White Blank Page

NanoWrimo 2011 - Crossing the Finish Line

2011-12-17T05:03:00.000-08:00

We blogged about six weeks ago, telling you about our NanoWrimo plans; how we were feeling, how we planned to get it done, how scared and excited we were. So, we thought we'd come back and tell you how it went.

Today is December 14th. Exactly fourteen days ago, I finished NaNoWriMo. My final count was somewhere around 53,000 words. For those of you keeping track, yes, I wrote over 50,000 words in a month. It was incredible and draining. It was inspiring and soul crushing. It was a million other emotions I can't put into words. How did I do it? I'm not sure. There were several days I was beyond exhausted and couldn't fathom writing another word. I'd look at my word count ticker and wonder how I was going to make it. However, I did. The day I reached my goal, I cried and danced with my husband. Why was it such an emotional journey? Well, let me tell you…

Writers are artists. Like painters, we have a blank canvas, a palette of paints, and a vision. For writers, we have a blank page, a brain full of words, and a vision. No matter the medium of art, we all have to figure out how to make our vision come to life. Writers are notorious for writing and deleting (or erasing, however one rolls) while letting self-doubt to slowly leak into our brains, making the entire process come to a screeching halt. This is why NaNoWriMo is so great. There is no time for self-doubt. There is no room for deleting or self-loathing. You just have to do it. That is the difference, in my opinion, that makes people successful in winning NaNo or not.

Look. We all have busy lives. We work, either in or out of the home, have families, have bills, commitments, etc. These are all valid excuses, but if the hearts desire isn't there, it won't happen. I will say that there were days, several of them, when I was so behind, I thought giving up was my only option. I listened to people say, "Oh…You've done so good no matter what!" But you know what? That wasn't good enough for me. It wasn't good enough because if I didn't finish, if I didn't push myself when I thought there was nothing left for me to give, I wouldn't have known my full potential. I wouldn't have learned what it meant to commit to characters so near and dear to me, and watch them come to life, in just thirty days time. I wouldn't have known the virtual hugs and hand-holding, the over abundance of encouragement and support, not just from my WBP girls, but from an enormous community of writers I've found on the same journey. We lifted each other up, carried one another through, and celebrated at the finish line. I have felt no greater feeling in my life since giving birth to my son. That is how powerful of an experience this was. Seeing the culmination of something you created come to life, seeing it breathe the air and see the light of day, was nothing short of absolute bliss.

Where do I go from here? Well, I go right back in and finish this sucker. NaNoWriMo may claim you can write a novel in a month, but I beg to differ. I think what you have at the end of the month is a novel missing words, lacking in structure and a overall mess. Does that mean it’s garbage? No. It just means it needs some TLC and that is where editing comes in. This is where I am right now and will be for the months ahead. Rome wasn’t built in a day, or a month, and neither was a well-rounded novel.

You hear that people? It may not be perfect, but it’s mine. Every word was from my heart and now, I’m going to make them look as beautiful as I know they can be, but for now, I’m just going to relish the fact I won NaNo. I won, one agonizing word at a time, and I feel pretty freakin good about that.

Sometimes, things seem insurmountable. Because of that, those very things are intimidating, which is often all it takes to make people shy away from attempting them.

NaNoWriMo was not one of those things for me.

Maybe it makes me cocky, but I knew I could do it; it was simply a matter of putting my mind to the task and, of course, focusing on a plot and set of characters I could really sink my teeth into.

What NaNo taught me was that, when I am focused, I can write quickly and cleanly. It taught me that, when I want it to be, my focus can be sharp as a razorblade. It taught me that I can think on my feet.

Because, you see, I NaNo’d in 16 days.

51000 words in 16 days.

Honestly, I look back and I don’t quite know how I did it. The month of November is a blur of words, cramped hands, turkey, and the general craziness that is life. I do know that I set stretch goals for myself, and when I met them, I didn’t allow myself to slow down. I wrote. And wrote.

And then? Yep. You guessed it: I wrote some more.

It was this insane thing; never had I written with such fervor in my life. There just wasn’t time to treat it any other way.

I began this novel on November 1st, and by about 11:45 on November 16th, I crossed the NaNo threshold and basically danced my way around my living room for about half an hour (to the sounds of Robyn, in case you were wondering). I couldn’t sleep; all I wanted to do was tweak and edit and add and then dance some more.

I think the most valuable thing I gleaned from NaNo came in the form of a reminder:

Writing is like air for me. I need it, and when I don’t have it, I become about as pleasant to be around as a teething toddler - petulant and whiny and generally grumpy. It’s like there’s a lifeline between my fingertips and the keyboard, and if I ignore it for any period of time, it begins to scratch and poke at me until I give it the attention it deserves. It reminded me of how badly I want to be an author.

And for that reminder, NaNoWriMo 2011 was worth every ounce of stress and every minute of missed sleep I sacrificed.

If I tell you a secret about my Nano experience, do you promisepromise, pinky swear, cross your heart and hope to die, that you won’t tell anyone? Crossies do NOT count.

Okay. Here’s my secret.

I went into Nano with no expectation of finishing. None. I even set up a list of reasons why I wouldn’t be able to finish. I was ready to fail.

I think, in some ways, I was looking to fail.

It’s amazing. When you are looking to fail, you will find a million different ways in which to fail to the epic degree. And guys, I found a boatload.

On day 3, I went back and read what I’d written. Consumed with how little it had in common with the story in my head, how downright terrible it was, I almost threw in the towel.

Almost.

So, I took a few days off. And when I came back, I took everything I’d written so far, stuck it in another doc, and started again.

On day 10(ish), I realized that I was writing with no specific story in mind, just random bits that weren’t going to fit anywhere. I started to wonder why I was ‘wasting’ a month writing these bits, so I almost threw in the towel again.

Almost.

I soldiered on, trying not to delete words, trying to get comfy with the idea of the (really) shitty first draft. I had my girls with me, cheering me on and sending me blog posts to give me perspective. Then, I decided to read The Hunger Games. And Catching Fire. And Mockingjay. And then I needed time to process the massive amount of amazing/heartbreaking/perfect/awful that I’d just read.

On day 26, I blogged. I had 33,000 words. I hadn’t written in four days. And I was right on the verge of fulfilling my initial expectation of not finishing. Some people were right there, about to finish. Some people had finished days ago. *looks up at Ang* And here I was, 17K words from the goal with five days. So, I’m sure you can guess, I almost threw in the towel again.

Almost.

But, I had this vision that if I could just hit 40K, I could make it. I busted hump to hit 40K. Then busted hump some more. Then I verified my word count on the Nano site, only to realize I had lost over 1,000 words. So, I almost... whatever, you know what I almost.
In the two days that followed, I literally wrote like my fingers were on fire. Some of it is crap. Hell, most of it is crap. But, around 2:00 AM on 11/29, I hit 50,084 words. I won NanoWrimo.

I’m going to chime in with Mel here. 50K words and one month does not make a book. In fact, it makes one hell of a mess. But it gave me a really good start to my first novel, a story that has been through so many changes, it no longer resembles its initial idea in any way. A story that, over the course of twenty eight days and many, many cups of coffee, refused to let me give up on it.

