The weirdest way to usher in 2014

Christmas break has stretched long this year. We get a month off every winter, and during those weeks, I tend to get restless. Away from campus, I don't know what to do with myself. 

To give me something to do aside from marathoning British TV and talking to the cat, Joe told me to write a story. I figured I'd share it on here. It's turned out wonderfully weird. 

My instructions: I was to include an awe-inspiring and manly hero, a flying battle cat, and a dragon who consumes souls. I added some fire-breathing gerbils, a strategic reference to Doctor Who, and a princess turning to diamond. 

Magnus Morrow and the Battle Cat

Chapter One 

Magnus Morrow was surprised to discover, one gray Tuesday afternoon, that he owned a talking book named Felix, which had been a birthday present from his great-aunt Sylvia, and which, as it turned out, could tell the future--and this future included princesses, Wellington boots, and a rather foolish vicar named Stew. 

The discovery came about quite suddenly, just as he was sitting down to tea. 

"Jammie dodgers," sighed a voice to his left. "I hate jammie dodger days." 

Being a wizard of some repute (as well as a part-time professor of geometric patterns at the local university), Magnus was used to unexpected voices issuing from unexpected places in his house; nevertheless, he did jump slightly, and clutched the plate of cakes, his glasses shuddering on his nose. 

Scowling at the teapot, he set the plate on the table and said, rather rudely, "I don't see how you have anything to complain about. I've used a bag instead of tea leaves this time, so you don't go getting mucky--you complained so much when Mrs. Letherby was here to tea." 

"Not him!" the voice spoke up again, this time a little scornful. "I'm down here!"

Magnus looked. To his left was a three-legged tea table, one leg of which was broken and propped up on three or four very old, very dusty books. It was from the top one, a handsome leather tome with gold leaf, that the voice appeared to be issuing. 

"Oh, I beg your pardon," Magnus said courteously. "I'm sorry I was rude."

"It's all very well," the book sighed. "Most people get tetchy when their belongings talk to them at tea-time. Those cakes do look good, though. I miss having a mouth."

"I don't suppose," asked Magnus, "I could hand one down and put it on your cover?" 

"Oh, go on then," the book said pleasantly, "but quickly--I'm here on business."

Magnus swiftly transferred a raspberry cake onto the red leather surface, where it remained for a moment before there was a sucking noise a bit like a vacuum, and the cake vanished. The book heaved a happy sigh. 

"Right-o," it said. "I wouldn't have spoken up, normally, but as I said, it happens I'm here on business. It would be best if you read me at once. I have an urgent message from the princess."

Girls with Gumption

As I've been rewriting TDS, I've been taking stock of my female characters. I'm pleased that, to a large degree, they're different people and don't fall into any sort of stereotype. Because girls are not stereotypical.

Erin, I think, is certainly not a typical heroine. While posting my first draft on Figment, I was pretty pleasantly surprised by readers' reactions to her. Honestly, I wondered if I should expect complaints along the lines of "she's not strong enough" or "she's too vulnerable". But overall, people seemed to like dipping into the mind of an atypical heroine, who, I believe, is a pretty normal girl.

This led me to a question--where are the feminine heroines? 

The standard YA heroine now (though I'm not sure I can classify TDS as YA, as it deals with a much older protagonist) is independent, aggressive, and confident. She needs no one. She's a Katniss, an Arya, an Alianne. She knows what she wants and is fearless about getting it.

And that is great. We need girls like that, because books should be about real characters. We need to show girls who can be leaders, who are tough and gutsy. However, not all girls are that. We can't embrace only this kind of heroine and say to girls, "This is what you must be to be a woman".

Why can't girls be real and brave and feminine all at the same time? Do we equate being womanly with being weak? A writer friend made the comment to me some months ago: "[A heroine] can wear a dress, but she can't enjoy it". She can lead a kingdom, but she can't yearn for a king at her side.

I know all sorts of girls--loud girls and quiet girls, girls who wear sweatpants and girls who prefer summer dresses but feel at home at a table of ten boys.

Shouldn't our heroines be like that?

They should be real girls--funny and girly and confused and vulnerable and hopeful and brave.

After January

This year, speeding up to This Month.

