Have 3300 words typed in. It's rougher than I realized; the whole time I was typing it in I was alternating between "Oh, that's pretty good" and "Oh, that's pretty rough."
So here's the plan for tomorrow: Fill it in the rest of the way, or as much as possible. I'm looking to triple it, roughly. The tricky thing will be figuring out how much explanation about Rasputin and Ivan to put in, and how much to just let them be themselves and hope it all fleshes out in the serial.
Also, need to play up Ivan's desire to return to Russia and Rasputin's skepticism about every single blasted thing Ivan has said (also how completely exasperated Ivan is with him).
There are LOTS of plot holes at the moment, those need to be healed up and I need to have the outline hanging right over my monitor while I work so I don't open up any new ones.
So: Aim for 1500 words tomorrow. All new ones. Rough is fine. But still try to keep the level high.
Also I need to spend a couple of hours on my blog tomorrow. Somehow. It will be a less active day, I guess.
And good night!!
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Monday, September 24, 2012
On Evidence
From The Daily Writer:
This is the central plot problem in Rasputin Wakes Up. Rasputin can tell from sensing his own body that he is a vampire; but how can he come to believe that Ivan really is Ivan the Terrible, First Tsar of Russia? No inside information is going to be sufficient, because Rasputin has no means of verifying it. Manner can be put aside to arrogance or delusion; there was no artwork that Ivan can stand next to to prove his identity, and it wouldn't be precise enough if there were. Ivan can try to use his personal authority on Rasputin, but the first encounter with Rasputin after he wakes up proves that Rasputin is too powerful a personality himself, even though he was "only" a peasant, for that to have any influence with him. And in fact, Ivan does lack authority, because he is not the Tsar that Rasputin knew, his powers are no greater than Rasputin's (only his experience), and in any case he has yet to realize that his power when he really was Tsar derived from the office, rather than his personal qualities.
Ergo, he can not make a case that Rasputin will believe; he is going to have to forge new power, rather than stand on his prior standing. This is the realization that will lead to the conclusion.
Thank goodness for ten minute writing prompts!! My whole plot makes sense now...
Evidence plays a fundamental role in all writing. In nonfiction, of course, assertions must be backed by reliable data, testimony, analysis; they must weather counterarguments. Evidence also plays a role in fiction. If you're writing a political thriller, for example, and part of the drama is played out in the Pentagon, you will need to "prove" to your readers, by way of "inside" background information, that the setting is authentic.
The truth is universally honored; yet many are not aware of the extent to which a claim must be backed by evidence before it can be accepted as truth. Moreover, as Carl Sagan once pointed out, "Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence." For example, if you're going to claim that you were visited by aliens, you had better come up with more than a photograph, which can be easily faked.
This is the central plot problem in Rasputin Wakes Up. Rasputin can tell from sensing his own body that he is a vampire; but how can he come to believe that Ivan really is Ivan the Terrible, First Tsar of Russia? No inside information is going to be sufficient, because Rasputin has no means of verifying it. Manner can be put aside to arrogance or delusion; there was no artwork that Ivan can stand next to to prove his identity, and it wouldn't be precise enough if there were. Ivan can try to use his personal authority on Rasputin, but the first encounter with Rasputin after he wakes up proves that Rasputin is too powerful a personality himself, even though he was "only" a peasant, for that to have any influence with him. And in fact, Ivan does lack authority, because he is not the Tsar that Rasputin knew, his powers are no greater than Rasputin's (only his experience), and in any case he has yet to realize that his power when he really was Tsar derived from the office, rather than his personal qualities.
Ergo, he can not make a case that Rasputin will believe; he is going to have to forge new power, rather than stand on his prior standing. This is the realization that will lead to the conclusion.
Thank goodness for ten minute writing prompts!! My whole plot makes sense now...
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Rasputin Wakes Up - Beginning
Sodalitas Convivium implied that conviviality was a required element to club membership, but Ivan was not interested in being chummy. He brooded over Rasputin's body, fatigued from the effort of dragging him out of the icy water and transporting him from Moscow to London in one evening. It was a feat worthy of celebration, but the humans in the billiards room and and smoking room and dining room would have been horrified, aghast, speechless at any announcement of Ivan's accomplishment. Supposing, of course, that they could have even fathomed the beginnings of such an endeavor, which, it went without saying, they could not. And so Ivan brooded alone, in a straight-backed chair pulled up close to the side of the bed, watching for signs of success.
Success appeared unlikely. He could not see the extent of Rasputin's injuries, though the humans who had ambushed him claimed to have poisoned, shot, beaten, stabbed, and shot him again. All before they threw him into a frozen river.