What used to live only in my brain, now lives on a page. It’s full of plot holes and typos and things that will never see the light of day. Would I call it a book? Well no, but...

almost.

We did it! We all won NanoWrimo 2011! And it feels amazing. We want to say thank you to those that helped us achieve our goals; we couldn't have done it without you. Also, our congratulations go out to all of our fellow Nano-ers. Whether you hit 50,000 words or not, you are winners to us. Even if you opted not to Nano, because you were already in editing mode, or you knew this wasn't a process that would work for you, or because you realized that November is a cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs month to try and write a novel, we love you and think you're awesome.

What's next? Well, as our fellow writers know....

So we're editing. And writing. And drinking coffee. And we'll keep doing that, not because it's what we do, but because it's who we are.

NaNoWriMo 2011

2011-10-30T09:44:00.000-07:00

Are we crazy? No. Let’s just say we’re ambitious.

Okay, so, three of us gals here are doing NaNoWriMo. National Novel Writing Month is an internet-based project that happens every November and challenges writers of all genres and ages to write a novel in a month (or 50,000 words.) Sounds nuts, huh? Yeah. We think so too, but we’re going to do it, along with approximately 200,000 people from countries all over the world.

Why am I doing this? I’m not quite sure, but feel compelled to do so. The YA novel I’ve been working on needs it. (That said, it’s sorta ‘cheating’ to participate with a project already in progress. However, I’m committing to do the 50k words. Cheating Schmeating. Don’t tattletale.) Committing to NaNoWriMo, I’m giving this story the huge, undivided attention it deserves.

I don’t expect to win a Pulitzer for what I write during NaNoWriMo, but I do expect to have enough words to finish the first draft of this book. That, in and of itself, will make the whole thing worth it. It’ll be worth the anxiety attacks and sleep deprivation. Luckily, I have the IV caffeine drip all set up.

See you on December 1st. xo

NaNoWriMo is this crazy thing. I know that. 50K words in 30 days? What the hell am I thinking?

But see, I work well under pressure, so I kind of think NaNoWriMo is engineered for weirdos such as myself.

My plans are to begin and hopefully finish the first draft of book one of Gaby’s story. It’s dystopian, though that will really hardly matter once we get going, and also faerie-centric. I have some absurd goals, which I’ll post about on my personal blog (example: 15K words by 11/5, for reasons I’ll get into later), but I am extraordinarily amped for this challenge.

No Twitter. No Facebook. No gchat. Just me, my laptop, and words.

See you in December, folks. MWAH!

Word Goal = 50,000
Days = 30
Characters = 6(ish)
Scrapped Outlines = 1
Plot = ½?
Unnaturally calm authors who should probably be having nervous breakdowns right about now = 0

I should be freaking out, right? Normally, this is exactly where I’d be freaking out. Come to think of it, WHY AREN’T I FREAKING OUT? I’ve got 87 different variations of a plot dancing around in my head, I haven’t written more than a couple hundred words at a time in almost six months and my schedule would make lesser women weep (okay, sometimes, it makes me weep). So freaking out would be totally acceptable here.

And yet, I’m not. I’ve been oddly calm (‘oddly’ because calm and I don’t exactly hang out) about the whole thing. Word on the Nano street is ‘no plot, no problem.’ Well, I’ve got this no plot thing wired.

You see, I can't fail. For me, Nano this year IS about getting the first draft of my novel written. And on some level, it is about hitting 50,000 words. But more than that, it’s about BEING a writer again. Making daily writing a habit. Trusting that I know what is best for my characters, that only I can tell their story. Learning to go with my gut. Understanding that there is a time for writing and a time for editing, and that now is a time for writing.

If I achieve these goals, 50,000 words or no, I win.

The plan to get there? Minimal internet. No Twitter. A strong support system. A person to spill my fears to (Jan, I will never stop thanking you.) Lots of coffee. Comfy pants. A quiet room. Google Docs. My characters. And me.

No big, right? We'll find out. See you in 31 <3

We'll check back in once the month is over. We'll let you know if we 'won', how it worked out, and if we went nuts in the process. Or, you know, more nuts than we are now ;)

On the Same Page - The Spark

2011-10-24T10:28:00.000-07:00

On the Same Page - a monthly round table discussion on topics relevant to our writing experiences.

The six of us here at White Blank Page are all at very different stages of the writing process. Some of us are still planning, some just beginning to carve out some shape on their blank pages, some are halfway done or almost done--some completely done and starting round two. But regardless of where we happen to be now, we all remember what it's like at the beginning, how we went from being normal, (mostly) functioning humans to these completely distracted individuals who live the majority of lives playing with made up people inside our own minds.

It turns out that though we all ended up in roughly the same place, the ways in which we got there were all very different. And that's the story we're telling today.

Once a plot bunny attacks, it’s almost always clear to me which character the protagonist is, so my first step? Put myself in their shoes. This is, of course, more difficult to do when I haven’t actually experienced what they’re going to, but I am a human, and I do have emotions, and I try to play off that first. One goal for me, as a writer, is to create genuine emotion with words, and to do that, I really need to have a feel for the character. There are also times where a sentiment takes of residence in my mind - loss, fear, complete joy - or a very specific situation plagues me, to the point where it’s constantly on my mind. Both the emotional and situational experiences are variations of plot bunnies for me, and garner the same sort of reaction from me. A character is almost always the result.

Then, once I ‘get’ it, I write until I stop. I don’t think, I don’t edit, there’s no filter. I just write. Generally, this ends up totaling less than 1000 words, but it gives me an unfiltered version of this person who has taken up residence in my mind.

It’s not until after this happens that I usually take a step back and think about characterization. Once I have that little introductory blurb, it’s monumentally easier for me to figure out what a character would or wouldn’t do, what they do or don’t like. And for the record? I don’t get detailed about other characters - aside from personal appearance - ever. I let them work themselves out as I write. Sometimes, this means I am given a fun little, unexpected surprise, but really, I enjoy that. It keeps me on my toes.

With regard to the writing of an actual story arc, once I have this blurb, I normally create a very generalized outline - major events in the order in which they happen. I figure the detail will fall into place naturally, therefore making my narrative that much more believable.

And then? Well, then, I attempt to let my characters (and words) fly.

For me, it always starts with a character, and often it’s just a glimpse of an interaction or conversation involving that character. (More often than not this happens in the shower.) For days, sometimes weeks, no matter what I should be doing my thoughts circle back to that character, each time noticing more detail. It’s as if she (in the case of my current idea) just stepped into my head fully formed and all I have to do is wonder about some element of her character to reveal it. Then a small few of the secondary characters start to appear in a similar fashion. So, yes, I’m essentially quite lazy about the whole thing.

It’s when I start to ask questions about the characters—what happens to them? How do they evolve? How do they relate to each other?—that my role in story-craftery becomes less passive. Like the main character’s manifestation, some of the big plot points just seem to be there when I wonder about them, but most of the plot is more laborious.

