February 6

Hiccups… maybe?

So, transferring the membership site is going to be a fuck ton more work than previously expected. Mostly because the current software refuses to export to a CSV properly and they have little to no info about how to fix it. Which means making everything by hand, including user profiles. =_= Fuck me.

I gave myself a deadline this time around because this shit has to get done. I’ve put it off too long and I’m unwilling to subject any more members to this bullshit. So yeah, I’m hoping to allow this to go as smoothly as possible, but I suspect once everything is switched over (hoping within the week but that might be really fucking optimistic) everyone is going to be sent a new password.

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February 5

Fear Of Loss. Fear Of Love.

I was watching a video—I want to say the speaker was a negotiator—and he said this in passing. When trying to understand what a person wants, some people are afraid of loss, and some people are afraid of love. It was this blip of a sentence he didn’t really go into, and yet so freaking profound. It’s also very interesting in the case of character development in stories.

In romance, there are a few types of stories out there, some that never really made sense to me personally even as I could readily accept they were well accepted within their community of like minded readers. I couldn’t understand the appeal. As a reader first, I never felt anything for these characters, which was partly why I turned to writing. I wanted to create characters who reflected an internal psyche I understood. I think at the core, all my characters fear love.

Fearing love requires a different character dynamic. Romance is not necessarily fun, a gift, soul mates meeting and everything sunshine and roses. It’s not even a focus on the quirk of falling in love with cutesy setups like buying a date for charity or a genie granting a love wish. These types of characters don’t want love. They’re not hanging out waiting for cupid to strike—if it’s a meat market, they are aware and miles away. Love and/or human connection is actually rather terrible, something to be avoided at all costs.

Dark romance is a safe genre to explore this kind of dynamic. There is less expectation of vulnerability. Opening this type of character’s heart is like opening a damn safe, and there will be blood, sweat, and tears to get there. It doesn’t fit well with normal romance where the characters are usually seeking love, desperate for it, so welcoming and open. For those who fear love it is the most sickly-sweet display and just doesn’t ‘feel’ right. These sweet characters fear losing love and are willing to cling so damn tight it’s just offensive to the sensibilities of someone who fears being clung too.

It’s intriguing the psyche reflected in the dynamic between characters. It varies author to author. I think for some authors to even know they’re seen in their characters could be reason enough for them to run and never share a story again. It’s why writing can be so difficult for some, especially erotica. It’s an exposure. Even if the readers don’t understand what they’re seeing, an author reveals a lot of self in the most mundane of words. Which is why as much as I don’t get characters who so readily, openly rush toward love, I also don’t understand the books where they are turned into objects incapable of love.

I see it a lot in very dark BDSM, where relationships become roles instead of connections. I look at these stories and see so much detachment from the body, from the soul, from the emotional center of self so greatly that the very characters created are intentionally flat and dead like furniture there to be abused and nothing more. Main characters turned into dehumanized holes and flesh. Their experiences aren’t even marked as emotional, just bland endurance as a human is broken down into basic hardware, software ignored. I never really understood it until that little line kept spinning in my mind.

Fear of love.

My characters fear love, but in the same breath crave it. They’re running from something they ultimately want, which creates the internal conflict, the push and pull. I think there are some psyches so afraid of love—I suspect after experience of severe trauma—they can’t even reach for it through their characters. They feel more comfortable recreating the dark places where they went numb, cold, dead inside because that’s how they know the inner world to be. A place to freeze and be smothered instead of finding self and transformation. It’s safe there. If they can normalize it enough in the mind, they might even stop feeling lost there. It might even stop being so terrifying to look out and consider leaving such an empty place.

This is of course a narrative on my part seeing as I have no idea as to what actually crafts characters like those, just that I find them as alien as the bright, open-hearted ones who feel so freely. But I know this dark place exists, a void that I have been grateful to slip free of every time it rears. It has only been a frozen second before the instinct to battle and survive burned through, where sensation and emotion saved. Pain is a savior against dehumanizing numbness, life among the psyche’s death. I’m not a cutter, but I understand it 100%. It probably doesn’t help that the few authors I’ve spoken to who write these objectified characters seem to reflect this detachment from inner self. I suppose that’s why I jump to trauma as the source; it’s prevalent. How people deal with trauma is different, the way the psyche recreates itself to either pocket around the incident or adapt into a reflection of it; but trauma is a norm in a population that thinks it’s rare.