Poison was unlikely to prevent the transformation that Ivan had undertaken; neither should the freezing water have mattered. The beating was probably not that severe if it had also been necessary to stab and shoot, so the stabbing and shots were the open questions. Had they damaged the heart beyond the repair a vampire transformation could provide?
The damage Rasputin had sustained would also determine how quickly the transformation could take place. Ivan had begun the process while still in hiding in Moscow, but there had been precious little of Rasputin's blood for him to drain, and the man being unconscious had made it difficult for Ivan to prompt the drawing of his own blood that would supplant the man's humanity. His previous offspring had transformed much more quickly than the three days that had elapsed since the river rescue; Ivan would not have attempted to move him from Moscow at all had not the citizens' innate suspicions of the supernatural, combined with the revolutionary hysteria being spread by the damned Bolsheviks, not made it too dangerous for Ivan and Rasputin to remain. Ivan took it as a hopeful sign that the transformation would occur that he had been able to dematerialize Rasputin as well as himself for the flight to London.
A discreet knock at the door disturbed Ivan. He glanced down at Rasputin, still unconscious, still bearing the dark marks of his last human day on his face. The rest of him was covered by the bedspread. Ivan roughly shoved his face away from the door and stood to open it.
"More fuel for your fire, sir?" asked the maid, cautiously. She was short, and carefully not looking in. Ivan acknowledged a grim appreciation for the English respect for appearances.
"I'm fine," he snapped.
"Yes, sir. Very good, sir," she said. He could smell her relief as she turned her mind to the next door.
Success appeared unlikely. He could not see the extent of Rasputin's injuries, though the humans who had ambushed him claimed to have poisoned, shot, beaten, stabbed, and shot him again. All before they threw him into a frozen river.
Poison was unlikely to prevent the transformation that Ivan had undertaken; neither should the freezing water have mattered. The beating was probably not that severe if it had also been necessary to stab and shoot, so the stabbing and shots were the open questions. Had they damaged the heart beyond the repair a vampire transformation could provide?
The damage Rasputin had sustained would also determine how quickly the transformation could take place. Ivan had begun the process while still in hiding in Moscow, but there had been precious little of Rasputin's blood for him to drain, and the man being unconscious had made it difficult for Ivan to prompt the drawing of his own blood that would supplant the man's humanity. His previous offspring had transformed much more quickly than the three days that had elapsed since the river rescue; Ivan would not have attempted to move him from Moscow at all had not the citizens' innate suspicions of the supernatural, combined with the revolutionary hysteria being spread by the damned Bolsheviks, not made it too dangerous for Ivan and Rasputin to remain. Ivan took it as a hopeful sign that the transformation would occur that he had been able to dematerialize Rasputin as well as himself for the flight to London.
A discreet knock at the door disturbed Ivan. He glanced down at Rasputin, still unconscious, still bearing the dark marks of his last human day on his face. The rest of him was covered by the bedspread. Ivan roughly shoved his face away from the door and stood to open it.
"More fuel for your fire, sir?" asked the maid, cautiously. She was short, and carefully not looking in. Ivan acknowledged a grim appreciation for the English respect for appearances.
"I'm fine," he snapped.
"Yes, sir. Very good, sir," she said. He could smell her relief as she turned her mind to the next door.
Monday, July 23, 2012
I don't...
From Take Ten for Writers
I don't eat beans.
I don't ride a bike.
I don't flirt with men.
I don't like to clean
I don't like messy spaces.
I don't like to pay other people to clean (because I feel like a slacker)
I don't know how to play chess very well.
I don't play Scrabble well because I get too hung up on the words and insufficiently concerned about the points.
I don't want to live in California anymore.
I don't like suspense and I'm iffy about surprises.
I don't have the ability to stay up past midnight anymore.
I don't remember what my favorite color was when I was nine.
I don't remember something, but I can't remember what it is.
I don't know if I like to write for ten minutes without stopping.
I don't like the way long nails make me have to change the way I type.
I don't like to handwrite when the writing is good and I don't like to type when the writing is tough.
I don't want to write a story without an outline because I fear the unknown.
I don't want to drive a minivan anymore. I don't want to pay for a new car either.
I don't like ANY PART of doing the laundry, except the part where I have clean clothes available to be worn.
I don't like sitting too low for my desk, but I do like that I just adjusted my chair to be more comfortable.
I don't know if I'm ready... sorry, lost my train of thought.
I don't know why I dream of an old crush declaring his undying love for me in different ways several times a year. Those dreams are so vivid.
