mondays tended to suffer as a result. Having chronic pain makes stuff like that difficult for me, so this is a load off my shoulders. Anyway, I’m waiting in line, patient and peaceful. If I were Todd in <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20758104-the-knife-of-never-letting-go" target="_blank">THE KNIFE OF NEVER LETTING GO</a>, my noise would be quiet. <br /><br />I want to buy a sandwich, order some coffee, sit down and write. I have ideas and almost-ideas swirling through my brain. If I can get them down, it will make my afternoon. <br /><br />But…<br /><br />Yeah, the woman in front of me is one of those people who never quite got past that toddler stage—you know, the one where you’re the center of the world and people don’t exist when you’re not interacting with them. Technically she’s in line ahead of me. Like, she’s not ordering, but she’s close enough to the counter that I would feel rude jumping in front of her. She’s taking her sweet time reading the nutrition facts, the ingredients, the wrinkles in the bread, for crying out loud, on every single sandwich in the case. It’s getting old, but I’m still pretty chill. Waiting in line is one of my superpowers. *puffs chest* <br /><br />Finally, FINALLY, she chooses a protein box and pounces on the poor barista. I start to breathe a sigh of relief. Now that she’s ordering, I won’t have to stand here much longer. Those chairs are looking so comfy. <br /><br />Nope. Nopety nope nope nope. She starts her order off with, “This is going to be complicated.” Let me tell you, she was not lying. The barista is great, though. He interacts with her intelligently as she gives the most complicated coffee order I have ever heard (and I thought my orders were complicated). It involves multiple shots of espresso, a pump of mocha “approximately the size of a quarter”, coffee terms I will have to look up to understand, and a five minute discourse on how “people of color are now doing more for themselves.” Her words. She uses the barista as an example, since he’s putting himself through college with this job. Go him. But seriously, lady, wrap it up. Just. Stop. Talking. <br /><br />She moves over, telegraphing like she’s starting to walk away, enough for me to feel justified in sliding over to the counter with the sandwich I chose while she was picking her protein box, eons ago. Those were the good old days, back when I had faith in humanity. I’m hoping setting my sandwich down will stake my claim, silence further conversation on her part, and rescue the poor barista from having to fake one more smile. <br /><br />Sometimes losing your naiveté can be a lengthy process. Because she’s not done. No, she’s remembered ANOTHER thing she wanted to say, which is even more condescending. It’s pretty clear that no one else in the growing line, in the entire bustling shop, exists to her. She doesn’t stop talking until both her coffees are almost in hand. If I started stabbing myself in the eyes with a straw, I think she’d just keep talking. I’m tempted to test that theory. <br /><br />In all fairness, I don’t think she’s intending to be rude or an inconvenience. She’s older, maybe set in her ways, maybe from that era where people were taught different ideals. She’s not the kind of person I would want to live with, definitely, but I shouldn’t judge. I don’t know what her life’s been like, don’t even know her name. Also maybe she has no peripheral vision. I know people so oblivious, mugging them would be the easiest thing in the world (if I were, you know, planning to do that *hides*). <br /><br />When I finally have my food and my coffee in hand, I sit down at one of those little tables, sandwiched between two other occupied tables. They’re one-person tables, mind you, lined up in front of a bench with little room to spare between each one. For the sake of convenience here, let’s call that tiny little space between tables “privacy room”. I can’t see your computer screen—you can’t see mine. Nobody has to feel like their space is being invaded. <br /><br />The lady to my right has been staring at me since before I sat down, but I’ll forgive her since she hasn’t tried to shank me yet and also because she has a cool accent. Only a couple minutes after I get comfortable, though, she invites a friend over, who decides to sit right in my privacy room. I angle myself away from them as discreetly as I can, considering that I’m, you know, writing about them. However, that has my computer screen facing the girl to my left. She’s minding her own business, but that doesn’t stop me from turning my screen brightness down almost all the way and making the font so tiny I can barely read it. I like to think of myself as a smooth operator. <br /><br />I love coffee shops. Often I get my best writing and editing done in environments like this, with the smell of coffee in the air, the sound of ice being scooped, of beans being ground, the background chatter. I have to grin and bear with the handful of people who gossip loudly (you know they want you to hear them), the people who video chat right next to you, the noisy ones who follow you around the shop for no specific reason so you can’t get a moment’s peace. You never know what’s going to happen in a Starbucks, in any coffee shop, really. One time someone drugged my coffee, and I’m about 99% sure it was the barista, since I never leave my drinks unattended (he doesn’t work there anymore, so we’re all good). It’s a jungle out there. <br /><br />There’s a certain magic to being in a place that exists primarily to serve coffee. Yes, it’s overpriced, and sometimes I forget to tie up and gag my common sense, and I end up horrified at how much I’m spending. I don’t know how I’m going to extricate myself from this little table without sticking my butt in someone’s face. My anxiety is never a fan of situations like this. As a consequence, I prefer to sit where I can have eyes on everyone coming in, in case someone decides to shoot up the place, not that it would really help me that much in this sardine can. <br /><br />I spend my coffee shop time balanced precariously between intense