Plot is where I struggle. I don’t want the events to seem melodramatic or forced, but I don’t want them to be too quiet either. I always worry over the story’s arc. Will it believably generate character evolution? Will it have the right amount of tension? Pacing? Catharsis? Plot is the biggest source of self-doubt for me.

What do I do first?

I flesh out as many of the characters as I can. I give them middle names and birthdays and ethnic heritages; foods and music and movies and books they love and hate. Favorite and least favorite school subjects. I do this so that when I’m floundering with a character’s “voice” I can go back and use the character sketch to hopefully find it again.

Then I flesh out a general plot, which I tweak and supplement gradually. It’s in the plot adjustment that I usually add more secondary characters as I need them to develop the story. I’m admittedly a bit obsessive, so I read the character sketches and plot outline often; it clarifies the story I want to tell and makes me more comfortable inside the main character.

Finally, I try to calm my brain and not-think enough to write, and I wish I had a waterproof laptop because my characters always do their loudest talking in the shower.

Story: A Love... Story

First, I’ll need to make some introductions. I’d like you to meet my two friends, Idea and Inspiration. This is their story.

Idea was sort of a quiet fellow. He hung out in the dark recesses of my head. He didn’t talk very much, or very loudly, unless something really caught his attention. He was waiting for, longing for, the right inspiration.

Inspiration on the other hand, she got around. She was all over the place! It was a nonstop litany of ‘hey look at this picture, listen to this song, remember that time you went to that place?’. Everything she saw or heard created a spark, or to be more precise, a spark-lette (it means tiny spark in the dictionary of me). But she had no idea to inspire.

So sad.

Idea and Inspiration didn’t hang out in the same circles, so they never met. As a writer, I really wanted them to meet. I tried setting them up, but I think they always felt like they were being forced into these awful blind dates. Inspiration thought that Idea was a pretentious ass (and she said he had bad teeth). Idea thought that Inspiration was flighty, and laughed too loud at her own jokes.

It seemed hopeless. Maybe Idea and Inspiration weren’t meant to be. Maybe they were both going to grow old, and lonely, and eventually die alone.

Until something amazing happened. Idea and Inspiration just happened to wander into the same place, at the same time. Their eyes met across a room filled with other Ideas and Inspirations, and something clicked. Bad teeth and loud laughter be damned! It was magic.

From then on, there was no more Idea and Inspiration. It was all IdeaandInspiration. They were together constantly, chatting and cuddling and making goo-goo eyes at each other. It was slightly nauseating, but pretty darn cute too.

The two are engaged now. Writing their own vows, of course. They’re mad for each other, and I’m quite certain they will live happily ever after between the pages of my novel.

Summary: No matter how much I want it to happen, I can’t make it happen. For me, I just have to let it happen.

I get inspiration in tiny, very specific lightning bolts: a glimpse of a scene, a character, a plot device. It’s up to me to think that into a storm, from the calm before to the pelting-rain climax. Generally (and to a huge degree with The Book), I’ll start with music. Something about that scene or character or plot will suggest a mood to me, and I’ll start listening to things that evoke that same mood. This basically acts as background noise while a more complete picture starts to unfold in my head. For this part of the process I’m a big fan of either mind-mapping software or a good old piece of paper and a pencil for classic brainstorming.

Once I have that picture in my head and I’ve jotted down a few “must keep this” notes about it that came from the brainstorming, I start to write. I’m a terrible outliner, and while I try with every new project, I find the frustration of not writing outweighs the benefits of a really full outline for me. For The Book, I think I have a single page of notes that I wrote before I began seriously writing it. (I had nothing at all while I wrote the first two thousand words or so, which I did in a couple of hours on the mistaken belief that if I got the character out of my head, he’d shut up so I could go back to the project I was working on at the time. The above process of music/brainstorming came between that first 2k and the rest of the book.) I have a whole notebook full of “don’t you dare forget to include this now you’ve hinted at it” scribbles that I jotted down with one hand while typing with the other, but I don’t consider that outlining.

When I start seriously writing, I know the beginning, some major events, and the ending. Pretty much everything else happens on the fly, or happens in a way different to my original vision. SuperAgent and I recently had a funny conversation in which I told her that, while a specific and very influential character had been in my head almost from the start, I didn’t know until about halfway through writing the book whether she’d turn out to be good or evil. We had a good laugh over how different the book would’ve been if it had gone another way. At least one major event wasn’t planned at all, and another was made much more dramatic. I think I cut one, too.

So, yes, I go on mood and that one tiny thing that was the original lightning bolt. Other things change, intensify, or disappear entirely, but those two things never do. And then I just write, one word after another. Eventually, the blank pages fill up.

I know for me it all begins when some element of real life embeds itself into my subconscious and eventually spits out a plot bunny. (I know, it sounds painful, but it’s not fatal.) That’s actually the easy part. It’s everything that follows which is hard.

Starting a new story is seriously overwhelming. How do you go from idea to words? I’m a big believer in visualization; Closing my eyes and imagining how the story should unfold, what my characters look like, how they speak, their surroundings, and even minuscule details such as paint color or textures. Once I see it, I can write it.

I can give pros and cons for whether to outline or not. It’s personally preference. I’ve done it both ways for small stories I’ve done. For my current project, which is obviously the most serious I’ve been about writing, there is no detail in which I haven’t outlined so far. With my level of OCDness and the want for complete organization, this is what works best for me. It makes me a more confident writer.

I need as much quiet or have as little distraction as possible. Of course, with a husband and talkative six-year old, a quiet house isn’t always going to happen. In those cases, a Starbucks, or any place where I don’t have to worry about laundry, will do just fine.

Lastly, a couple cocktails never hurt any writer trying to get through a difficult scene. Just sayin.

Most often, I get story ideas in the shower or in traffic. Sometimes it will come out of nowhere, sometimes it’s a lyric or two that’s stuck in my head, but all of a sudden I have pictures painted in my head that weren’t there before.

How do I go from pictures in my head to an actual, cohesive story? I do character sketches. I bullet point everything I know about them. Name, age, physical description, pertinent backstory, brief highlights of what’s going to happen to them. I sketch them out until I know all the whys, if not the hows.

And then... I start writing.

I’m not really much of an outliner. I know in my head the big points that need to happen, and generally in which direction I’m headed, but all the little details? I just let those happen. I’ve found that if I get too specific in my outlines I don’t get very far. It’s like I focus so much on making it match exactly that I end up immobilized.

I’m a pantser, as Tahereh Mafi would say. Which is ironic, as most often when I’m writing? I am not, in fact, wearing any pants.

So there’s that.

What sparks the stories that come alive in your head?

The Night Circus Winner!

2011-09-06T16:41:00.000-07:00

Well, you guys we just awesome giving me all kinds of upcoming book recs! I added some new ones to my list, so thank you.

For the record, the book I'm most eagerly awaiting is Lola and the Boy Next Door. I'm counting the minutes. That and The Future of Us by Jay Asher and Carolyn Macker. And I could go on and on...

But instead, I'll get to the point. And the point is, one of you lovelies has a copy of Erin Morgentstern's The Night Circus coming to you. And that someone is...

Lo!

Shoot me your email address and this baby is all yours.

