Random stuff I think about:
When I write my best selling book, I want to write it in my pretend British accent. But also, I want it published by the American publishers that publish my favourite authors, so I can hang out with them at famous author people events. So, when I write this imaginary book, do I write it in American or English? The only answer for sure is that I’m not bloody well writing it in Australian, because when I write in Australian, I can’t help bloody well swearing.
Feeling a bit overwhelmed. A case of imposter syndrome over my next planned book, and the sheer weight of all I have to do. Worry that if I stop for a moment I won’t start again, ever.
And yet, so grateful for all the people in my corner. Messages and FaceTimes, people saying ‘I’ll help’ and ‘I won’t let you quit’, ‘you got this’ and ‘I’m here if you need me’.
THIS is the online writer community. Not the bitchy attacks or review trolls. It’s support, acceptance, love and understanding.
Happy Monday Morning from Down Under! How are my fellow writers going? I’m feeling a little meh. Loving the story, but it’s so hard to just sit down and focus. I think I’m a little behind for #nanowrimo again, but plan to catch up today.
I’m getting to that panicky, too-much-to-do, Oh-god-Christmas-is-coming, mental shutdown stage. This year it’s not even Christmas... it’s two book releases, moving house on a tight schedule, and a pressing urgency to plan and implement a 2018 strategy to keep my financial stability.
Author careers are hard, man. I worry the bottom will fall out at any moment. I worry the words will dry up, or the sales will vanish. I worry the whole industry will collapse due solely to my own bad luck. Help?
Continued from yesterday?
Armor, cracked; a bluish light seeping from the fissures
Breath, frozen; cold as the ice that tempered his body and stole his life
Eyes, burning; portals holding will o’ wisps who stare into your soul
Face, masked; the ghastly grin of a skeleton conceals his face
Teeth, bared; words ripping out from his throat as litanies of hate dance across his lips
Blades, drawn; twinkling as the snow on a winter’s dawn
Blood, spilt; by enemies that shall trouble him no more
Plotters, are you sticking to yours?
Pantsers, are you regretting it?
Today was a #winner! 4200 words written. GOOD words. Slightly deviated from outline to run down a thread I know will shine brightly. The house that was approved to build on Wednesday now has a floor, a deck, a frame and part of a roof 🤩 I’m exhausted (it’s only 2pm) but so happy. 2018 is shaping up to be incredible.
No one answered her, but a couple other folks looked in her direction. She waved a hand. "Fight with the family." Everyone looked away or moved on. Her speech was profoundly human. Her open attitude towards fighting with her family when she was obviously Daoine Sidhe was scandalous. She didn't give two hot damns. She didn't even give a lukewarm single damn.
-- The Fae After Tomorrow
The writer stared up at his visitor, horrified. "But, but I had drafts to finish!" he protested.
"All writers have drafts they never got the chance to finish," said Death. "They would hardly be writers if they didn't. Take pride in the fact that you finished more than most." And with that, Death extended its hand to the writer.
The writer stared at it for a moment. Then he put his hand in Death's. Outside, the church bell chimed.
@Spellscribe I enjoy it! You’re welcome to check it out; there’s always free content, too.
#WIP WEDNESDAY is here!
I’m working on book four of my series about a Mental Magician tasked with destroying an evil cult.
Rogan is dead but his legacy remains. As Julianne returns to the Mystic Temple, she realises someone may just beat her there, someone who intends to destroy them all.
Meanwhile, Bastian is finally able to start building the magic school he’s dreamed of. But will rumours of ghosts haunting the site be confirmed, or is something much more sinister lurking in the forest?
How are all my #nanowrimo people doing? Ahead or behind, or rocking in a corner?
Today’s favourite scene!
Bette stared at him for a moment, then her eyes dropped to the cup. Screwing up her face, she downed the dark sludge in one gulp.
“I’ll be back on me feet by tomorrow,” she snapped. “Go get me more of… more…”
The room twirled around and watched as tiny stars dipped and swam through the air. Warmth suffused her limbs as her muscles weakened.
“Yerbalfurd.” The mangled slur sounded nothing like what she’d intended to say.
It’s 2pm and I have not only finished all the housework except the washing, I’ve painted with the kid, had a fantastic lunch and written 4200 words! I’ve had a major business restructure (business being me and the toddler at the kitchen table) (restructure being the adjustment of several colourful lines and tick-boxes in my planner) and it seems to be really helping my words, and my sanity.
Fantasy author, mum, drop bear attack survivor
The Wandering Shop is a Mastodon instance initially geared for the science fiction and fantasy community but open to anyone. We want our 'local' timeline to have the feel of a coffee shop at a good convention: tables full of friendly conversation on a wide variety of topics. We welcome everyone who wants to participate, so long as you're willing to abide by our code of conduct.