I don't like blue very much. Unless it's turquoise.
I don't know why I'm so sleepy when I drink so much coffee.
I don't wear overalls.
I don't play an instrument anymore. I used to play oboe and clarinet a lot, but I actually never learned very much about music and once I got to a certain level of proficiency I lost interest in getting any better.
I don't know why I just had so much trouble spelling proficiency.
I don't own a winter coat anymore, but I do have several hats, gloves, and scarves. I don't own winter boots, either, just fashion boots, which barely count.
I don't ski. I don't want to ski. Skiing scares me and I did not especially enjoy skiing the one time I went.
I don't run, either, but that's basically laziness.
I don't know why this blog has 41 pageviews when I have never promoted it except the one time in how not to write a novel
I don't have a hero. I think I have people I admire but I don't have a hero in the way that I understand a hero. A hero is a person who you really admire and would like to emulate, a person who has special qualities that one can try to foster in oneself, a person who is superior in every meaningful way. I don't have a hero. I have ordinary friends and acquaintances I admire, but no one who overwhelms me with their greatness. Even Queen Elizabeth I is not really a hero to me, although she was great in many ways and I have tremendous respect and admiration for her. But I wouldn't want to be her.
And that concludes my ten minutes. Interesting exercise, this book might be worth keeping out.
I don't eat beans.
I don't ride a bike.
I don't flirt with men.
I don't like to clean
I don't like messy spaces.
I don't like to pay other people to clean (because I feel like a slacker)
I don't know how to play chess very well.
I don't play Scrabble well because I get too hung up on the words and insufficiently concerned about the points.
I don't want to live in California anymore.
I don't like suspense and I'm iffy about surprises.
I don't have the ability to stay up past midnight anymore.
I don't remember what my favorite color was when I was nine.
I don't remember something, but I can't remember what it is.
I don't know if I like to write for ten minutes without stopping.
I don't like the way long nails make me have to change the way I type.
I don't like to handwrite when the writing is good and I don't like to type when the writing is tough.
I don't want to write a story without an outline because I fear the unknown.
I don't want to drive a minivan anymore. I don't want to pay for a new car either.
I don't like ANY PART of doing the laundry, except the part where I have clean clothes available to be worn.
I don't like sitting too low for my desk, but I do like that I just adjusted my chair to be more comfortable.
I don't know if I'm ready... sorry, lost my train of thought.
I don't know why I dream of an old crush declaring his undying love for me in different ways several times a year. Those dreams are so vivid.
I don't like blue very much. Unless it's turquoise.
I don't know why I'm so sleepy when I drink so much coffee.
I don't wear overalls.
I don't play an instrument anymore. I used to play oboe and clarinet a lot, but I actually never learned very much about music and once I got to a certain level of proficiency I lost interest in getting any better.
I don't know why I just had so much trouble spelling proficiency.
I don't own a winter coat anymore, but I do have several hats, gloves, and scarves. I don't own winter boots, either, just fashion boots, which barely count.
I don't ski. I don't want to ski. Skiing scares me and I did not especially enjoy skiing the one time I went.
I don't run, either, but that's basically laziness.
I don't know why this blog has 41 pageviews when I have never promoted it except the one time in how not to write a novel
I don't have a hero. I think I have people I admire but I don't have a hero in the way that I understand a hero. A hero is a person who you really admire and would like to emulate, a person who has special qualities that one can try to foster in oneself, a person who is superior in every meaningful way. I don't have a hero. I have ordinary friends and acquaintances I admire, but no one who overwhelms me with their greatness. Even Queen Elizabeth I is not really a hero to me, although she was great in many ways and I have tremendous respect and admiration for her. But I wouldn't want to be her.
And that concludes my ten minutes. Interesting exercise, this book might be worth keeping out.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Don't Give the Elephant the Reins
Why is low-carb is harder the second time around, part II
Great post by Dr. Michael Eades, author of Protein Power. Goes along with The Power of Habit -- it's basically a strategy for disrupting the routine portion of the habit loop.
Great post by Dr. Michael Eades, author of Protein Power. Goes along with The Power of Habit -- it's basically a strategy for disrupting the routine portion of the habit loop.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Writerly Meditation
From The Daily Writer
Spend a few moments thinking about a specific facet of the story or essayyou're currently working on... Write down some of the thoughts that occur to you.