I remember the delicious free time of Last Year, when senioritis relaxed me, soothed me. I had gotten into college, after all. Work was pointless. I had much better write.

I did, and finished The Default Sweater in May. That was a gem of a day, what with triumphant story endings and new jobs and wonderful new beginnings and endings all rolled into one.

Then came summer, and I drifted away from my computer, moving across an ocean. That was all right, because after all, I had finished the story. It was time to let it sit and mellow before tackling it again come fall.

Fall did come, and it was exhilarating. It bowled me over with the power of a fist. Still, I didn't come back to write.

I would, I said, over Christmas break. But Christmas break was lonely and restless.

Now, January is gone.

It's a relief. I feel a little tired, a little pale and sick, exhausted from picking up pieces of paper and assignments and broken glass, and now I think, I'll write.

Soon.

December Musings

Allow me a moment.

IT'S THE END OF THE SEMESTER.

Unbelievable. I've made it to winter break, and my days were full to the last minute. After trekking up the icy hill to my Friday morning-final (ahhh, Steubie, how I love you), I spent the next few hours gathering luggage, cleaning, and bidding farewell. It's hard to believe how the semester seems simultaneously to have flown.....

....and yet gone soooo slooooowly.

I hopped on a plane in Pittsburgh and by 7:00 was happy in the 60-degree weather of North Carolina.

Luxuriously, I took the weekend to adjust, recover from finals (that is, come down from my caffeine high), and (ahhhh!) sleep in. Then Monday arrived, and I grew restless.....

I puttered around. Made breakfast and wrestled our all-too-frisky kitten. Leafed through my class notes. Skyped with a friend. Having nothing to do felt weirder than weird.  

And at last, I found myself turning my computer on, clicking through my documents. Opening one. And writing until I had five rough chapters.

Writing for the first time in months was awesome. Words flowed, for a while. Then my old routine set in: cudgeling my brains, frowning at the computer. But even the frustration felt good. 

The piece I worked on is not one of my figment pieces; it's a novella I've had stashed away for several months. I don't know that it will be going on figment at any point. Right now, it's very personal, a foray into a new genre and a completely new style of writing that I'm not quite ready to share. However, I've also been working on my second draft of Default Sweater and wrestling a bit with Lilla and the Tower. I hit a tough spot with Lilla over the semester, where words weren't coming and the storyline felt tangled. My goal with the story was to go for a simpler writing style and short chapters, fairy tale-like, but I've found that even simple writing isn't always simple to write. Schoolwork caught up, and I took a break that stretched from days to months.

My goal for winter break (up 'til January 13) is to write at least ten chapters of Lilla. I will most likely be working on multiple things on the side--hopefully TDS will be back up soon, with some edits. I also have big plans for the sequel, as I keep promising! As of now, I have a storyline mapped out and am scribbling down ideas whenever they pop into my head. It's taking on a very fun tone and I'm dying to start. In planning, I'm amused at how much seems to be coming from the real world--real experiences, conversations, and people. With TDS, there were a few moments I included from my own life, like Erin's story of Gangster Day, or Willow House, which was inspired by my memories of Lake Messalonskee. Generally, though, I try to steer clear of "writing myself" into a story. I don't want to be writing an autobiography, and in this case, I really can't, since I'm much younger than Erin and don't quite obsess over first kisses (though she and I are fans of the same movies). Aside from a few things, Erin came purely from my imagination.

The sequel, though, seems to demand more. Because the protagonist is someone who, unlike Erin, has had a lot of experience with boys, stories, both from my own life and from others' lives, creep in. Midnight conversations with friends lead to musings about plot and character. New acquaintances contribute observations. The chivalry and kindness of boys on campus (as well as their boyish craziness) inspires me as I dive into writing another romance.

It's very fun. :)

Aside from this all, I'm missing college immensely. I know, I'm a freak. As pleasant it is not to have class.....and how fantastic it is not to be eating cafeteria food....

.....I'm missing stuff like this:



And this....

*Sigh* So I'm out. With lots and lotsa free time. Keeping my fingers crossed that it turns into lots of writing time.

