Slow and Steady...Or Just Make a Run For It

I've considered myself a slow and steady writer for a long time. I wrote my novella for class by writing about a page a day. The longest work I had written prior to a week ago, at 28,000 words, I wrote over about four years. It kept slowly growing as I thought of a new plot idea and went back to it.

In this post I made a goal of writing 750 words a day, with the ultimate goal being finishing the first draft of my WIP by the time I went back to school in September.

I finished the first draft yesterday.

Me, the slow and steady writer who thought 750 words a day was accessible but probably around my max, started coming home from work and writing 1,000 words, then 2,000 words a day, then 3,000. Between Thursday and yesterday I wrote 20,000 words. And then, to my shock, I was done.

And not only was it my first draft, it was my first draft ever of a novel length work. Even if it is absolutely no good, that was a huge step for me.

It has a lot of revising that needs to be done, because I decided to just get it all out on the page and then figure it out from there - but I'm very eager to start it. And throughout this process I've thought of several topics I want to blog about, but I was too caught up with all the writing! So be on the lookout for them.

I think that writing this so quickly is definitely the thing that has shocked me most in my writing journey (which began when I was five!), so what's the most shocking part of yours? Seriously, I want to know!

Rome - erm, Books - Wasn't Built in a Day

So there's that old adage, Rome wasn't build in a day. Well, neither are books.

Unless you're superhuman, or can somehow keep your fingers typing for 24 straight hours (and even then I'm not so sure it's possible), you can't write a novel in a day. In the midst of my WIP, there are days I wish that it was just done - that today I could just sit down and finish it (even though it's only halfway done). Not because I'm not loving writing it, but because I want to see it all put together, then tear it apart and make it better.

But here is what I realized - it's a really REALLY good thing I can't write it all in a day.

How many times already have I come up with a scene idea while walking to the bus stop, or reading something at work, or hearing a song? A LOT, in case you were wondering.

While the fundamental idea for my novel has stayed the same, the little bits and pieces that (hopefully) will make it come alive and seem real aren't things I could have come up with writing the whole thing in one sitting.

I have a list of all the major things that are happening between where I am now and the end, and some of those scenes are even somewhat written because they wouldn't leave me alone. I also have sticky notes of various ideas pulled from those life moments that I was just mentioning, followed by lots of question marks. Because there's still so much to be written, and I'm glad there are a lot of days to live between now and when it's done.

Rome wasn't build in a day. My opinion? Embrace it.

So, I'm curious - what are some of the ideas you've come up with when you weren't actually writing? Are there times you wish you could speed up the initial process, or do you enjoy it?

Fun Fact Friday!

I have lots of fun facts for you today!

1. Zimbabwe's Hwange National Park is the size of Conneticut. Um... whoa
2. Russia comprises 11% of the earth's land area. Again, whaaat?
3. I passed the 20,000 word mark in my WIP, All For You!
4. This is the latest song I've added to my All For You playlist... and it just never gets old
5. I currently have four other title ideas for All For You...

HAPPY FRIDAY!

Go Time

I've wanted to be a writer since I was five years old, but much of what I wrote between now and then were short stories or three pages of randomness or really awful yet therapeutic poems. And for all those years I craved to be writing something that I could not wait to sit down and work on every day. Even though I was always writing I just didn't have that one idea - that one project I couldn't stop working on.

The real problem? I just never had an idea with enough meat to it. I wrote random things because there wasn't one thing I actually could devote all of my attention to.

Until now. Probably nearly two months ago now I got this idea, and I don't know where it came from. I only know that it does have enough meat to be novel length and that I can't stop writing it.

Yesterday was my birthday, and it was a wonderful day. Everyone at work was incredibly nice, all of the people I loved contacted me, the Rangers won on a pinch hit triple with two outs in the ninth. And still when I went to bed at 1AM because I had to get up for work in 6.5 hours, I was disappointed because with all the birthday craziness I hadn't had time to write.

I don't know if this book will be good, or if it will get published. I can only make it the best I can and hope. But last night I realized that, if I was in any doubt before, I will finish this book. This is something I spend my day craving to write. I've waited sixteen years to feel this way about something I'm writing. It's go time.

Has anyone had a similar experience? What have you done when you haven't had anything you absolutely were craving to work on?

Stories, finals, and writing - Oh My!

I have a story for you, but before I tell it I must first tell you the story behind the title of this blog. Ever since I could speak, I've loved to tell stories. There's only one problem - I'm pretty bad at it. I can write them just fine (or at least I hope!), but I can't tell them. Any time I begin one, I hear my friends heave a collective sigh. Back in high school, a lot of the time I wasn't allowed to finish them because, well, I gave details no one cared about and often the story didn't even have a point.