What character would be created when knowing, truly knowing, he feared love? Do people who fear loss hate themselves as much? To fear losing something outside you, does that mean the world is never safe, that self is found in connections instead of within? I can’t even imagine being so secure as to readily create connections to be afraid to lose. It’s such a foreign, interesting concept.

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February 4

Hell yeah! Demon Arms Scene #35 musings

I found my manic joy, aka, creative fucking spirit! I’m actually really excited about how this scene is shaping up. It’s only the outline stage so I probably won’t post it until I get some serious wordcount, but I’m so happy! Already, it works so much better. The characters are seeing each other as people, probing for flaws, vulnerabilities, etc, while seeking something deeper. And flirting up a storm, which is just freaking adorable. <3

Okay, back to work, but squee! So fucking excited. See, all I had to do was let the fuck go of my previous conceptions of what it was going to be like to do this rewrite and have some damn fun!

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February 4

Writing Systems

I spent my evening finally creating an Excel spreadsheet for my finances. I’d been doing a paper journal for a while now, but I figured it was time to utilize the tools I have and take a crack at Excel. I’ve used Excel before, but mostly in list building. I had a penchant for cataloguing my manga collection when I actually had a manga collection. Paper is a bit of a luxury with my severe allergies and all.

Excel is about learning a new language and then utilizing that language to create functions that allow the program to calculate simple to complex tasks so you don’t have to. It’s actually pretty damn interesting once you get past the frustration of needing to learn another computer language just to do the most simplest of tasks. It’s so specific, a comma or = in the wrong place can ruin everything and I really couldn’t find a great resource for getting exact functions for my needs, so I ended up just trial and error a lot. As I was finishing up, feeling quite content to see my numbers add up properly depending on if something was marked paid or not, I realized how writing a novel is the same as setting up a bunch of functions to calculate your finances. It’s all about those systems humans create.

For those pantsers who don’t understand the value of an outline, this part is likely lost. But if you’re a commercial writer who needs to reach a guaranteed output, you can’t fuck around hoping you’re going to come up with a good story. You need to plan. You need to learn what makes a story good, why it’s good, and figure out the tools that you have to create that result. Think of this like planning how you want your finance sheet to work, what it’s supposed to do, and then how you’re going to get there with the correct function. Before you do a thing, you’re already visualizing what you want.

Next, you plot (create your functions) with an outline. Let it take the time it needs because if anything is wrong in this step, the results just won’t work. Fixing a fatally flawed book after the fact is so much harder than creating one that has all the right elements but failed to fully reach its potential the first time around. Make sure you’re planning the story that’s going to work, that’s going to sell.

Flesh it out with a rough first draft, aka, input all your financial data from dates to amounts to background info, etc. You have to research what you must, spend the time to get all that info for each bill, figure out which bank/card account is paying for it, when, etc. It’s an investment of time, as is fleshing out a first draft, placing things where they need to be, figuring out what must happen first, choreographing scenes, figuring out where to place that emotional reveal for the most impact, etc.

After that, you don’t have a computer to do the work of going through each layer and computing, unfortunately. That’s you as a writer. But you do go through for that next draft. You’re guided by your input and outline, and you polish it out scene by scene, following those instructions to craft a book that’s going to entertain and ideally sell. But you can’t just manifest it out of thin air, you need those first steps. And when you have those first steps, and you make that plan, as a writer you know you have everything available to get to the end just so long as you are willing to invest the work and time.

That’s really the beauty of any kind of writing system. There is no ‘only way’ or magic bullet bullshit; writing systems are about the confidence and assurance they give you as a writer to know you’re going to get to the end. I write in events, breaking long novels and serials into chunks of story that interconnect to build suspense and momentum and keep readers hooked through big wordcount. I do that because I know that’s all I need along with a clear outline (even if that may come a little later–whoopsie) to ensure I’ll complete whatever project I tackle. And I can put that system mentality toward anything, be it trying to make a video game for the first time, or build a new business, throw an event, etc. As long as I can visualize, plan, plot a foundation and build off it, I know anything is achievable–even if I have to learn a bunch of ridiculously convoluted shit just to understand the language being used.