Merry Christmas to all you lovely people, Happy Holidays, and have a lovely vacation. I think we all deserve it, don't you? :)

Poking Writer's Block in the Eye

In the midst of an attack of writer's block so bad I want to throw a brick at the wall, I've stumbled across an article I wrote last semester for my school newspaper. This part made me smile:

And so, as the realization of only one final week of school blazed through, the first natural thought I had was, Free time! For writing! I love the thought of having time to sit and crank out a new chapter, and if writer's block hits, there's always chocolate, so I'm quite prepared to battle it out.

It's funny, now that I think on it. I've craved relaxation and time to lie back on my couch and stare at the ceiling, and writing definitely won't bring me this. Sitting down to write a chapter--a measly two thousand words--can turn into an entire afternoon, my neck cramping as I stare at the computer screen and choke out sentence by sentence. I get up, pace in circles, stomp until my neighbors complain, or go read Jane Eyre for the hundredth time.

Rarely, very rarely, I feel myself nod and sigh as I type a sentence, and I know that that moment is one I'll never have to change. It's really just all a muddle there in my head; it takes shaping and sweat to pull it out and polish it. Sometimes, I get up and cheer. It's silly, but I do it, and then I feel so electrified as to put on a superhero cape and save the world.


This is nice for me to look back on when I'm sweating and biting my tongue until it hurts, when everything I write turns to mush, when writing a paragraph is as painful as pulling teeth, when chocolate won't sway my creative juices, when I find I've been sitting at my computer for an hour and have done nothing but play solitaire, when I can't stand the story I used to be so excited to write, when there just isn't an available brick to throw. Remembering that nod and sigh when something flows through my cramped, unwilling fingers makes me smile, and I wonder, a little, if that one triumph isn't worth every moment of frustration.

My Secret Collection

I have a document on my computer called "Stash". Just like with candy, or my mother's odd obsession with cookbooks, or my stepmother with her grocery coupons, I have a delicious secret stash all to myself of words.

So often when I read, I get excited when I read certain things. They're the kind of phrases that make me twitch with excitement, that just hit me in exactly the right place. So much so that I have to, of course, write them down. It's the most fun when I find them in old stories I'm no longer working on; I just copy and paste the line, or phrase, or paragraph, that I like and squirrel it away for another story. More often, I find them in already published works or on figment. I'm so impressed by other authors, how beautifully they craft their words. Some of my favorite authors ever include Shannon Hale, whose lyrical descriptions capture an element of truth that always leaves me stunned, Gail Carson Levine, one of those authors who has made me fall in love with every one of her heroes, Roald Dahl, who was so witty and clever with words (albeit a tad creepy), and Chaim Potok, who does such a wonderful job of capturing characters that I name mine after his, apparently, without even thinking about it.

Recently, I submitted to peer pressure and finally read The Hunger Games. I read the first two in two sit-in sessions at an independent bookstore over the holidays, and the third one several weeks later. I had a hard time with these books. As I was reading them, I was asking myself constantly whether I wanted to read a story containing so much violence. I'm the kind of person who listens to Owl City, likes sunshine, and enjoys a good comedy. Happy stuff. I wasn't sure I wanted to read books that center around gladiatorial games. Squeamish, much? But true.

The result? I was completely swept away by Suzanne Collins' language. I read the second and third books of the trilogy twice in two weeks. Literally, I read #2, #3, then #2 again, and #3 again. The second time through, I sat with a pad of paper beside me, copying out bits and pieces I liked. Purely for my "stash". I admire other writers so much and can see in comparison how much refining my own writing needs. I love learning from people like Shannon Hale and Suzanne Collins and the hundreds of talented writers on figment and beyond.

Here are some excerpts from my "stash" of writing. Sometimes I have no idea why I like what I write down. Every now and then I can place my finger on it. Sometimes it's something as simple as, "I like this because it's so succinct, it stunned me." Sometimes I just am surprised at the chord it strikes with me. The stash is drawn from blogs, books, trashed writings of my own, songs, and from my friends and teachers. Enjoy!

Suddenly he's sitting up, eyes wide in alarm, short of breath. "Katniss!" He whips his head toward me but doesn't seem to notice my bow, my waiting arrow. "Katniss! Get out of here!"
~Mockingjay, by Suzanne Collins

There's a raw innocent purity among the trees, I can feel it.
~Adam Young

I already know he can laugh.
~An earlier draft of The Hearthsinger. My, aren't I shameless? Pulling quotes from my own book.

