The Sofa By the Hearth

With everything that’s happened this week, I can at least say that writing continues, and another chapter bit the dust last night.  After four hundred and twenty additional words, Chapter Thirteen of Suggestive Amusements came to an end, and was put to bed with a glass of warm milk and a biscuit to keep its tummy filled.  It was time to stop The Tale of Izzy and Elektra, and time to start on The Continuing Adventures of Keith and Elektra, and see if Keith is going to freak over what comes next.

What am I saying?  Sure, I know what he’ll do.  You just have to wait.

As I was heading off to bed last night, I looked outside to check the weather, because this week has seen the weather get very strange.  It’s been a little warm, then cold, then rainy, then snowy, then . . . well, the drive into Chicago was a bit like ice skating off and on this morning, so go figure.  But the weather made me think of times gone back, of stories from the past . . .

Of Annie and Kerry.

Yesterday I though of their story quite a bit for some reason.  Maybe it was the weather and the cold and snow I’ve seen the last week.  Maybe it’s the idea that they could end up in the same universe as Her Demonic Majesty, and with the rejection of that story, I thought of two of my favorite characters . . .

Maybe I just miss the hell out of them.

The thing with role playing character, rather than just write about them, is that you throw your emotions more fully into them that you might a literary character.  You crate the mindset that you’re occupying the character, and that some of what is in you goes into them.  That happened with both Kerry and Annie; we fell into those characters to the extent that they became an extension of me and my role playing partner, and the more we played, the more we understood who are characters were, and what they wanted–besides each other, that is.

There was an interesting thought I’d had with them once.  At their school, Salem, they had something called “The Midnight Madness” every Friday and Saturday evenings.  It was a chance for the student to get in their pajamas, head over to the Great Hall at nine-thirty PM, and hang out and chat until midnight and a little beyond.  I saw it as something that an old institution would do to lighten up the rules and make the kids feel as if they are at home, when home may be a thousand or more miles away.

One of the things I imagined for Kerry and Annie is that, for some reason, the sofa they pick to camp out on during the first Midnight Madness sort of becomes “their” sofa.  It’s up towards the front of the hall, close to the majestic hearth, and no matter what time they showed, or how many people were in the hall, their sofa was always there, waiting for them to arrive.

Why did I do that?  I think I was trying to show a connection between them and the school, that their presence there was something important to . . . who knows?  The spirit that watched over the place is the best bet, but I’ll only know for sure if and when I ever write their story.  The idea that they will always have their little home away from home intrigues me, though, and also haunts me–

Oh, you don’t know what I mean?

Just ask Jeannette.  She knows.

The Snows of Saint James

Getting on late Friday night as I write this, because I’m judging a grade school science fair early Saturday morning, the third in as many years.  If there’s one thing I like to do, it go out and encourage young people to do something different, and if that means getting into science, then so be it.  At the same time, my daughter will participate in our regional Science Olympiad, so I hope I’m doing something good.

Tonight was night a writing night.  Still coughing like made, and after putting a few hundred records into a data base today, I felt pretty brain dead.  After I return from my science fair I’ll get my writing in, then maybe write a little more tomorrow night.  I know I can get three thousand words in this weekend, not a problem, and that should get me set up around forty-seven thousand words before I call it a Sunday night and head for bed.

I’m already thinking about what’s coming next, which is a bit of a fantasy thing:  not fantasy as in “I have a muse looking over my shoulder as I write,” more like, “Oh, I didn’t know you were into wearing PVC school girl uniforms.”  Something strange is happening, and I’m just the person to bring it, because if there is one thing I know, it’s strange.

Like the dream I had last night–oh, did you see what I did there?  I know you did.

I was talking to someone tonight about it, because it was a dream that really comes out of an idea I had for my character Kerry, he of the young child learning magic at a school in the middle of Maine.  He and his bestest flying buddy, Emma, are on a three-day survival flight that they undertake during their third year of Flight School, and since Emma and he are so damn good at what they do, the instructor gave them the hardest flight of all:  fourteen hundred miles from a point near Churchill, Manitoba, back to the school.  All of this happening in the middle of January, so you know it’s a party.

One of the main events that happens, however, is that as they are coming into Ontario–after making a mad dash across James Bay–they run head-on into a brutal blizzard.  Instead of flying for a few hours after sundown while navigating by the star, they are forced down in the forest south of the Eastman River, where they have to set up camp and get inside before they freeze.

In my idea for at story they spend the night in zipped-together sleeping bags, huddled for warmth, because their heater is very low on fuel.  During the night, close as their are, Kerry is asked if he’s scared.  He admits he is, because at thirteen, he’d never had to deal with conditions like this.  Emma says she’s worried, too, and wonders if they’ll make it back.  Kerry tells her not to worry; they’re going to get back to the school come tomorrow, if for no other reason, as Kerry says, “Annie’s waiting for me, and she’ll be upset if I don’t come home.”

My dream was inside the tent, late at night, with the wind hollowing outside, and the cold all around the two kids.  Emma asks Kerry if he’s worried, only I’m the only saying yeah, but don’t worry, we’re getting home tomorrow, and I’m going to see Annie.  Only when Emma looks up at me, it’s not her, it’s Annie, and she tells me she’s not worried–

Which is the point when I realize it’s not really Annie, but someone else I know.  Someone who tells me, “If anything were to happen, I’m right where I want to be–here with you.  But we’ll get home, because I need you back where you belong.”

Fade to black as the wind dies out in the darkness . . .

I haven’t had a dream like that in a while.  For a long time I was having some extremely vivid dreams, but my time at The Undisclosed Location put a serious kibosh on that for some reason.  I’ve been home a few months now, and it seems like the dreams are returning, they are starting to grow strong once more, and they’re telling me something.  Maybe something good, something bad, or something I haven’t heard in a while.  (I’m trying not to hear that in Phil Collin’s voice–I believe I succeeded.)