Yeah, so if you didn’t figure out I was a nerd before this, now you know. Comparing Excel spreadsheets to writing. XD I swear I’m a rebellious, wild writer of fuck fics. Totally.

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February 3

Demon Arms Rewrite Scene #35 Musings…

Kinda dreading this scene to be honest. It needs so much work. I can remember how much info I crammed in there the first time around. I had no idea how to handle a book like this when I first wrote it. Romance? Puhleeze, everything before this was straight to bed (or wall/solid surface) fucking. I actually had split this scene into 2 because of how much was in it the first time around. Now I realize it’s probably going to have to be more like 4 or 5 to pace it out properly.

In the same way you can info dump, so too can you just insta-love and create a sense of connection with no actual base to build off of. I’d like to fix it this time around. Nothing crazy, but some actual damn relationship development verse the 2 conversation and then straight to bed of before. I mean, when it comes to Fox and Vince, it’s literally a novel and 1/2 before they actually get physical. So not that long XD but let’s try for a little more realism. Hell, maybe a damn date or two.

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February 2

The Beautiful, Unpredictable Phenomenon of Bitching

So yesterday I finally went into all the frustrating reasons shit just isn’t working with the rewrite, aka, I couldn’t find my motivation. But hey, once breaking it down, acknowledging that I’m bored–so fucking bored rewriting this book that was done what, 2 years ago now–I woke up today not as blocked.

The psyche is a strange, mysterious, sometimes predictable place. Sometimes there’s just something inside that wants to be heard. It doesn’t have to be an important damn message (I’m bored!) but it’s important to actually hear it. Because when you don’t hear it, the psyche holds you back, it drags you down, demanding attention like a squeaky cat again and again until you finally just stop what you’re doing and face it (or go into some sort of crazed rage.)

Bitching and ranting is an important part of being human, and damn, the Internet has made that fucking difficult. Because you can’t just bitch on the Internet like you’re talking to yourself. No, people show up and either judge, or agree, or want to fight you on your totally irrational opinion because all shit born out of emotions is beautifully irrational and it’s just a mess. Most people write shit down to understand what they’re thinking, but when you read words in front of you–even words you didn’t write–they become personal messages specifically to each and every reader who shows up, and their reactions can be big.

I should probably write stuff in a little journal or something, but I feel like it would defeat the purpose of letting everyone know I’m still alive. Alive and kinda bored because I want to get back to writing dirty porn instead of this very fun, interesting, crazy shifter love story of characters I absolutely adore. I know, it’s irrational, yet it’s true. Doing the same damn thing every day is redundant and my brain is fighting for freedom.

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February 1

Finding Motivation During A Difficult Rewrite

I’m realizing it’s a reward problem. Maybe a bit of an unwillingness to accept reality problem as well, but at the core, motivation is lacking atm because of how difficult it is to feel rewarded by the work of rewriting.

Normally, I see writing a book to have these specific rewards that push motivation:

1) Problem solving. This is probably one of my favorite rewards. It’s quick, full of energy, and life consuming to spend a week or two drafting a novel, finding all those plot and emotional points and connecting it to the story arcs to make it all work. I love the challenge of outlining a book, finding all the problems, and then getting that satisfying reward of solving those problems with nothing in the way. It’s a high like none other and is probably part of the problem as to why I’ve been writing more complicated plots. I keep seeking the same reward pattern, but the limit is pushed by how used to the task I become. If it’s not a challenge, I don’t get the same rush of reward to solve the problem (hence why I don’t bother with Sudoku anymore. The pattern is too obvious to reach the solution and it’s not a challenge, just grunt labor when you realize it.)

2) Watching characters and the world form. This is what gets me through a lot of the grunt labor of writing. It is not a rush, but a constant, mild sense of accomplishment when I read back what I’ve written and see the ideas I initially had are taking shape and forming a story that others can enjoy. It’s the satisfaction of knowing I as a writer am conveying the ideas entertainingly, even if it’s time consuming. This is what it means to be a crafter and appreciate each detail to the point of a trance, even if it’s not necessarily interesting to reread and rewrite the same scene again and again until it’s done. Thankfully, you can spice this part up with bursts of inspiration, but only if you’re doing the work to show up for this part of the job every single day. If you don’t show up, you can’t find the energy.