"I had some ham for breakfast. I do not get ham much, what with pigs such dirty beasts and not on the property." His gaze wandered.
Jane tried to think of some appropriate response to that. She came up with, "Hooray for ham!"
"Yes, lovely," said Aunt Saffronia.
~Austenland, by Shannon Hale

The children in the library, poring over yellowed textbooks on topics like flower pollenating and building proper bee boxes, looked up from their books and thought the same thing.
Hedda Sparling must be reading love letters.
~Boys and Bees, by Kimberly Karalius

You taught me language, and my profit on't is, I know how to curse.
~Caliban, The Tempest. William Shakespeare

"Natalie," he says. Quietly, like I've just handed him a delicate flower.
~Nattie and Finn, by Anande Sjoeden

I don't like that smile, so sad it's barely a smile at all.
~Ever, by Gail Carson Levine


By writing down snippets that really speak to me, I only want to be able to read them and understand what it is about it that I like, so I can learn to write what I like.

Writing Around Writer's Block

These past few months have been tough. I feel like schoolwork has punched me in the gut, tied me up, and rolled me in front of an eighteen-wheeler. Now, back from Christmas break, I have something amazing plunked right in front of me.

"'Free time'? What is this 'free time'?"

That's pretty much how I feel. The last few days, I've barely moved from my computer, which is a shame, because Texas has suddenly gotten a burst of beautifully sunny weather, and I'm missing out.

But I've been writing, which is awesome.

I finally managed to crank out Chapter Twelve in TDS. I've been really frustrated with it lately. I feel almost like it's turned into a series of events, like Alice wandering around in Wonderland. Now she meets the caterpillar. Now she goes to a random tea party and they talk about silly things. I didn't want my story to turn into a predictable romantic comedy via Valentine's Day, and I worried that that's exactly what it was doing.

As a distraction on the side, I'm challenging myself with Lilla & the Tower, which has been enormously fun to write, and very good for me, since I'm a) foraying into the whimsical and the fairy tale with a retelling of Cinderella, and b) not doing a chapter mapout. With Hearthsinger and TDS, I sat down and wrote out exactly what would happen in however many chapters. I do give myself room to move. Chapter Eight in TDS, for example, where Danny brings Erin to help with birthday celebrations, was not in my original draft, but once I started writing it, I definitely felt like there had to more than just 'Erin goes to give Danny his library card, and they wander around and talk'. That, coincidentally, was another very difficult chapter to write. Writing is kind of like gambling. It's lovely, and very rare, that I can sit down and crank out two thousand words in one sitting. More often, I have to write, check my word count, check my chapter map, encourage myself with chocolate, go running, get up to smell the Christmas tree, make a cup of tea, or take a shower. In the case of Chapter Eight, or the last two chapters I've written, Eleven and Twelve, I had to write a draft, print it out, mark it up in red ink, trash most of it, and rewrite.

Anyway. Lilla. With Lilla, I had one of those wonderful moments where I just sat down and started writing the first chapter out by hand because I didn't even make it to a keyboard. I'm having so much fun with it, because unlike any of my other projects, in which a single chapter can take me a couple days to write, each of Lilla's chapters are only about a thousand words. I'm challenging myself not to map chapters out. Stay strong, Savannah!

My chapter mapping usually looks like this:

Six:
Start with some reflections. Erin is thinking as they walk through London. The party: Erin, Jenny, Emily, Roxanne, Allison, Kathryn. It’s apparent that Allison and Roxanne don’t always see eye to eye. Erin gets separated from the others and, frustrated, sits down on a bench, wishing she had a working phone. She starts talking to Danny, and they talk so long that he finally asks, tentatively, if she would like to come have dinner with him. Erin confesses she’s actually lost, and he helps her call home and gives her money for a train. “I haven’t actually got a car. I’ve got a bicycle.”