Thank you random.org for making that easy. Thank you all for playing. Thank you to Random House for throwing the awesome party so that we could give this away. Thanks Mom, you were always there for .... sorry, I got a little carried away.

<3 Becci

The Night Circus Giveaway

2011-08-29T19:44:00.000-07:00

I want to tell you how cool/crazy good/amazingwonderfulstupendous The Night Circus is. Sadly, I can’t. But only because I haven’t read it yet :) I can tell you that I’m dying to read it. And I can tell you that I’m dying to read it even more after getting a chance to meet the author, Erin Morgenstern, last week.

I got the chance to go to the pre-launch party for this book last week, which was really exciting. And by exciting, what I mean is ‘how cool...oh god, what am I going to wear... repeat after me, Becci, you will NOT do that thing where you ramble off random babble just because you get nervous in groups of people you don’t know... oh god, WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR...’

And that is just a little window into the crazy, folks.

But I went, and it was incredibly cool. The party was held at Verrill Farm in Concord, MA (and I totally took a wrong turn and started driving to Walden Pond... how cool is that?), which is where the book is set. There were tents and strings of lights and circus-y folk. It was really sort of magical.

And there was one very grateful, gracious, lovely author in Erin Morgenstern.

So, I have an ARC of The Night Circus for me, which I will be digging into very shortly. AND, because I think you are all special snowflakes, I have an extra one for one of you!

The book hits stores on September 13th. I’m going to make this giveaway a quick one, so that you get it before then. Heck, you’ll probably even get it while I’m still reading, since I read like old people... well, let’s just say it’s not fast. And then, we can send each other delightful little messages about how much we love it, because I just have a feeling we’re going to.

What do you have to do? Hmmmm. In the comments below, tell me which book, one that hasn’t been released yet, you’re dying to read (before 11:59 PM EST on 9/4). This one? Another one? (This is a nice way to enter, and it’s also a shameless way for me to find out books that are coming up that I might not know of yet. I’m shellfish, what can I say?)

Open to U.S. and Canada only. Closes 9/4 at 11:59 PM.

Don't You Dare Call Me A Writer...Yet.

2011-08-23T16:53:00.000-07:00

What the hell am I?

I must ask myself this question, at least, five times a day. I’m clearly having issues with calling myself a writer and telling the world what I’ve committed to do with my life. Maybe this would be better explained with a real life conversation that occurred between me and my husband.

Me: Honey, did you see the writing blog I’m doing with the girls?

Mr. Mel: Yeah, it looks great. I posted it on my Facebook so everyone can see.

Me: :::blank stare::::

Mr. Mel: Yeah, I was so excited for you that I wanted to share. It’s awesome.

Me: What...wait...you...wait. You did...wait...what?

Mr. Mel (starting to look scared): Well...is that a big deal?

Me: WHAT DO YOU MEAN IS IT A BIG DEAL? OF COURSE IT’S A BIG DEAL, YOU IDIOT!! THEN THE WHOLE WORLD WILL KNOW!

Mr. Mel: Well, I think the world knows anyway, dear. You just put it on a blog...with your name...and your picture.

Me: THAT IS TOTALLY DIFFERENT! I’M NOT BROADCASTING IT OVER FACEBOOK WHERE ALL OUR FAMILY AND FRIENDS ARE! DELETE IT! NOW!

Mr. Mel: Wait. You’re writing and that’s awesome, but you don’t want people to know?

Me: ARE YOU DELETING? OF COURSE PEOPLE CAN’T KNOW!! WHAT IF I SUCK AT IT OR FAIL AND THEN EVERYONE WILL KNOW!!

Mr. Mel: Honey...

Me: WHY IS IT STILL THERE?! DELETE!!

Things grow fuzzy in my recollection after this. I think there was more screaming on my part and even more confusion on my husbands. Yes, the Facebook post was eventually deleted.

I consider myself lucky that I have a husband that believes in me so much that he wants to share with everyone he knows that his wife is a writer. However, I’m not a writer. Technically.

I touched on this in my bio actually. Having a career as a writer is so far out of the realm of what I anticipate, I don’t entertain the idea much. Yes, I write. I love it. It’s who I am. It’s who I’ve always been. I’m trying to make something out of that love inside me, but I don’t know where it will go from there. Why put myself out there, label and all, when I don’t even know what I’m doing? On the other hand, according to my husband, why shouldn’t I share?

Oh wait. Don’t answer that. I know the answer. My favorite f- word. Well, second.

F-A-I-L-E-D.

If I tell everyone I’m writing, that I’m a writer, I set myself up for all kinds of expectations. At this stage of the game, I think my very fragile ego wouldn’t be able to take disappointment. I’m a very sensitive, delicate flower (or so I’ve been told on a few occasions.)

Hypothetical: Let’s tell all my family and friends I’m dedicating my time to writing a novel and when I possibly have nothing to show for it some day, they can all conclude I’m a big, fat failure. They can look at me with a sad look and say, “So, are you still doing that writing thing?”

Can you see my hesitation?

Okay, so maybe I have a teeny problem with self-deprecation.

Then this other conversation happened yesterday.

Best Friend: So, what else have you been spending your time doing?

Me: Ohhhhhhhh. Nothing much.

Best Friend: Do I have to drag it out of you? Your husband told my husband you’re writing a book.

Me: Oh! Well...I...I...dunno.

Best Friend: Why didn’t you tell me?! This is fabulous! You’ve always had a gift for writing and I’m so glad you’re doing something with it.

Me: I...just...was nervous telling anyone.

Best Friend: Why?

Me: Because what if I fail?

Best Friend. What if you don’t?

Me: The chances of...

Best Friend: (interrupting) Mel...But what if you don’t?

Everyone needs a best friend like this.

Writing... LIKE A BOSS.

2011-08-22T09:06:00.000-07:00

"If you write every time you feel like it, you will have pages. If you write everyday, you will have a book."

Reading that quote the other day was a major brick-to-forehead moment for me. Because, I mean... duh. Obviously it's true, but I've just never thought about it like that. I think about writing as this organic ~artistic~ process, and approach it the same way; I write when the inspiration is there, when I feel motivated, when the characters are the loudest in my head.

And maybe for some people, inspiration and motivation are there all the time--or even just at the right times--but for me? Inspiration and/or motivation hit in the middle of meetings, or at three in the morning, or out on the football field during my son's practices. It's never at the right moment, never when it's practical or easy for me to drop everything and escape into my little room of quiet focus. (By the way, do those rooms exist? I need one.)

What I've begun to do is approach writing like I would a second job. I've scheduled as much time as I have on a daily basis (which, admittedly, during August football season--with its three hour practices every evening, oh joy--isn't much). I've set aside a place for myself to write--a place where I am not allowed to do anything but write. I've set a deadline and some attainable progress points to meet along the way.

Pimp My Novel has a really excellent post up about this very thing, and I intend to print it out and stick it to my wall.

It feels good. It feels focused. I need to realize that no one else is going to make me write. Whether I finish this project or not does not matter to anyone but me. No one else will regret it if I don't. No one else will live with that lost potential. Just me. So I need to be my own boss about this.