My greatest challenge in writing the Ivan/Rasputin story is in pulling together a really vivid sense of place. Diana Gabaldon did this for Outlander just by researching; her descriptions were INCREDIBLY vivid but she never went there till after all the profits from the novel made it possible for her to go. For the London of 1916, who would Ivan and Rasputin have encountered as they walked around; what smells would they have smelled? What was the traffic like? I know parts of Piccadilly are subject to lots of crashes and accidents, but how long is the street and what part of it is 107 Piccadilly (the location of the Savile Club in 1916) located on? What would the foot traffic have been like during different times of day?
And how much does the accuracy of all this detail matter?
Victoria Glendinning did a beautiful job of making the neighborhood and household at the opening of Electricity really really vivid, but she is British and had better access to this stuff than I have, on top of being a very good biographer.
And then there are the specifics of my story. What they do and who they encounter determines what happens to Rasputin and what happens, ultimately, to Ivan. I need to do a little better about pulling them together. I'm worried about it now.
Reading the biography of Daphne DuMaurier by Margaret Forster. It's good. But it strikes me that Daphne was incredibly business-like about her writing because she was motivated to make money to support her family. That's what I want to be like. Businesslike and determined to finish things that can get published. Selling my work. Of course I expect it to be good and I intend it to be good, but I don't know how to be experimental and I don't intend to try. With the challenges of doing these ordinary stories I think I have enough on my plate just trying to make people see what it's like to be somewhere else rather than trying to invent a literary form that I like just fine how it is.
So Ivan is going to leap out that window across that great intersection and he and Rasputin are going to take a walk. And on that walk Rasputin is going to tell Ivan about all the things he's been missing, and Ivan is going to tell him how little he understands his new world, and share maybe a little bit about his early years as a vampire (or think them, and then words will fail him; this information could have saved Rasputin but won't).
http://www.flickr.com/photos/jean-paul-margnac/366276689/
https://maps.google.com/maps?num=10&hl=en&ie=UTF-8&q=park+lane+hotel+london&fb=1&gl=us&hq=park+lane+hotel&hnear=0x47d8a00baf21de75:0x52963a5addd52a99,London,+UK&cid=0,0,15648347873338012588&ei=6V0GUMKOCOHI2gWyibjEBQ&ved=0CLcBEPwSMAA
Ah, better, better, better. OK, Tomorrow I think I can start writing again.
Good night!!
Spend a few moments thinking about a specific facet of the story or essayyou're currently working on... Write down some of the thoughts that occur to you.
My greatest challenge in writing the Ivan/Rasputin story is in pulling together a really vivid sense of place. Diana Gabaldon did this for Outlander just by researching; her descriptions were INCREDIBLY vivid but she never went there till after all the profits from the novel made it possible for her to go. For the London of 1916, who would Ivan and Rasputin have encountered as they walked around; what smells would they have smelled? What was the traffic like? I know parts of Piccadilly are subject to lots of crashes and accidents, but how long is the street and what part of it is 107 Piccadilly (the location of the Savile Club in 1916) located on? What would the foot traffic have been like during different times of day?
And how much does the accuracy of all this detail matter?
Victoria Glendinning did a beautiful job of making the neighborhood and household at the opening of Electricity really really vivid, but she is British and had better access to this stuff than I have, on top of being a very good biographer.
And then there are the specifics of my story. What they do and who they encounter determines what happens to Rasputin and what happens, ultimately, to Ivan. I need to do a little better about pulling them together. I'm worried about it now.
So Ivan is going to leap out that window across that great intersection and he and Rasputin are going to take a walk. And on that walk Rasputin is going to tell Ivan about all the things he's been missing, and Ivan is going to tell him how little he understands his new world, and share maybe a little bit about his early years as a vampire (or think them, and then words will fail him; this information could have saved Rasputin but won't).
http://www.flickr.com/photos/jean-paul-margnac/366276689/
https://maps.google.com/maps?num=10&hl=en&ie=UTF-8&q=park+lane+hotel+london&fb=1&gl=us&hq=park+lane+hotel&hnear=0x47d8a00baf21de75:0x52963a5addd52a99,London,+UK&cid=0,0,15648347873338012588&ei=6V0GUMKOCOHI2gWyibjEBQ&ved=0CLcBEPwSMAA
Ah, better, better, better. OK, Tomorrow I think I can start writing again.
Good night!!
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Treadmill Journal July 15, 2012
1. Date and Time
2. How Long You Will Work
3. What you plan to work on
4. Figured out why I was panicking when I sat down to deal with Ivan; problem sort of solved, hurray
5. Tomorrow morning I will work while Q is at school and let CJ & D watch a little TV or something; I will work on Ivan & Rasputin and I will get at least 1500 words written.
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