concentration and the steady voice in my head saying, “Let’s leave, let’s leave, let’s go home where it’s safe and cozy. You can watch Good Mythical Morning and read Shakespeare’s Star Wars. Maybe sister will be there and we can watch Firefly together. Why stick around here? This isn’t as fun or as peaceful as you thought it would be.” <br /><br />For a host of reasons, I keep coming back. Probably it’s the sense of community. I can pretend the girl to my left is writing a book, likewise the girl two tables to my right. Everyone here with a laptop is a novelist, I tell myself, and we are all a part of something, so I’m among friends. The baristas know me by face, if not by name. Sometimes I think I come here to counteract the loneliness of my solitary church job and my living situation, so I don’t go crazy, locked in my head all day every day. <br /><br />I should wrap up this post. It’s getting long, and people are staring. I have other writing to get done; I hadn’t even planned this post before coming here, and now I have to switch tracks, even though I’m already feeling like I want to go home. Also I have artichoke stuck in my front teeth, which is very distracting. Remind me not to smile at anyone on the way out. <br /><br /><br /><i>Hey, it's newer me again. *waves awkwardly* It was weird editing this post, trying to stay true to my older voice. It was even stranger to see how anxious I was, how lonely. I saw it then, but I didn’t see it the way I do now. I think surviving that situation meant not realizing how bad it was until I got out. I’m at a place where anxiety is almost nonexistent, where I can generally chill in a coffee shop for hours and be sad to leave. <br /><br />I’m still one of those people who clears corners when entering a building, who sits facing the doors or better yet, where you can see people coming in but they can’t see you. Although I think that’s just good sense. <br /><br />Change is good. Sometimes you’ll end up in a stage of life you think will never pass. The nearly two years I spent starving myself were miserable, and I felt trapped, but it's over. I won. And even though it damaged my health in ways I’m not sure I’ll fully recover from, and the temptation to relapse still tries to sneak up on me, I’ve learned some things. I’ve grown as a person. I don’t really know why I’m sharing this post with you today, because when I read it, I find it especially easy to judge myself. But, you know, sometimes I get discouraged, and the best fix I’ve found is a change of perspective. Maybe this will help someone. </i><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: #0b5394;"><b><i>Now it’s your turn. What are some coffee shop experiences you would like to share? </i></b></span></span>Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7894299613938319589.post-2032675958096927292018-07-19T17:10:00.000-07:002018-07-19T17:11:29.265-07:00Hello Again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It’s been so long since I posted—and even longer since I posted regularly—I almost feel like I need to reintroduce myself. When I think about the first couple years of Out of Coffee, Out of Mind, it’s like remembering something that happened to someone else. I loved blogging, you guys. I’ve missed posting and I’ve missed you people and I think I got so wrapped up in feeling ashamed about </span><a href="http://adelethelaptop.blogspot.com/2017/02/my-mind.html" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;" target="_blank">being sick</a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> and feeling shamed about being lous</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">y with answering comments, I let it eat away at my motivation to keep trying. In all honesty, I kind of forgot how to be a person for a while. <br /><br />I’m working way more now than I used to, and I’m still writing novels on the side, so I doubt if I’ll have enough time to go back to my original once a week posting schedule. But I want to start blogging again. </span></div>
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To be honest with you, I think one of the reasons I found it so easy to stop blogging, even after I got better, is that I wanted things to be to the way they were before I was sick. For a long time I didn’t have the mental energy I used to enjoy. Blogging was beginning to feel foreign to me. I got out of the habit, lost my routine. And, you know, I’m not the same person I was before anorexia. I know you liked that Liz, and I’m similar to her in many ways, but honestly, I don’t know if you’ll like this Liz as much. I’m happy I’ve changed, really I am. I’ve grown and matured, and that’s awesome. But in order to recover, I felt like I had to excise parts of myself that were intrinsic to my personality. That’s an ongoing process in my life—cutting out the aspects of myself that need to die so I can live. </div>
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I’m still changing. I struggle with anxiety once a week now, or once a month, not once a minute, not to the degree I did before. I let go of some lies and learned some truths, and I’m probably always going to be horrible at correspondence, but I’m less hard on myself about stuff in general. I’m learning when to say yes, when to say no, and more importantly, when to stand up for myself, even when it hurts. Sometimes I feel like I’m way behind the curve, and I’m finally starting to catch up. </div>
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So this is me, someone who’s learning and growing and trying to be better. I don’t get things right all the time. I’m too selfish for my own good, and too slow to forgive. I internalize anger and turn it back on myself. I question God at least ten times a week. One bad moment, and I forget all the blessings I’ve been given. My life is 75% not hearts and butterflies right now. </div>
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But I’m back. This is me. My name is Liz. It’s nice to meet you again.</div>
</span>Liz Brookshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15823595869843889438noreply@blogger.com5