So I'm gonna write like a boss. Awww yeeeaaah.

Lists and Bad Days and Tim Riggins

2011-08-19T15:17:00.000-07:00

“The human animal differs from the lesser primates in his passion for lists.” - H. Allen Smith

WORD.

It is a running joke between me and my closest friend that there is nothing I love more than a good list. Shopping lists, lists of books, to do lists, lists of songs, more lists of books, lists of my lists. Okay, not really the last one, but now that I think about it, it’s not a bad idea.

In my day job, lists are essential. Lots of things to do, lots of details to remember, and only one me. So my desk is a veritable wonderland of lists. On paper, online, on one of three dry erase boards.

The thing is, lists work, at least for me. When I have one, things feel more organized and less chaotic. And let’s face it, between the full time job, the husband and two kids, and attempting to write a novel, organization is key.

My point? Getting there. I do have one, I promise.

So, after reading about my adoration of lists and all things organized, one would imagine that when I’m writing, my outline is my bestest best friend that I snuggled with and loved up on and relied on to keep me sane.

One would be incorrect.

In fact, outlines scare the bananas out of me. And the the strange thing is, I’m not really sure why. And outline has a lot in common with a list, right? It helps with organization, gives some course of action, yada yada yada. I should be all over an outline like a donkey on a waffle.

But I’m not. Maybe it’s because outlining is really hard?

Why, oh why, must I suffer for my art? (Said a la Scarlett O’Hara, complete with my head thrown back dramatically and the back of my hand resting on my forehead).

Outlining is hard for me. The process is basically the antithesis of how I write. It’s all overview and high level and light on details. Details are my world.

Or maybe it’s because I feel like it takes some of the magic out of the writing process. I have this illusion (i.e. delusion) that authors go into a room with nothing but a coffee pot and a toilet, draw the shades, write like the keyboard is on fire and emerge three weeks letter with a perfect, fully edited work of literary genius.

In reality, I know that’s not true. But the writer in me is also a dreamer. And the dreamer in me doesn’t seem to want to accept that this is work. Hard work.
I know some authors outline, and some don’t. So why not be one of the ones that doesn’t? Why not just be a fly by the seat of your pants type of gal? (Moment to moment, that’s me. Yes, I’m quoting Pretty Woman at you).

It doesn’t work.

Historically speaking, without an outline I get halfway through (that’s me being generous with myself) and I can’t remember what I envisioned happening anymore, I can’t make decisions about where I want it to go. I get stuck.

Of course, historically speaking, with an outline I feel stifled and locked in and I can’t remember why I wrote down that I wanted those things to happen in my story. I get stuck.

And I really don’t want to get stuck on this. I love my characters (obsessively so) and I want what’s best for them. I don’t want them sitting in the middle of a half finished manuscript saying ‘Wait! Where are you going? What happens to us??” I can’t bear the thought of them suffering. Unless, of course, said suffering is part of the story.

So I bit the bullet. I outlined.

Of course, I then immediately changed my mind on so many things that I had determined were completely static. I was so certain of something one minute, but when I looked at the outline as a whole, I found things that wouldn’t work.

Just a guess, but I think a few of you are going to relate to what came next.

My head kersploded. I feel apart. I became this utterly useless piece of whiny writer.

Because if the things I thought I knew turned out to be false, then how do I know what is true? If I found that many flaws while writing the outline, how would my story survive writing the book??

And the answer is simple. (By simple, I mean that it took me three weeks, several emoils (emails full of whine and flail - many thanks and apologies to my WBP girls and Jess and ALL the other recipients), and some serious denial partying with Riggins*.

It won’t. The story as I imagined it when I first came up with the idea won’t make it through this process.

So I’m quitting writing to watch Friday Night Lights full time? No. Although, brutal truth, I contemplated it a lot in the last few weeks, and almost decided to hang up my hat. And in those truly dark moments, I emailed just one person and said ‘I want to give up.’

Thankfully, the people in my life know me well, and love me regardless. Because the response was exactly what I needed to hear (thank goodness for Meri).

Recharge your batteries. Do what makes you happy. Read. Watch a show. Snuggle. You'll find your way.

You’ll find your way.

And that way? It’s not in the outline. There is no map from where I am now to where I’ll be when I finish. There are no step-by-step directions to guide me. I need to learn that anything can change. I need to decide what are the pieces my book can’t live without, and which ones can be sacrificed. I’m not scrapping the outline, but I am looking at it for what it is.

I’m going to learn to work without a net. I’m going in the direction that feels right at the moment. Sometimes that will be the right path. Other times, I will wind up at a dead end and have to turn back. I’ll make choices without any idea if they are the right ones. I’ll fall. I’ll fail.

And I’ll find my way.

*FNL footnote: What is it about a beautiful, broken boy? Tim Riggins is perfect. That is all.

Hey Man, Do You Know Where I Can Score Some Time?

2011-08-15T19:03:00.000-07:00

I'm saving up my pennies, and as soon as I find a time dealer, I'm buying as much as I can afford. I don't care if it's black market because the truth is I need more than I've got.

The number one reason I don't write when I want to is a lack of time. It's my typical excuse for not opening that document, not turning my computer on, not taking notes longhand... I'm starting to suspect that this excuse is a slippery slope. Because, while there are times when I genuinely, positively do not have an extra moment to spare, there are definitely times when I might be fibbing to myself just a bit.

Here's the why:

I am not someone who can sit down at my laptop and have brilliance flowing from my fingers in less than five minutes. I'm a ruminator, a stew-er if you will. I need to skim my outline and the last few paragraphs (at least) of what I've written and then think, and then maybe read my character sketches and then think... I'm pretty sure you can see where this is going. I'm slow, obsessive, and tedious.

I waste plenty of minutes on nothing. I watch movies and tv shows I don't even like. I fall into the rabbit hole that is google and learn all I could ever want to know about why David Bowie appears to have heterochromia (two different colored irises) but actually doesn't. I play on twitter (OH HAY! *waves*). I read lots of books. I. Stare. Into. Space.

I'm afraid to finish. I don't admit this often (and I know it sounds ridiculous) but... I'm afraid of completing things that have so much of my soul—and, let's be honest, my delicate little petal ego—in their design. Once something is DONE I feel like I'm saying, "YES! Yes, that is the absolute very best I've got; now, judge away!" and what if people hate it? What if they shred it and use it in the bottom of their pet mouse's cage? You are completely allowed to hate that new purple color I just painted my living room, but when I've mixed my blood into the paint, I can't promise to take it well. This leads me into my next point...

I am a procrastinator. There's nothing amateur about this girl, no. I'm totally playing in the pros in this event. I joke about being lazy and bored and fill-in-the-blank, but the truth is I'm just scared. Inspiration is new and exciting and pretty. Writing is hard and messy and personal and emotional. I'm passive-aggressive with my own ideas. (If you're not convinced I need a shrink at this point, I'm judging you.)