3) Finishing a book. Seriously, I think half the joy of this is realizing I can finally stop all the work and get back to the idea stage again. This place is an amazing place to be. It is euphoria (until you realize all the work ahead of you to get that book formatted, promoted and sold because, hey, self publisher here.) But finally being DONE is such a freaking rush. I think this is what really pushed me to write in a serial format for so long. I could finish an episode and be done, publish, and move on to something else. And then, when I came back, it was fresh again, bright and alive instead of being trapped in the middle of the drudgery of grunt writing.

Rewriting is being trapped in fleshing out the world after all the problems are solved. It’s editing, but without the reward of having the book done when you’re done, because editing is still waiting. So what I’ve been doing to spice things up is to add those creative bursts, get something in there to inspire me. Complicate the plot a bit more to inspire me to push forward with more problems to solve. But those techniques also lead to me being trapped in this place longer, because each individual problem in a story must be solved or at least resolved before you hit the end. Even in serial format, you can’t have too many plot cliffhangers or the book doesn’t feel like it’s a satisfying installment, but a total tease of leading readers on. It means more work and focus to ensure what you’re creating isn’t just a begining, but a complete story.

And I’m extra trapped here because of the commitment. Because the rewrite is required before I’m allowed to publish the second book. There is this fear to step away from the rewrite is to ensure I’m never going to return and finish this shit. I’m a creative. I chase the high of inspiration and problem solving. Grunt writing is capable of draining all the happiness out of anyone like that. It can feel like pointless busy work. So when you know yourself, have a track record of putting off the things that bore you compared to the things that challenge and spark your creativity, you understand how your very nature works against you when distractions look so shiny and interesting.

What if I wrote a book about a serial killer who makes his first move during the worst cold front to hit a country in over 50 years? All his victims look like natural causes from the cold when otherwise people would be wondering, seeking a pattern as to why so many healthy individuals were dropping dead in one area at once. What if it was through the eyes of a family member who knows that their loved one never would have left the house–they were agoraphobic–and while they’re trying to convince the police that something terrible is behind all these deaths, they too become a target to this madman who decides it’s much more interesting to stalk the person paying attention, littering their land with his freshest victims? And now the police are wondering if there is a pattern, but they already have a culprit, the desperate, seemingly crazy person who keeps insisting that there is a killer out there. Is it to warn the town and save everyone, or is this someone who is just projecting their own crimes while looking for a thrill to share how they got away with all those murders?

It’s new to my brain. It’s sexy and enticing because it’s new. A hot love affair with a story plot that I wouldn’t even look twice at normally, except I’m trapped in a boring relationship with my current rewrite. But the guilt! The guilt cripples just as much. I want to focus on another story when I have a commitment to my current novel? You think I’ll get anything done now? No, I’d be frozen, frustrated, and nothing would be written at all.

Ideas are sexy, brilliant little flames in the head promising immediate reward. The serial format has been the closest thing I’ve come up with to solve this problem, where you can have those bursts of inspiration that will power you through a 10-30,000 word episode, but the longer it takes, the harder it is to keep the energy. And it requires something to jump to to keep the mind engaged. Sometimes you find yourself working on the same project so long, you don’t want to look at the damn thing for a few months, so you need multiple stories to jump to. And then, suddenly, you realize you have ?!? many series half written and you gotta finish something, and dear fuck, when did writing become adulting!

I might need a cheering squad to see me through to the end. I have worked hard to cultivate my creativity and motivation from within (and I am still seeking solutions) but sometimes when you feel stuck in something for so long, it’s hard to even get up the energy to push through. This is why I keep looking at hiring content writers. I know my strengths and I see my limits. And although I always believe it’s important to focus on making your limits into strengths, sometimes we’re just limited human beings and it’s better to seek a creative, innovative solution. But I’m in the middle of this commitment to this novel, and I can’t even allow myself to fully look at other solutions at the moment because it pulls my mind away.

