M. Caspian stories are kind of dark. And no one wants to read, or write, dark 100% of the time. So one of my other pen names is A.L. Anderson. I have two books out under this name right now, but I have more planned for next year. These are traditional sugary sweet m/m romances with HEAs all round, and absolutely no one gets eaten alive by ants.
Grosgrain & Taffeta features manties and corsets. Originally it was going to be a series, and it still might, but I have a shit-ton of other stuff to finish first.
Cats Have Staff is a short lunch-break read, with—to state the obvious—a cat.
Going forward I’m going to link books by both author names on separate pages on this blog.
The last thirteen months have been really good for me, personally. Not having a full-time day job has definite down sides—like the lack of money—but I’ve been able to stop feeling like a fractured person. I’ve had a lot of family stress to cope with, but even so, I’m visibly healthier, and happier, and my blood pressure stopped completely freaking my doctor out. Moving to my new house in November will continue this journey into a whole life: simpler, and cheaper, but more meaningful and authentic. And as part of this I don’t want to fracture my writing self anymore either. Sometimes I want to write dark, and sometimes I just want the cute boy to end up with the other cute boy. They’re both me. Maybe you’ll like these books too.
I’ve been using a product called ProWriting Aid and I’m a committed disciple.
One of my worst writing flaws is repeating the same phrase or word in quick succession. PWA tells me when I have thirty-three thrusting cocks in 11K words. Or 72 instances of “could.” Also somehow I end up with open quotes at the end of dialogue all the damn time. PWA tells me where. Alliteration? Holy shit, PWA just let me know I wrote, “firearms on a freighter from Florida.”
It will find cliches, both in and out of dialogue, and check your grammar. Apparently I cannot use a fucking comma to save my life.
Seriously, I’m in love.
You can set it for business or academic writing, if you’re not crafting fiction, and there’s options for US or UK English.
Many of the features are free to use. The Premium version costs USD$40 a year. I already went premium because this thing is a lifesaver. If you’re interested, there’s a 10% discount on ProWriting Aid Premium if you click this link. Full disclosure: I get an extra month for each person who signs up.
In honor of today’s word count, I present Can’t Get Enough.
I actually wrote 2681 words today. That’s not terrible, but I still kind of hate myself right now. I blame the plethora of books with titles like 2K to 10K, 10K a Day or the completely impossible 5,000 Words Per Hour for my deep-rooted dissatisfaction. Let’s have some 90s funk rock to get me out of my malaise.
I’m plotting out my current story. It’s an unholy mess. The paper outline, that is. The story makes more sense.
I’m just finishing up the James Patterson Masterclass. And no, I wouldn’t recommend it. I was swayed by a review that said it was worth it for the section on outlining alone. The section on outlining comprises the following:
This is self-preservation, really. Last year Char nearly killed me. I have 100,000 words of excisions stored in a file. I wrote the damn thing three times with three different endings and it’s still not right. There’s a reason it’s only available as a freebie read on the Goodreads M/M Romance Group’s website and not on Amazon or Smashwords.
This is the first time I’ve outlined a story in such detail. I get so excited about a story that I want to start. I have characters in my head nudging me with their bony elbows and giving me their lines of dialogue, and I need to put it down on paper before the recollection fades. I always know how a story will end. That’s the first thing I learn about a story. And I know how it starts. I know the plot. But I don’t always *coughevercough* have the fine detail nailed down. Like all the scenes. Or how they will link together. Or exactly how I get from the beginning to the climax. And I screwed up so bad with Char, I nearly quit writing. I still feel such despair about fucking up. I’m going to return to that eventually and fix it. I can’t live with myself if I don’t.
So this time I’m outlining every scene, pulling it all together, nailing down the tone, the emotion I want each scene to convey, trying to add more suspense, more excitement, more to hook the reader from one chapter to the next. It should be possible to read the outline through and have it flow like a complete – if abridged – story. It’s taking so much longer than I anticipated, but I’m assuming this will help me cut down considerably on composition? I hope?
And paper helps. I don’t know why. I have a bunch of digital tools I can use too; Scapple – which I adore – Scrivener of course, even just a herd of Ant Notes clustered on my desktop helps sometimes. But there’s something about being able to see the whole thing laid out in front of me that achieves more than looking through a window onto a small section of a neatly arranged digital storyboard.
So far it’s working for me, although there’s no way of knowing for sure until I finish the story. Eventually, I guess, you guys will tell me if it worked. Wish me luck.
We’ve had a storm here for the last four days. It kind of matched my mood. For reasons, September was much less productive than it should have been. I don’t want to even tell you my word count, because it sucked. I got really stuck on one of the two short stories I wrote for the Goodreads BDSM Group’s Kink in Ink event. It shouldn’t have taken a month to write fewer than 7,000 words, and yet this is a thing that happened.
One of those reasons was having my left upper back molar give up the ghost against a vicious bacterial infection and make me feel like my face was being hit with a sledgehammer for a week. It’s dead now. The tooth, not my face. I ended up having to get a root canal. Whee! I totally could not afford that, but at least the drugs were good.