There are both pros and cons to this. It's something that works very well for me, and helps me construct the pacing, so that I'm not dumping information on readers or rushing through an important section. It also sets some constraints on me that makes it difficult for me to stray from the original outline when need be. So Lilla is an experiment. I felt like, unlike with a really involved storyline like TDS, Lilla would do better if I just felt my way through it. At the end of each chapter, I sit and stare vaguely at my computer screen, and decide what's needed in the next chapter.

I'm guessing this is working well for me with a simpler story with shorter chapters. But we'll see. Either way, I'm having fun.

One pro, though, to doing my chapter progression, is when I'm stuck with writer's block. I've been so annoyed with TDS lately, I feel like everything I write falls flat. I think I was mostly just grumpy. Today, I went back to my chapter progression to write a note for myself, and I got to looking through the chapters coming up in parts two and three. It reminded me how excited I am to write this story, and how much fun it's going to be, and how much I like the characters and the little moments I have in mind and a lot of mushy gushy stuff that only writers understand. (Right?) I'm standing here in front a semester of nothing but college applications and half-days of school, and I have this wild hope that Default Sweater might be finished by the time summer rolls around. We'll see about that.

I should have another chapter posted tonight or tomorrow, and then I've really got to get to unpacking. Really. It's shameful that I've let myself go like this, just to sit at a computer for two days and write about a girl and her sweater. :)

Just Some Updates

With the sun setting at 6:00 pm, I'm so tired I could curl into bed right after dinner. So I'll keep the post short for today and just give anyone who checks in a heads up on what I'm plotting lately.

The Hearthsinger
I got a call today from the magnificent mother of a friend of mine, who offered to help set up recording sessions for The Hearthsinger throughout January. Keep your fingers crossed for me! I am so so excited to finally get the main parts cast. A beautiful friend of mine named Claire has agreed to read Mari for me, and I promised to bake her as many cookies as possible. It'll be worth it. She has a beautiful speaking voice and a perfect one for Mari. I'm going through a heavy editing phase right now, but I'm aiming to get things done by early December. And hopefully I'll be posting more chapters soon!

The Default Sweater
Erin got mentioned in the Figment newsletter this week, and I'm so happy for her! Very excited to make editor's choice, and hopefully I'll be getting a couple more chapters posted over Thanksgiving break!

Both Hearthsinger and TDS have gotten new covers, and they are gorgeous! Thank you to Carolyn Fisher for her work on The Hearthsinger.

Other than that, all's quiet on the home front. Man. I love vacations.

Songs for Erin

I mentioned yesterday that the Gumption score is on my playlist for Default Sweater. Here's more of the playlist that I'm starting to turn on whenever I sit down to write another chapter about Erin. Which is coming soon. I promise.

Lonely Lullaby, Owl City
Colgando en Tus Manos ("Hanging in your hands"), Carlos Baute and Marta Sanchez
All About Us, He is We and Owl City
Fever, Michael Buble
Spontaneous Me, Lindsey Sterling
What If, Colbie Caillait
I've Got the World On a String, Frank Sinatra
October Road, James Taylor
Lose Control, Maria Mena
The Bird and the Worm, Owl City
Hamburg Hinter Uns ("Hamburg Behind Us") , Revolverheld
So She Dances, Josh Groban
A Thousand Miles, Vanessa Carlton
Rhythm of Love, Plain White T's
Sunburn, Owl City
Ich Bin Ich, Rosenstolz
I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow, from O Brother, Where Art Thou?
Love Song, Sara Bareilles
Both Sides Now, Joanie Mitchell
She's Funny That Way, Frank Sinatra
J'aime a Nouveau, ZAZ
I Won't Say (I'm in Love), from Hercules
Layla (acoustic version), Eric Clapton
Monday Morning, Melanie Fiona
When the Stars Go Blue, The Corrs
Missing You, Allison Kraus
I Can Love You Better, The Dixie Chicks
Lazy Days, Enya
Gumption, from The Holiday

Out of my Comfort Zone

My strongest instincts in writing have always always been toward fantasy. I'm terribly lazy about doing research for stories, so historical fiction is off-limits unless I get my head in the game, and I've always shied away from modern stories. Writing is a kind of escape from the real world, and especially in this last crazy year of school, when my life is full of math problems and college applications and computer programs, there's nothing I want more than to leave that behind. Not to say that my life is unpleasant--just busy!