My imagination totally gets in my way. Before I wrote prose, I was a photographer and a sculptor, and before that I was a poet and a painter. I have a lifelong history with my neuroses regarding Art. One thing I've encountered, no matter the medium, is that I just can't make it as perfect as it is in my head. Because I over-think everything (please see the first bullet point) I have every element visualized down to the tiniest detail before I caress a single type key. A vivid imagination is a bitch to live up to. So sometimes I avoid trying.

I guess what I'm saying is: I'm stealing my time. I'm convincing myself I couldn't possibly do anything worthwhile with those 20-minute windows, I'm telling myself I'm burned out and too scatter-brained to attempt to write right now, so why try?

Writers often talk about finding those extra minutes, and writing something—anything—every day, and I've always thought, I wish I could do something with 20 minutes or write whenever the moment was available! I wish I was that kind of writer!

And now I'm seriously starting to wonder when I decided I'm not. This whole time I've been wondering why I didn't win the race when I sabotaged my own release gate.

So now I'm determined.

I'm going to listen to people (like Tahereh Mafi) when they say inspirational things like this: Grab a Pen

I'm going to write write write in my spare minutes.

And attempt to address all neuroses later. (I know they'll still be there. I'm inspired not delusional.)

So how about it? I dare you to find those minutes you keep saying you don't have.

WINNER!

2011-08-15T08:54:00.000-07:00

Sorry about the announcement delay, guys. I've had a very distracted week.

Thank you all so much for all your comments. I had so much fun reading about your favorite books, and reading that so many of you had similar experiences with books as children. And we have very similar (read: amazing) tastes, which I'm pretty sure means we're supposed to be best friends. So here, I made you all friendship bracelets. We match!

Since we're besties now, I wish I could give every single one of you a copy of DAUGHTER OF SMOKE AND BONE because it is uhhh-mazing. Alas, I have just the one copy. And thanks to the superpowers of random.org, it is going to..... *drum roll*

MANDERIN_ORANGE

::confetti:: Wheeeee! Please email me your address and I will send it out posthaste. I'm so excited for you to read!

For the rest of you, fear not. I have several other ARCs to give away in the next few weeks. Stay tuned!

The Workshop

2011-08-08T10:12:00.000-07:00

So, I’m here today to discuss a feared, scary place in the writers world. The workshop. What exactly is a workshop? Well, quite simply, it’s a place, usually in a classroom setting, in which pieces of your manuscript, or writings, is read by strangers and critiqued. Sound frightening? It is. A lot.

I haven’t been a stranger to having my words looked over by friends and trusted acquaintances. Usually there has been simple grammatical revisions (Okay, not so simple. Thank you, Anna for your endless time spent changing my tenses and putting comma’s where they belong) and gentle, thoughtful advice. A lot of times things can be talked out if the words aren’t conveying exact what I wanted and in the end, I’m left with what I think is a good draft. A workshop is very different. These are strangers and they don’t have to be polite.

My first journey into the world of work-shopping happened a year ago during a creative writing class I was taking. I went into this class slightly cocky that I could take whatever was handed to me as far as criticism, but the fact of the matter was, I wasn’t. Not at all. I was in a class with people ten to fifteen years my junior and when I presented them with two chapters of a project I was working on, (and felt like was pretty damn good) I was shocked to hear them tell me things they just didn’t get. This YA piece, in particular, I was working on had a strong male voice and my group thought he was, I think the word was, a ‘dickhead.’

No, he wasn’t! How dare they think that?

“Why would anyone want to be with him, let alone this amazing girl he’s with?” They asked.

Because he’s AWESOME! They just didn’t get it.

“No eighteen year old guy (or girl) would talk like this (in this scene.)” They commented.

::GASP:: Yes they would! I WAS EIGHTEEN ONCE AND I REMEMBER TALKING LIKE...wait...do I remember? Do those things change?

“Eh. It’s okay. I guess.” One guy said, shrugging his shoulders.

Alright. That one stung.

Did I mention that you have to remain absolutely silent during a workshop? Yup. You sit there and can’t explain a thing. You can’t say, “Well, that isn’t what I meant...” or “No, you just didn’t read it right.” They are true readers eyes and as a writer, you aren’t going to be there sitting next to them to correct them in their assumptions. This proves to be very hard. I mean, who’s fault is it if they don’t get ‘it?’ Certainly not---wait---oh yeah. It’s my fault. Ouch. That hurts :::slaps a band-aid on my ego::::

As painful as it might have been, I went at it again a few months ago. I took a class at private writing studio and this time the workshop was serious business. These six other people in my class were legit writers; two of whom already had agents, a couple who had finished manuscripts, others who were amazingly talented and yeah, well, me. This time, I knew what to expect from the actual process, but I was more nervous than I ever remember being in my life.

Twenty pages of my current project were workshopped and you know what? It wasn’t as painful as I remembered. In fact, it was pretty damn cool. Oodles of comments and thoughtful questions were presented to me to ponder over and while some of my favorite parts weren’t received as positively as I would have liked by the group, I learned something very important.

No one is going to love your words more than you do. No one.

The friend will give you some sound, helpful advice, but the stranger will give you the down-and dirty -truth. No room for hurt feelings or fragile egos. The safety of the ‘friend bubble’ gives way to potential disappointment when the ‘real’ readers get their eyes on your story. For me, I’d rather have a little practice at rejection before getting further into the process. Plus, hasn’t the statement, ‘learn from your mistakes’ been a valuable notion in our lives so far? I think so.

So, I’ll continue to workshop and have others view my work. My writers skin is getting thicker every time I do and that can only make me a stronger writer. That’s what it is all about, right?

On Writing, or In Which Ang Showcases Her Inner Emo Beast

2011-08-04T17:16:00.000-07:00

I exist in a conundrum of sorts. Or, actually, maybe I don’t. Maybe what I experience is painfully (and pathetically, perhaps) normal. Maybe I am just like every other human being out there who adores to express their thoughts through the written word.

I have no issue advising you that I am awesome with regard to … well … a lot of stuff. I work in Finance and kick ass at it. I am a damn good mom and wife. I rarely study and still manage to pull some pretty stellar grades in my university coursework. I am a good friend and listener. And I can sing - in fact, I miss being in a band terribly, but I know I don’t have time for it at this juncture in life.

Please note that I’m not saying that I’m the best at any of those things. I just know that I have no reason to be negative.

Only, see, there’s this one really important, crazy huge area of my life that I have an exceptionally difficult time being positive about.

One guess, readers?

Wow, HOWEVER DID YOU KNOW?

Yep. Writing.

I am constantly comparing my words to others’. It’s bad enough that sometimes, I don’t even realize I’m doing it. One very consistent thing about me, as a writer, are semi-regular fits of, “Good Lord, why am I even bothering with this, because I am a hot mess and not even good at it.” Also, I regularly insult my skills as an imagery creator. And when I say regularly I mean it - it probably happens once every few days. On top of all of this, I am my own worst critic in every possible way.

I’ve really given this some thought, and I’ve realized that never once has anyone told me, “Wow, you know... you kind of suck.” But for a long time now, a lot of what I write comes hand-in-hand with a preposterous amount of self-flagellation and emotastic musings about how I wish I was better at *fill in the blank*. How what I need to do is hang up this little “writer” costume and move on with my life, no matter that nothing is as soothing to me as putting words ‘to paper.’ Nothing is more enthralling. Also, let’s just forget that I’m 25000 words deep into a manuscript that includes a protagonist & supporting characters as well as storyline that I adore with my whole heart.