My sister suffers the same problem, so I'd like to think it's a genetic thing and not either one of our faults. When she would begin to tell a story, her friends would say, "Oh boy, it's story time with Kristen." That's why I decided to name the blog Story Time, especially because my stories are focused on my writing.

All of that was just me prefacing my following story by saying I realize you probably don't care, and might not see the point. But I think it's cool.

When I first calculated the words per day I would have to write to finish my WiP by the end of the summer, I said on here it was 750, but I was actually rounding up (I know, I lied!).The real word count was 714. So a few days ago when I was recalculating to see where I was, I got 714 per day. Then I paused. Hmmm that sounds familiar... and I went to where I originally wrote down the number and realized, against all odds, it was exactly the same! Creepy. I know.

Unfortunately, that word count is no longer true because I just fell victim to this thing in college called Finals Week. I typically like a clean desk with no papers, but this is what mine looked like for the past five days:

So. Many. Papers. And here's how many pens it takes for me to study properly:

And finally, when I study Econ, I have some "fun" and use a whiteboard with colorful markers!

So, that was my week. The good news?

I'M DONE! I don't really care how the finals went at this point, I'm just glad it's summer. And even better, today is my last day ever in a dorm - tomorrow I move into an apartment and my life shall improve exponentially. Most importantly, I'll have plenty of time to knock out those 714 words each day and hopefully have my first draft of my first novel finished before I know it. See, now that I've said it's going to happen, there's no turning back. Here I go!

Beach Scene Blogfest!

I have never done a blogfest, but when I heard about the Beach Scene Blogfest over at Rachel Bateman's blog, I knew it had to be my first. See, I love lakes and beaches so much that I decided to write my novella for my fiction class about a family at the lake. It wasn't one of my best ideas because I've been working on it since March and, since I'm in Chicago and summer has rudely kept itself an arms length away, all it made me want to do was go to the lake.

In fact, this is a picture of the lake I love so much:

Anyway, the scene I was planning on using is one of the pivotal scenes towards the end, but when I reread it I realized that out of context it doesn't feel very "beachy." So I'm going to use this one instead. I hope you enjoy!

            When we are parked at the beach, Clarissa and I take Samantha to the shore and decide we’re going to do what we remember her loving years ago, when I was probably only five.

            “We’re really going to dig a hole?” Samantha asks.

            “Yup. None of this sun-tanning boring crap. This used to be your favorite, right?”

            Samantha nods, a smile slowly forming, and Clarissa doesn’t wait any longer to get started. “This is going to be our biggest hole ever!” she cries.

            And it is.

            We each build our “home” into the walls once the hole is so deep water is pooling in the bottom. I have a pillow formed behind my head and armrests complete with a cup holder. We get one of the beach umbrellas and prop it up in the center, so we all have shade.

            Our heads are below the ground level of the beach and from a distance you wouldn’t even know we were here if the umbrella weren’t giving us away.

            Mom walks up to us and leans over. “There’s my children! Here’s some sodas.” She’s brought each of us our favorite, and I’m glad I can put my cup holder to use after all. “Can I join?”

            “Nope, this is only for us,” Clarissa says, and Mom smiles.

            “Okay, well it’s already four so we’re packing up in an hour or so.”

            We nod and wave goodbye so that she actually turns and leaves. I take a sip of my root beer and settle back into my spot, paying no attention to the sand in my hair and crammed underneath my fingernails from the digging. That is, until I see Clarissa, from the corner of my eye, grab some of the muddy sand from the bottom and fling it at me. It misses, but Samantha sees it too, and there is only a single moment where we pause before mud is flying between us all.

            In the midst of war simple things are forgotten, like the fact that even though the sand in the wall is the easiest to grab, eventually all the support will be gone. So we look like muddy aliens, covered from head to toe, when our hole collapses and becomes wider but shallow. Too shallow to be awesome anymore.

            I start running towards the water, escaping, and my sisters follow. I run even when my feet reach the water, and I keep going until my feet are behind me and my face hits the water. When I stand up in the lake, Samantha and Clarissa are beside me and Samantha is wrapping one arm around each of us, pulling us tight until we squirm away. “I think this sand will still be in my hair when I move in,” she says.

            “Here, maybe this will help,” I say, and I pretend like I’m going to help wash it out, but with my other hand I grab some sand from near my feet, then I spread it all over the top of her head.