Catch Up
There are times when life is terribly hectic, and now is one of them. I still have 4 edits waiting (think 4 impatient, irritated editors) plus am panicking because I have 3 new books in progress, but in the early stages for 2 and only halfway on the 3rd. No new work to sub out. I have to get at least 2 more books started, and they should probably for Melody. Romance, in other words. The others are all in straight sci-fi/fantasy/horror. Last year, I worked on 5 books, and managed it quite well.
Half the problem lies in edits. Some of my older work which has been contracted is being edited for publication now, and I'd like to think my writing is a bit smoother now (practice, and all that!). So, when I re-read older work, it's very time consuming. I want to make lots of minor changes.
Dread sets in.
Back to writing. I'm giving myself 3 hours, and a 3000-word minimum today. Let's see if I can do it. Then, the dreaded edits. Two are for shorter material, so maybe it's time to get those out of the way…
I'll leave you with an excerpt—this one from Static. An oldie (2000), but a goodie. It remains one of my favorites.
EXCERPT: Today he'd found a path he'd never taken before—and he'd already promised himself he'd never take it again. Nature had been communing with him big time. He'd been tramping for less than two hours when the skies suddenly opened. Rain and hail—and they were coming down so hard it hurt. Nate was soaked before he could drag his rain gear out of his bag.
Good thing Aje isn't here, Nate thought. I'd never hear the end of this…
I probably won't, anyway. Aje, despite his protestations, would have half an ear tuned on the weather report.
Nate had never expected him or Brandon to come along. It was just a way of covering his ass, without sacrificing his pride. Brandon always insisted he needed to tell someone when he was going hiking on his own, and Aje had been adamant about it since that ledge goof-up. So, he'd tell them, they'd give him a hard time, and that was that. Except he'd always get a call on Sunday—just in case. In Aje's words, "If I have to save your stupid hide, I want to know before I make other plans."
Nate's thoughts were interrupted by a loud rumble, and a flash of brilliant white, that lit up half the sky. Lightning!
No! It was the thing that terrified him more than anything else. The thing that sometimes invaded his dreams. There was probably some name for it—for this kind of irrational terror, but right now, he didn't know—or care. The lightning was coming—heading his way.
A burst of adrenaline shot through him and he started to run, slipping and sliding in the muck and leaves. Panicked, he ran off the trail, heading toward an overhanging knob of rock.
Solid. Safe. It can't get me there.
It's okay, Leighton. You'll make it…
Only, he wouldn't. It was at his back, watching him ominously from the skies, and it was going to get him.
There was a tingling in his shoulder blades.
It was going to stab him, right in the back.
He'd never told anyone. How, when a lightning storm came, he'd hide behind the door, or in a closet. Deep in his house, or burrowed beneath the desk in his office.
His mother had said he'd been struck once, when he was little. A baby. He didn't remember it, but some part of him did. He'd been running from the stuff ever since.
It was coming. His hair was standing on end and his gooseflesh was doing a shivery dance. The pressure in the air was so thick he couldn't breathe…
The next moment, his world exploded, and was gone—in a massive blast of overwhelming white.
http://ping.fm/jm1nj
Half the problem lies in edits. Some of my older work which has been contracted is being edited for publication now, and I'd like to think my writing is a bit smoother now (practice, and all that!). So, when I re-read older work, it's very time consuming. I want to make lots of minor changes.
Dread sets in.
Back to writing. I'm giving myself 3 hours, and a 3000-word minimum today. Let's see if I can do it. Then, the dreaded edits. Two are for shorter material, so maybe it's time to get those out of the way…
I'll leave you with an excerpt—this one from Static. An oldie (2000), but a goodie. It remains one of my favorites.
EXCERPT: Today he'd found a path he'd never taken before—and he'd already promised himself he'd never take it again. Nature had been communing with him big time. He'd been tramping for less than two hours when the skies suddenly opened. Rain and hail—and they were coming down so hard it hurt. Nate was soaked before he could drag his rain gear out of his bag.
Good thing Aje isn't here, Nate thought. I'd never hear the end of this…
I probably won't, anyway. Aje, despite his protestations, would have half an ear tuned on the weather report.
Nate had never expected him or Brandon to come along. It was just a way of covering his ass, without sacrificing his pride. Brandon always insisted he needed to tell someone when he was going hiking on his own, and Aje had been adamant about it since that ledge goof-up. So, he'd tell them, they'd give him a hard time, and that was that. Except he'd always get a call on Sunday—just in case. In Aje's words, "If I have to save your stupid hide, I want to know before I make other plans."
Nate's thoughts were interrupted by a loud rumble, and a flash of brilliant white, that lit up half the sky. Lightning!
No! It was the thing that terrified him more than anything else. The thing that sometimes invaded his dreams. There was probably some name for it—for this kind of irrational terror, but right now, he didn't know—or care. The lightning was coming—heading his way.
A burst of adrenaline shot through him and he started to run, slipping and sliding in the muck and leaves. Panicked, he ran off the trail, heading toward an overhanging knob of rock.
Solid. Safe. It can't get me there.
It's okay, Leighton. You'll make it…
Only, he wouldn't. It was at his back, watching him ominously from the skies, and it was going to get him.
There was a tingling in his shoulder blades.
It was going to stab him, right in the back.
He'd never told anyone. How, when a lightning storm came, he'd hide behind the door, or in a closet. Deep in his house, or burrowed beneath the desk in his office.
His mother had said he'd been struck once, when he was little. A baby. He didn't remember it, but some part of him did. He'd been running from the stuff ever since.
It was coming. His hair was standing on end and his gooseflesh was doing a shivery dance. The pressure in the air was so thick he couldn't breathe…
The next moment, his world exploded, and was gone—in a massive blast of overwhelming white.
http://ping.fm/jm1nj
posted by ND Hansen-Hill at 11:50 AM
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