Self-doubt is a terrible thing and I haz it. And for a while, I wondered how to get rid of it.

And then I looked in the mirror.

OK, not really. I’m not that cool, or that self-reliant with regard to things such as this.

What happened was this: I had a gchat conversation with one of my fellow WBP gals in which she ripped into me in the best way possible, telling my psyche it needs to shut up, telling me that I have to believe in myself and stop letting my fear of lack of talent (did you follow that?) impede me from doing the actual work. She told me she loves me, but really, I needed to get over this because every single, microscopic speck of this ridiculous emo is unfounded and irrational.

And then she told me that she understands wholly, because she’d been there. That writing is intensely personal, and that really, your words are YOU in letter form, and I have to get past this because my words - myself, really - are worth the attention they will garner if only I will let them.

Talk about a double-sided assault. Love through aggression, maybe? Heh.

But really?

I’m pretty sure it’s worked.

Am I saying that anything she advised was new? No. I knew it all, deep down. But the fact remains that it needed to be brought to my attention, and this conversation placed it right in front of me, at my feet, wrapped in bright, neon stringed lights and screaming like the Howler Ron gets from his mom in Chamber of Secrets.

Translation: I paid attention to it this time. And I let the seed of trusting in my abilities plant itself in my mind.

And now, I’m making an active effort to be more positive about my writing. About me, as an author. I’m making an effort to remember that superb writers and human beings like Neil Gaiman still deal with self-doubt; the difference is simply that they push through and trust their instinct. I’m making a real effort to remember this blog, by Keirsten White, because it’s the truth.

And I’m posting about it here so that all of you, as well as my fellow WBP Ladies can hold me accountable to all of the above.

Can any of you relate?

My Friends Live in There + GIVEAWAY

2011-08-03T10:12:00.000-07:00

I love books.

I know, thank you Captain Obvious. But honestly, for the entirety of my life reading has been my favorite thing to do. I didn’t have a great home life growing up, and I didn’t have many friends until about middle school—and even then, I wasn’t able to hang out with them much outside of school.

Definitely had to brown bag this guy.

So I’d spend every single minute I could reading. In the summers I’d hole myself up in my AC-less bedroom, sweating my ass off and nearly suffocating, and just read. I didn’t have many new books, so I would just read the ever loving hell out of the ones I had. The Babysitter’s Club. The Witch of Blackbird Pond. The Anne of Green Gables books (which I read until the covers fell off. Damn, Gilbert Blythe, you are a smooth mother. And Kenneth? Oh, the swoons.) And eventually—thanks to my best friend and her older sister—a ridiculous amount of historical romance (for which I fashioned book covers out of brown paper bags so my stepmother wouldn’t freak out and give me The Talk).

Books have bettered my life in nearly every way. They’ve made me smarter, more self-aware, and given me a much broader understanding of life and the human condition and how to look at things from different perspectives than I ever would have gained from just living my boring life. I mean, I’ve time traveled. I’ve gone into space. Into the sea. I’ve fought wars. I fell in love a hundred times before I ever even knew how to talk to a boy. I’ve been to China and England and India and Alaska. I went to Hogwarts, guys. And Gondor. I babysat a crapload of kids and I definitely kissed Gilbert Blythe in the garden at Green Gables. A lot. I won’t speak of what I did on the pirate ship with that one shirtless Fabio-esque guy. Because that’s private.

Reading is what made me want to write. The stories I’ve read have inspired the stories I want to tell, and I am forever in debt to the hundreds of authors I’ve read for teaching me so much, for opening up worlds inside of me that would never have existed otherwise. For giving me friends when I had none, people who understood me when no one else in my real life did.

For giving me my own stories.

The thing is? I read too much. I read when I should be writing, because frankly it’s an addiction. And right now, I have way too many sitting there waiting for me to read. Or reread. They’re calling to me. Whispering my name. Putting on cookie-flavored perfume and dancing seductively.

It’s getting awkward.

So. I’m just going to give one of them away.

And guys, it kills me to do this. But I’m offering up my signed copy of Laini Taylor’s DAUGHTER OF SMOKE AND BONE. I’m so excited to give someone else the chance to read this BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN, UNIQUE, HEART STOPPING story. But I’m also sad because it means I won’t be able to read it again until September. SEPTEMBER.

*clings to Akiva*

All you need to do is comment before 11:59pm PST on AUGUST 10th and tell me what your all-time favorite book is and why. That’s all. I’ll choose the winner randomly and send ~~my boyfriend, Akiva~~ ~~my best friend, Karou~~ DAUGHTER OF SMOKE AND BONE to you.

Easy peasy.

Just… promise to take good care of my friends, okay? And come talk to me about them when you’re done.

Who We Are

2011-06-29T18:29:00.000-07:00

Six women. Six stories. Six stages in the process. One goal: to write. This blog will detail our trials and triumphs in the writing process as we hold hands and attempt to fill up that white blank page.

I am entirely too busy to be doing this, but that doesn't matter. You know why? Because I have to. This writing thing, it's ingrained in me. In all of us. It nags at me when I ignore it, it pours out of me when I let it. Thanks to the gals who are part of this blog, I have decided to let it do what it does, and that means making time for this blog, making time for writing. Because if I don't? Well, if I don't, I'm a hot, irritable mess, and I know precisely why.

I've attempted novel-writing before and failed. I always get 30K or so in and then it just dies. Fizzles out. Stops flowing. But this time is different. This time, I'm intensely intimidated by my own plot, but there aren't adequate words for how much I love these characters already, and they aren't even written out. Yet. This time, I am not going at this alone; I have my fellow White Blank Pagers. I have you, if you're bothering to read this.

And this time?

This time, I will finish. Not only because I want to, but because I have to.

Thanks for coming on this journey with me.

People in my head talk to me; they have all my life. Lately they’ve begun to scream and stomp and shimmy their hips against my brain and shake their maracas in my ears. I’m not crazy; I’m just a writer. Or I’m trying to be anyway. I’ve discovered in the last couple years that giving the people in my head a forum is not only a stress reliever but a creative outlet I’m not willing to give up now.

My biggest challenge so far as a(n aspiring) writer has been length and stick-to-it-ive-ness, which is to say I can bust out a short story like nobody’s business but lose steam or lack confidence with the longer stuff. I’ve had a great full-length novel idea for over a year now, and
I am scared to death of it. I want to write it, really I do, but I don’t feel ready.

So I have this other idea. And it’s loud and vibrant and totally approachable. I want to make it mix cds and draw it pictures and take it on dates to places with free wifi. I want to write it right now! I feel like I can, too. That’s what I’m working on. It’s a YA paranormal idea that will
(hopefully) be three books. If I don’t panic-flail and run away from it once the crush has turned into more serious commitment.