My story of the Polar Express was one that keep me intrigued for some time, because it not only helped my character grow, but it gave me a chance to grow as well, and not just as a writer.  I learned something while imagining all those things happening, all the way back in December of 2011.  I’ve kept it close to my heart the whole time since, even when I was sinking into one of my darkest times last summer.

It’s still with me.  Maybe I’ll even see it tonight, when the wind picks up and the snow begins to fall.

And once more I hear Annie call my name, and she tells me the thing she tells me every day.

Upon the Path Well Trod

Yesterday was a sort of relaxation day for me.  It was the start of research for NaNoWriMo–for my yet untitled story, which I’m dreaming up–but I was taking it easy.  I believe I have the local for the story worked out, and I’m getting ideas together.  So it shouldn’t be long before people see my NaNo author’s page began to take shape.

But, as with everything else, I’ve always got the mind thinking.  One of the things that’s been on my mind of late is my character Jeannette, from Her Demonic Majesty, and her arc.  Like I’ve said before, I’d like to continue her story, and when I start thinking that way, I get into a lot of detail.

Now, I’ve not went as crazy as I did with Albert and Cytheria, where I know what they’ll do with their lives for about two hundred years, but I can figure out, with some sketchy detail, what’s going to happen to her over twelve years.  So if and when I get to the point where I want to start in on her story again, I have some idea where she’s going.

(And, please:  don’t tell me she knows where she’s going.  She’s my character, a figment of my imagination, so if Jeannette decides she wants to open a nail salon in the Loop, it’s only because I have completely lost my mind, and I’m scribbling my manuscript on toilet paper with an eye liner pencil.)

Over the weekend, however–well, even before that–I started in on another story for her, another path that I’ve walked a few times before.  I was thinking about Kerry, my old role playing character, and how he could find himself integrated into the story.  But wait:  just sit back and see where I go with this . . .

I came up with an idea where, towards the end of September, he shows up on Jeannette’s doorstep.  Now, I may have said this before, by Jeannette knows about him–I won’t say how, but she does.  The kid on her step, though:  it’s not the Kerry she remembers.  This is a different kid, who seems a little broken–well, a lot broken–because he’s not with someone . . .

Annie.

Yeah, Jeannette knows something isn’t way right.  If he’s by himself, it means that someone has meddled in the affairs of this universe, and she has to know what has gone wrong.  Because . . . well, just because.  Jeannette’s like that.  Sure, she might play a crazy, cold-hearted psycho bitch, but that’s only on TV.  In her real life, she wants to set things write.

I thought this part of pretty well.  I set things up, and have an idea of how the story would go, so all that would remain is–you got it–writing the sucker.  We’re talking another novel here, but it’s probably a short one, maybe sixty thousand words.  Maybe.

It’s a path I’ve walked before, and it’s a project that I spoke about before, then abandoned because–hell, there were a number of reasons at the time.  There still are a few, but were I to start it now, I do believe I have a better handle on the matter.  Mostly because I know the focus of the story.  I know where attention needs to be paid.

Once you’ve walked a path long enough, you know ever bump, and that keeps you from making missteps.

Now, to find a good pair of hiking shoes . . .

Songs in the Key of Fantasy

In terms of the week I’ve had, yesterday wasn’t that bad.  Yes, I felt like I was dragging a little, but I was writing.  Between blogging and my WiP, I managed about two thousand words.  Oh, and I wrote another two thousand word guest post that should be up later on another blog.

Considering I feel like I have the Chest Buster roaming around inside me, that’s not too bad.

I finally finished Part Eleven of Diners at the Memory’s End.  It was helpful to get some of what I was feeling out, but unlike my, Cytheria is very cool under fire.  She just blows things up and doesn’t get all that worked up over it.  Well, she did upset a bit:  just ask the exploding dummy at the end.  But she knew it was take it out on something inanimate, or you might end up smoking someone close to you.  Or you could break down a building.  Decisions, decisions.

So now I can move on to Part Twelve, and that means there are only six more parts remaining to write.  At least two of those are going to be big, and those will likely be the parts that kick this story up over fifty thousand words.  Me, wordy?  Surely you jest!  But this is going to hit the short novel limit once more, and I don’t have a problem with that.  Hey, where else can you get the most bang for your $2.99?  If and when it gets published, that is . . .

In the meantime, I let my mind drift last night.  Because that’s what I do when I need to do something that doesn’t involve thinking.

I got to thinking about Kerry.

I’ve written about Kerry more than a few times, but of late he’s been missing in action.  A lot of that is because I’ve been so busy with my other writing, and trying to publish things, that he took a back seat to the action.  Plus, I’ve been feeling sort of sad about him, because there are things I would love to say about him and his lovely girlfriend, Annie, but I can’t seem to find the voice for these things.  It’s one of those things where I want to say something in words, but I can’t find the words.

And for a while, I assumed I might not ever.  There are tales here, but I’m not sure I can ever tell them.  But one never knows, so it doesn’t do to think about them.

But last night he was on my mind.  I was listening to music . . . see, one of the covens supports an annual talent show around Ostara, and while Kerry can’t sing all that well–autotuning is the way to go, even if it’s magical–but he loves to perform.  He loves being on the stage and put it out there for all to see.  Yes, he’s not a very assuming person:  in fact, if he could, he’d stay in the background all the time.

And the stage is where he does one of his craziest things every . . . but that’s another story.

I miss all that.  It was a good trip down memory lane last night.  I really need more of those, because when we can’t remember our past, we can’t ever see where we are going.

I need to see a lot in the months to come.