And at least both stories are finished now. One is m/m gun play, and the other is m/f. M/f , you say? I know, right? All feedback will be appreciated, because it’s a newish thing for me. I have an m/f romance novella on Amazon too (not as M. Caspian), but no-one has reviewed it (barely anyone has read it). I’ll let you know when the stories are released. Initially you’d have to join the BDSM group to read them, but I’m going to put them both out on Amazon in December. I’m thinking of doing a book of short stories. I have the prequel to Arroyo in rough draft, so maybe that would be good motivation to polish it up.
So my goal for October is to be much more focused and productive. Leo Babauta of Zen Habits has a great list of strategies to help with focus.The most important – at least, the one I need to work on the most – is:
Get going on your task. Do nothing but that one task. Don’t switch to another task.
I switch tasks a lot (hence why I have to write down the task I’m supposed to be doing at any one time.) If I don’t keep rigid focus I shake myself from an internet daze and discover I’m researching the history of Saint Benedict (this happened today and derailed me for an hour).
But getting sidetracked is nothing compared to my biggest flaw: listening to YouTube Let’s Plays while I work. As I write this I’m listening to Morphologis play Osiris: New Dawn (which, frankly, is the game No Man’s Sky should have been. Sandworms, people, sandworms! And giant arachnoids!)
So I’m making October “One Task October.” I have way more than one project underway, but I’m going to pay attention to my focus, and just work on one project at a time, and only work on that one project while I do it. And not listen to You Tube AT ALL (I’m allowed to finish listening to New Dawn first, though, right? Please?) And I’m committing to this in front of y’all so if I do not have new books out before the end of the year I need for you to chastise me.
Have you got any hints for keeping my flitting brain on task?
One of the (many) things I have never understood about the workplace is why co-workers break into one’s concentration for the ritual exchange of social pleasantries.
My desk used to be next to a main thoroughfare, although behind a partition. At least three times a day perfectly nice people would stop by to say, “How you going?”
Because I’m pretty good at working on one thing at a time, and I work with earbuds in, I’d be riveted to my Excel spreadsheet and I usually wouldn’t notice them. People would literally wave their hand between my face and the computer screen, wait for me to take my earbuds out, and then say, “Hey, working pretty hard there, huh?” or “Any exciting plans for the weekend?” or, commonly,”Wow, you have zero peripheral vision.”
The very best thing about being unemployed is being allowed to do one thing in a solid chunk and no one interrupting me. I have written 23,579 words for August so far. I can sit at my desk for a four hour block (with regular OOS exercises and stretching breaks, of course) and Get Shit Done. I’m hoping as my writing muscles get more exercise I will increase my rate of output.
In January I wrote 61,547 words. I wrote every day, an average of 1985 words a day.
Every day, that is, except the last. On the 31st of January I didn’t write a single word.
And so on Sunday night the inside of my head became a looping sample of self-hate. “You’re too distractible: you have no ability to stick to a task. This is why you can’t settle down in a job. You can’t write and you’re a fool to pretend you can. There’s a reason hardly anyone read your last story; take a hint, why can’t you? They’ll be laughing at you behind your back; it’s better not to write another story because you’ll only give them more ammunition.”
I lay awake all night, telling myself what a piece of shit I am, and wondering if this will be the start of an episode like last year, where I went months — hell, most of the year — without writing, too paralyzed to put fingers to keys.
And so, of course, on February 1, I didn’t write anything either.
#10. Constant self-criticism for falling short of perfection.
“The one person that an INTJ expects most from is himself/herself. This may well be the single greatest challenge an INTJ faces (especially as they mature and realize the importance of building good relationships, where they are least natural). Unless an INTJ finds his/her self-worth intrinsically, this perpetual sense of inadequacy may be very destructive in life, whether for the INTJ or for those around them.”
Vivian told me it was my Achilles heel. And she’s right.
Learning to write is hard because to get better writers need feedback. But feedback comes from letting people read what we write, and what I write, is, as a learner, inherently… not so good. It’s goddamn hard letting a piece into the world, because I know how flawed it is. All I can do is learn from it and put it behind me and write something else. But the ‘writing something else’ part brings me to a standstill sometimes. A lot of the time. I’m terrified, because it’s not that I’m afraid what I write won’t be any good, I know it won’t be. It can never be the prose that’s in my head, where it twirls and skips, vibrant and joyous. On the page my words are thin and brown and spiral mindlessly in endless loops until I get the Raid and put them out of their misery. And right now I’m gnawing at my soul just over the number of words on the page in a draft zero, forget worrying about the editing yet.
What I want my writing to be:
What my writing is:
I’ve been learning to write for just over two years. I figure I have another five years of apprenticeship left, then three as a journeyman. My hope is somewhere around 2025 I might write a book I’m happy with. The challenge for me is to accept the learning process. Accept that it’s okay to miss a day of writing. And yes, even miss two, without needing to ritually disembowel myself. I don’t feel at all like I can do that right now. I’m angry and upset with myself. I want to be punished. I’d give a lot at the moment for a hefty, sadistic, wanna-be Dom with a cat o’ nine tails, zero clues about BDSM, and no compunction about bruising.
I wrote 800 words this morning. They’re awful. Not even prose, as much as an outline of a scene and a few scattered fragments of dialogue. But eight hundred words is more than zero words. Which is a start, right? Progress, no matter how slow and small. I’m not sure if they’re going to be enough to hush the scathing voice in my head tonight, but here’s hoping.
Until then I will re-read the email Vivian sent me, and try to believe it.