That’s where my lovely cohorts come in! They are going to make me accountable because
guilt is really the best motivator for me. These clever, talented women rooting for me are going to inspire me to find an extra 15 or 20 minutes to write on the days when I have no time to spare. I hope I can do the same for them. I hope this blog helps someone feel more okay with whichever stage they've reached in this insane process. Being a slightly overloaded student, it’s easy to allow myself to procrastinate, but I don’t want to anymore.

What I want is to be a writer.

I’m a thirthysomething year old wife and mother, a full time cubical dweller, and an aspiring author. Maybe I should amend that. I’m an author, I’m just aspiring to write something that will be seen by someone other than my cats. Not that they aren’t lovely and supportive, but... oh look, I’ve rambled. That’s probably going to happen again. Possibly in the next paragraph.

I’m currently in the early stages of writing my first MG/YA novel. And my second. And they aren’t a series; I just have trouble making decisions. But that’s all part of the process for me. The trial, the error, the repetition of the trial (and likely the error too). Writing makes me truly happy. It feeds my heart and makes me feel whole. I can hardly remember a time in my life when I didn’t write. I have brainstormed and played with countless ideas. I’m an amazing starter (if I do say so myself, and I do).

My downfall? I’m a terrible finisher. I get stuck on something and I throw my hands up, cursing the Gods (and various family members) for my tendency to give up so easily. But, I’m ready to do this. My characters have become my babies, and I can’t wait to write them the story they deserve.

Thankfully, I’ve got five other wonderful authors with me on the blog, and this journey. It is wonderful to have people that are willing to hold you hand, stroke your hair and kick your... procrastination bone. I’m ridiculously lucky to have them.

Welcome! We hope you enjoy!

My life has changed a lot in the past eight months. I've always written stuff down, composed bad poetry in black-paged journals with silver pens during my angsty teenage years, and tried to improve the way I put words together. For a few years I wrestled with a story I will one day make work, but just after Christmas 2010 everything went very strange. There I was, sometime between Christmas and NYE, feeling miserable and very sorry for myself because I had a wicked cold, and I had an idea. The Idea. A Young Adult novel (my other project was middle grade) popped right into my head. Of all the things I've learned as a writer, perhaps the strangest is that watching Hackers and all three Matrix movies in a row while eating your body weight in Doritos is a breeding ground for inspiration.

I took my idea and ran with it. The other White Blank Page Girls can attest to my frequent flails on twitter, and some of them (this being before the formation of this fabulous group) can even say they read the manuscript chapter by chapter, offering truly invaluable help and advice. In May, I wrote The End for the very first time on a novel, then turned right around and started to edit. When I had a book I was proud of, I began to query.

On the 23rd of June (yes there is a reason I remember this date so precisely, in fact there are two) I was sitting in one of the greatest concert halls in the world, waiting for my favorite band in the world come onstage. I include this as relevant because to an overwhelmingly large extent, my book is about music. I am a music nut. Anyway, my phone buzzed with the second email I got from a woman henceforth known as SuperAgent. The first had been the previous day, replying to my query and requesting a full manuscript. The second was an offer of representation, and I will tell you now that a rep offer is possibly the only way to improve on seeing Bright Eyes at the Royal Albert Hall.

So, here we are. SuperAgent and I are busy tidying up the manuscript before the submission process begins. I'll be contributing to WBP with news on how that's going and documenting the start-to-finish process of writing my next book. I'm beyond grateful to have my friends around me for all of this, and hope that I can not only learn from these fiercely talented writers in order to make the second book even better than the first, but also that I'll be able to help them when they get to this stage of the game. I know all of them will.

Minor boring details: I'm 31. I own a ridiculous dog. My music collection is frankly on the verge of embarrassing in size. I love chocolate and cocktails and hot weather.

Oh hello :)

I'm so excited to be part of this blog/project with these other amazingly talented ladies. Through conversations we all learned we are on the same path: Writing our first novel. We're all at different places, but the feelings are the same. It's why we wanted to share that with others, strength in numbers and all that.

And me? Me.

I live in Chicago (which is the best city on Earth) with my family of boys. I've been reading for as long as I can remember and according to my Mother, I was reading even before then. I read everyday. Sometimes I spend more time than I should reading. Occasionally, I'll read the entire day and tell my husband I had a headache when he wonders why I'm still in pajamas at six o'clock. (Oh shush. It's not like I'm the only woman to ever fake cramps so I can stay in bed and read.) In Junior High, I found Judy Blume and I knew from her words, I wanted to be a writer. To this day, I think 'Forever' by Judy Blume is the best YA novel ever written. Of course, I have many favorites now, but Ms. Blume does it best.

I've been writing since the sixth grade, but still can't bring myself to call me a 'writer.' I've told myself that when I'm actually writing for a 'living,' I'll call myself a writer. Logically I know that most writers will never earn enough to make a living at it, so I've recently amended that. I will wait to call myself a writer when a book is published. If this should not happen, I will only call myself a writer when A) I'm trying to top ex-classmates that didn't give me the time of day in high school or B) I can finally admit to myself that a writer isn't what I do, it's who I am. Really, that is what it comes down to. Writing makes me feel fulfilled and brings me happiness. When I neglect my current project, I feel 'off,' like something is missing. Writing and sharing words…It's just in me and I have to do it.

My current project is a Young Adult novel that I'm very excited about. The words are well on their way and I'm finding myself falling more and more in love with my characters every time I write them. It's an awesome feeling, revisiting the emotions connected with falling in love, but without the whole 'cheating-on-my-husband' aspect. See how wonderful writing can be? Well, at least for me it is. I guess that's why I'm here, ready to put it all out there for the world to see. Now, if you don't mind, I'll be hiding behind my couch as you watch things unfold.

I love words. I eat them up with spoons and forks and knives. I like the way they feel rolling around in my head, the shapes they make of my mouth and the way they taste on my tongue. I breathe them in; I bleed them out.

I love words for their power. How they can build or break, soothe or incite. You can do anything with a few well-chosen words. I hope to do something with the ones that are currently hovering on the tips of my fingers. I hope I can choose the right ones. I want to create a world people will love to get lost in.

I'm currently losing myself in the beginning stages of two different YA projects. One is a paranormal story that I've been tinkering with in my head for quite a few months. It's fun and different and something I'm enormously excited to write. The other is a kind of dark contemporary that pretty much makes me cry every few paragraphs. It is not something that will be fun to write by any means, but rather something I feel compelled to write. Which is exciting in its own way.

I know I'll have to commit to one or the other soon, and I think I know which it will be, but for now I'm enjoying the excitement of all the possibilities they represent. So much hope wrapped up in every single word I've written and plan to write for these characters.

But hope can be a heavy sort of thing. With hope comes fear, and with fear comes doubt and with doubt comes inertia. I have been inert for awhile. But with my fellow WBPers, I have found a support system that tells me whatever I might be feeling right now, I am not alone. There are five other women who know exactly what I'm going through, and I've found a wealth of encouragement and commiseration and ass kicking that has helped me push past the doubt and hold onto the hope.

I hope this blog can serve the same purpose for anyone else who might be reading. I know it will be an incredible accountability and support tool for me, but I hope somewhere along the way it can help someone else just starting out feel less alone.