Written on Friday, April 25, 2008 by haleigh
I'd like everyone to take a close look at the progress bar to the right. Then click on Christie's blog and take a look at her progress bar.
That's right......I'm ahead of Christie.
I know it won't last, but right now I'm so proud I can't even stand it. Marnee - you're still in the lead, but watch out!
So I read on all these blogs and read such wonderful authors and they're all pansters. It's very rare I come across another plotter.
And pansters always describe it in such romantic, literary terms. They get to watch a story unfold, they get to be surprised, they can let their characters grow and change!
I'm jealous of all this, I must say. So for the past few weeks, I've been working hard not to plot ahead. To just write, and let my characters follow their whim and take me where they will.
I wrote nothing.
Scratch that. I wrote a very odd scene where the hero pulls a gun out of his waistband and shoves it against the heroine's head.
Uh, not quite how I'd imagined their relationship developing.
So yesterday, I gave my students their second exam, which means I sit for an hour and a half and twiddle my thumbs, while watching for anything that might appear like cheating. And during this time, I decided to give in and plot. I had a legal pad and a pen and started writing. I filled four pages, with motivations and developments of all my main characters, including the bad guy who is working behind the scenes. I found ways out of all these out of sticky situations I'd been mired in. I even drew a little chart that used solid lines to connect my plot and dotted lines to connect my themes.
And I got home and started writing and was able to crack out 4,000 words in two evenings.
So, much to my efforts to the contrary, looks like I will remain a plotter.
Anyone else a plotter wishing they were a panster? Or a panster wishing they could plot?
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writing
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Written on Sunday, April 20, 2008 by haleigh
Today, for the first time in over two weeks, I was actually able to write something that was mildly legible! Woohoo! All I managed to write was sex, but hey, that's still writing. Right?
* * * * * * * *
Shae opened the fridge and bent to grab beer bottles from the bottom shelf. The temptation to grab her from behind, push her up against the counter was overpowering. Bury himself inside that sweet body she’d been tempting him with all day and forget everything except her.
She bent farther to push aside the leftover’s from Maura’s lasagna to reach the beer. Without thinking, he stepped up behind her and rested a hand on the back waistband of her jeans.
She gasped and straightened, swung around to stare at him with wide eyes. He didn’t give her time to react or object. He grabbed her around the waist with both hands, pulled her body flush against his own, and took her mouth with his. His tongue slid into the sweet honey of her mouth and everything else ceased to matter.
He could feel the tension draining out of her body, as if she wanted to fight him but couldn’t keep up the ability to do so. Her body softened, sank into his. That was it. He slid his hands lower, to her hips, and pulled her against him. She was so soft, so warm. And that ass. All day he’d found his eyes drifting there and now...he ran his hands around to grab it, lifted her. Walking her backward, he lifted her onto the kitchen counter, stepped between her open thighs.
She moaned and pulled him closer, her fingers closing around his upper arms. She was kissing him back now, her tongue sliding against his. Christ. The intensity of his desire for her blew his mind. It was just like that morning, all he could focus on was the thought of stripping her down, spreading her legs, settling himself right there.
Her legs wound around his waist, pulled him against her, so tight that his cock was pushed against her center, so tight he could feel her heat through her jeans.
“Christ, Shae.” He dropped his mouth to her neck, her throat, raised a hand to cup her breast through her shirt. Nothing was sticking in his mind - there were fragments of thoughts about condoms and consent, but he couldn’t focus on anything except her breast, her lips.. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” Her voice was husky, her breath coming in gasps. Her fingers found the waistband of his jeans and popped the button.
A loose thought about condoms was still in his mind, but he couldn’t keep his attention there long enough to remember where he had put them. There was a pack somewhere. Bathroom? Bedroom? She pulled his zipper down, her fingertips brushing against his cock. Christ. Why weren't they in the kitchen?
“Come on.” He got his hands under her ass, pulled her off the counter, and carried her toward the bedroom. Her arms were around his neck and she was still kissing him. He caught his hip on the edge of the recliner, spun, kept walking. The feel of her mouth, her tongue...
He pushed her up against the wall between the bathroom and bedroom doors. Where the fuck had he left the condoms? Her hands were busy, pulling his shirt up, trying to get it out of the way. Then she got her own shirt off.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
He yanked down on one bra cup, enough to get access. “Condoms.”
“Under the sink.”
When he dragged his gaze from her breasts to her face, she was grinning, an impish, mischievous smile. “Glad I’m so curious now?”
* * * * * * * * *
Hopefully I can keep up the progress, though that's not a sure thing. Christie, Marnee - how are you guys doing? Anybody else break through this week?
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excerpts
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Written on Wednesday, April 09, 2008 by haleigh
So who is making progress in this race of ours? Because I know it's not me! I got stuck somewhere around Sunday. I sat, staring at my computer, for five hours. In that time, I managed to flip through 800 channels, buy stuff I don't need online, and write exactly one paragraph.
I feel like giving myself a big thumbs down.
So while on this hiatus from any productive form of writing, I decided to take up my husband's hobby of watching TV. There are a couple shows I love, though I rarely end up sitting down to watch. Bones is one of them, and I watched a re-run from season one.
So Agent Booth (otherwise known as David Boreanaz, or Angel, or soooo hot) is stymied on an investigation. And he turns to Bones and says "I'm getting no where on this case. Usually by now I have a sense of the victim. I know what she likes, what motivates her, what she was thinking. I can't figure out who killed her if I don't know her."
(or he said something similar to that...)
Not that I want to compare my heroine to a murder victim, but it made sense. If I don't know her, more specifically if I don't know what motivates her, I have no idea how she would react in the situation I've shoved her into.
Hence: I'm stuck.
So I spent last night trying to get to know this girl. I've been having this sinking suspicion for the past few weeks that she's really a huge bitch. Turns out I was right. There are things about her that I don't like. I'm already finding myself trying to think of ways to redeem her by the end. I've been trying to convince her to act in a more responsible manner, be a bit nicer, be a bit less selfish. She disappeared and I've written a grand total of 500 words in a week.
So....here comes the bitch. I'm letting her out to play. She wants to save her job, and she has every intention of doing whatever that takes. Even if it means lying to the one man trying to help her, hiding evidence he needs for his investigation, and (inadvertently) putting innocent lives on the line.
Maybe she'll redeem herself, maybe I'll still want to punch her in the jaw in the end. I guess we'll see.
Anybody else have a character they can't control? I feel like I'm trying to discipline a two year old or a small puppy. I put one hand on my hip, point the other to her nose, and say "Young lady, you will start following orders and stop caring so much about your damn job."
She wrinkles up said nose, flips her hair, and next time I see her, she's dancing with some strange guy at Eugene's (or whatever they're calling that club nowadays).
Christie, Marnee Jo, anybody else....how are you guys coming? Christie, I noticed you took down your word counter. Don't make me waggle my finger in front of your nose too! How are you coming?
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writing
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