I've always been drawn to write fantasy. The whole idea of creating another, new world is irrestible.

But suddenly, there is The Default Sweater. 

Writing a modern novel is freeing in a completely different way that writing a fantasy is. Writing fantasy can be exhausting; you have to constantly invent, because you're creating a completely new world. In a modern novel, however, the world is around you, there to draw on. It's a wonderful break sometimes when I need a rest from Hearthsinger, a fantastic cure to writer's block. I might not be working on my main project, but at least it's keeping me at the keyboard/notebook occasionally.

Sometimes, stories emerge in your head fully formed. Just as with the title for this one, Erin marched through my mind one day, found a comfortable corner, and set up shop. I really enjoy writing her.I'll be posting more as soon as I can! Just now I'm really enjoying putting it on Figment, but I'm tentative to post more than the first three or four chapters. And still, Hearthsinger is my priority, especially with my secret project coming up in the spring (more on that later!).

I'll be posting more about the inspiration for Sweater in another post, and you can hear all about the sweaters that I have and kissing and all the chocolate chips on top. Do I end these posts with mentions of food too often? It must be that it's autumn. I haven't baked a thing yet.

The Hearthsinger

When I talk about writing, The Hearthsinger is always first on my list. The main character, Mari, is so unlike me in so many ways, but I love writing her story. If it were real, I hope she'd be friends with me. I would want to be friends with her.

And although Hearthsinger is my cherished, long-preserved, first-completed novel, it is definitely the most difficult to write. Eighteen months and seven (or eight) drafts after the idea first hit me, I know that this story will still be with me for a long time, in my head and my computer. But I can't help but feel that it's a labor of love, and that one day when I see it finished, the memory of labor pains will have faded and I'll still be smitten with it.

The plotline came to me a year and a half ago, possibly brought on by sleep loss, and it's steadily consumed my life. I was sixteen and volunteering for two weeks at a bakery, helping them out during the cramp of Easter bunny baking. That was fun, but it meant getting up at four in the morning and working from five to eleven. I mixed the ingredients, worked the frighteningly large mixing machine, kneaded the dough into loaves, greased pans, and yanked bread in and out of the eighteen-by-eleven-foot oven. Somewhere in the midst of all that, probably around 6:30 a.m., while I sleepily stared at the forty pound mixer arm walloping dough around its metal tub, a story moment touched me. I risked leaving the mixer without supervision to run to the front and scribble my first few lines on the back of a baking advertisement. For the rest of that day, I willed the bakery clock to tick forward onto the eleven so that I could go home and write.

After several (or eight) drafts and a trip to Germany, the storyline smoothed out:

The forest has always been Mari's forest, in the war-torn kingdom of Isar. As a child, she wanders there with her nurse, hearing stories, singing songs, and at last, learning the secret to hearing what the trees sing in return. And her parents' disapproval can't change what she hears, not during the long years of the war, not even when Mari is home and loneliest.
Soon, though, she is sent to the south, to a place completely unfamiliar, to marry an enemy boy. But Montren turns out curious about the forest songs and eager to learn more, and it sets a glow going in Mari that can't be put out. When mercenary attacks send Montren to the king and Mari learns of a threat on both their lives, the question is not whether or how to ride to the captured city: it is how to find him and warn him of the danger, before she herself is overtaken.

That's all I'm giving away! The first chapter can be read on my account on Figment. Please enjoy and (gasp!) critique your little hearts out, if that's what you're feeling.

My trip to Germany provided enormous inspiration for Hearthsinger. Everything from food to trees became an "Oh!" moment for me, a moment where everything stops while Savannah rushes to write down an observation. The long walks in the woods were the best. Our house was just down the road from a forested mountain, surrounded by cows and cornfields and, in the summer, big, glistening, slugs. But the slugs only added to the adventure, and I always emerged from my walks feeling starry-eyed. I wrote and rewrote my chapter sequence and plot summary (I have to write that way, otherwise my story flow becomes either excrutiatingly slow or queasily fast), and felt whisked away by the magic of that stolen half-year. But that's another story. Germany became the backdrop for Hearthsinger, until I couldn't imagine Mari anywhere else. It was unbearably lovely.