Ah, my love affairs with thoughts. My mind is a slut, no doubt about it, and the problem is guilt more than anything else. If I didn’t feel guilty, I’d have forged toward a solution, but no, guilt is a familiar cage.

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February 1

So it’s not Monday?

I apparently spent all of yesterday thinking it was Monday. Missed my allergy shot and everything. @_@ Mild fever but I feel like that level of delusion doesn’t quite match…

Not that days of the week mean anything. Fuck, neither do years. It’s all arbitrary concepts to pretend we have a point of reference in the vast void of time and space and mortality. But, you know, sanity is based off of this meaningless stuff and I’m apparently days ahead or behind.

I’ve been hearing about so many dying in this cold snap. Polar vortex–nifty name for something wiping people out. And it’s young people, people in houses whose heater broke, people who ended up in car crashes and died from the cold instead of their injuries. I hope everyone has a warm bed or couch tonight. Stay warm, babes.

I’m so grateful I don’t need to sleep in the car anymore from the chemical sensitivity. I was passing the Walmart parking lot I used to sleep at, and all I could think was those truckers and RV’ers and homeless living in their cars might not make it if they run out of fuel to heat them–and we’re not even dealing with the worst. The temp is -4 F here atm, and that’s nothing compared to other parts of the world dealing with -30, -40 and -50. There are entire towns asking their homeowners not to overload the grid by putting their heat up too high, or they all might end up freezing if they lose power.

What a sharp knife of reality the weather wields. It’s hard to get caught up in petty bullshit when our playing field turns deadly. But then, that’s people. They can be petty over anything. >_>

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January 31

Integration <3

Apparently you can display blog posts on main pages with the right plugin. You can also decide by which category, date, etc, of what you want on the page. This feels like a solution to the whole comment issue. Just link certain blog posts on certain pages and if I delete the wrong page by mistake, the original blog post still remains, safe and sound.

The blog so far has been limited to the Newsletter. I’ve basically ignored it otherwise. I kinda have this habit of going through and deleting old shit after a year–Nothing I say actually has importance, just rambles in the cyber world. So, let’s try something a little more constructive.

In other randomness… Has anyone see Happy! On Netflix with Christopher Meloni? I just caught the first bloody, beautiful episode. Think this is love, babes. XD

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January 31

City Howls and dealing with limits

I found myself looking at City Howls to prep it for new writing with outlining, brainstorming, etc. I found problems, the same kind of problems in Demon Arms. All I do is bitch about how I didn’t realize how fucked my brain was when living in mold. Right now, I’m frustrated I just can’t go back.

If I didn’t have the new perspective, I wouldn’t give a fuck. Good enough would literally be good enough in my mind. It was then. The problem is, how I’m writing now is the only way I know how to write. My brain changed, it can’t go back, and I’m left frustrated at my new pace which requires time, dedication, and a willingness to tear up all the old shit and do the work. Hence, it feels like work and not fun.

I gotta fix my perspective on this stuff. I gotta find the fun.

The biggest issues with City Howls I can see are:

1) the moldy brain made it difficult to visualize scenes, led to a dump of exposition, while at the same time failed to explain concepts well enough and also made the action lag. I want to show how Sage is a thief, how his dreams are messed up, how his brother is violently abusive instead of the info dump of it all. Finding out how his parents die should be pivotal, not a one liner in a paragraph of exposition. I don’t know why my old style was about creating all the character background and just dumping it in the first scene but it requires me to clean it all up and start fresh.

2) I tried to work with the censorship. You couldn’t find the first book on a mainstream platform because of the beast content, so I tried to make episodes 2 and 3 platform friendly. I intentionally wrote less titillating content to conform, and I’m kinda disgusted when I think about it. Seriously, fuck censorship. These books were supposed to be a total dark fuck fest and I held back and grew bored with the series because of it. How fucking exhausting to sit down to write something fun, only to change it because you’re terrified of having your book banned and livelihood lost. It’s bullshit.

So this is the shit I want to remedy when I continue this series. The beginning paces too slowly because of the exposition, and everything needs a more visual, in the scene feel. And I want to push those limits I inadvertently made because of the censors. More taboo, more fun, less stupid safe boring ass bullshit.

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