Final Input

Well, okay. After taking a long weekend for a High School reunion I was badgered into attending (despite which I had an absolutely fabulous time, so thanks Becca and Liz, for insisting I go), this morning it was back to the writing. A very special morning, too, as I input my final pile of notes for the last part of the book. Which requires, I guess, an explanation of the way I work.

When I get an initial idea for a book, I find myself jotting down little thoughts--ideas for character, bits of dialogue, etc., and then I throw them in a file folder. When there are too many for the folder, they get tossed into a basket. As I start the book, the ideas come faster and faster, thus more and more bits of paper. One basket becomes two, then three. When I have a sense of where things are heading, I loosely organize the notes: one basket for the beginning of the book, one for the middle and one for the part I call "headin' for the barn." Further down the line, I divide them up even further, clipping groups of notes for sections within the baskets, then sections within sections. All of this lives on the floor under a long work table in my writing room, and as things heat up the piles begin snaking out from under the table and around the perimeter of the room. Gets messy. Pretty basic, I know, but it works for me.

So anyway, the big deal about this morning? All the little notes I've been collecting for over two years now are finally gone--absorbed into the ms in one form or another. Now the real work begins: honing character (expanding some roles, maybe deleting one or more altogether), tweaking plot, etc.

Onward!

Too Funny

Working from the boat today. Love it out here--quite, peaceful, great for those creative juices. But I had to take a break to share this one with you. Seems after all my recent chest-thumping and pleading with Snowbooks to please, please, please get my listing for Hunter Huntress up on Amazon.com (their US site, opposed to Amazon UK--a totally separate corporation with its own bizarre set of rules) and getting nowhere because it appears this is not something publishers can control, it seems I finally am. Listed I mean. Not because some big US wholesaler has decided to stock the book, which is the only way to get listed if your British publisher doesn't happen to have a US distributor (ah-hem), but because some readers with Amazon Seller Accounts are putting new and used copies up for sale.

Which got me thinking...

I, too, have an Amazon Seller Account. Maybe I could get Snowbooks to use me as a shill? Of course with the enormous costs involved in shipping crates of the things to me from Britain, not to mention Customs charges and the enormous discounts Amazon demands, I'd make about $.13 a book. That's thirteen cents.

Amazon. Amazin.

Hidden Pictures, or Just When You Had It All Figured Out

Remember the magazine, "Highlights for Children?" A monthly, I think. Anyway, I used to go through it looking for the "Hidden Pictures" page each time my mother dragged me to the orthodontist's office--you know, the one with a list of objects you're supposed to identify within a larger, far more complicated picture? Maddening as hell. There were always two or three I gave up on, only to stumble across them while I was looking for something else entirely.

Last week's writing went something like that.

All week I'd been smugly picking my way toward my "I'm-sure-this-is-how-it's-going-to-go" ending for Reese's Leap, in-putting the final plot elements (later to be more fully developed, edited and polished), when I came across a Hidden Picture. Same kind of thing. I was looking for nothing more than a simple segue from one scene to another, when out of the blue one of my characters uttered a line to another that changed everything. Well, maybe not everything. At the risk of sounding overly dramatic here, let's just say this one innocent comment exposed a deeper truth at the base of the entire book. No lie. This, maybe twenty pages from the end. Imagine.

After a nerve-wracking half hour calculating how much rewriting it was going to take to make this change work (not so much as it turns out; appears the germs of this particular plot element had been there all along), I spent another bit of time wondering why this particular insight hadn't occurred to me before. Why a comparatively minor character knew more about where the book was headed than I did. Know what I decided? No matter how fast I try and pound my way toward the book's finish, gathering the seams of plot lines and cinching them in, the big truths simply won't be rushed. A fact it seems I have to relearn constantly.

A Toast to Vacations

Back at work since Monday and it feels good. More than good. You might have noticed the total lack of anything resembling "writing talk" in my vacation entries. Frankly, with all that was going on I had little time to contemplate much of anything in that regard. Didn't worry about it too much, though. I had the sense it was a good thing; that somewhere beneath all that fun the story wheels were turning, moving me toward a number of plot decisions I've been struggling with lately. Sure enough, after taking Monday to get caught up with 3-weeks worth of domestics and other pressing matters in our land-based world, I was back at it and quickly realized I knew exactly how to proceed. The way seemed utterly clear. Just proves the old adage that much of a writer's work is done away from the computer. Trust is called for, and patience a-plenty. Ideas are spun of gossamer, after all. They need time to churn and settle before finding their way to the page. So here's to vacations, where much of the hardest work is done!

Home Again, Home Again, Tickety-Boo

Our 9:30 a.m. departure Friday morning from Dipper Harbor was the start of a L-O-N-G overnight passage, one that didn't see us dropping the hook until 6 p.m. the next day. I have to say I really don't like overnights; they always kind of freak me out. We do it in two hour shifts, one of us always up, alert, and in the cockpit--tweaking sail trim and keeping an eye out for other ships. Cleave was on from 10 - 12; I took the 12 - 2 shift; he was on from 2 - 4; then I had the dawn watch. I gave him some extra time in the bunk then woke him with coffee and a hot breakfast.

Besides the loss of sleep (which leaves me feeling logy all the next day), I hate the reduced visibility at night--floating out there in total darkness with 300-400 feet of ocean beneath our 40 foot piece of fiberglass. But sometimes it's unavoidable.

Anyway, it was quite the relief to finally pull into Cape Porpoise, shrouded in fog as you can see, and drop the hook for supper and a good night sleep before continuing on the final 25 miles the next day. Couldn't leave the boat though, as we hadn't checked in with US Customs, which we did Sunday afternoon in Portsmouth.

Well, hope you enjoyed coming along on our sailing adventure; we sure enjoyed your company!

Headin' Home!

Wednesday proved to be a hot, windless slog back to the RKYC for our final night on the river. It was so hot, Cleave and I motored the 16 miles with the awning up! Hey, gotta do what you gotta do...

Once at the club, Cleave and I walked the 5 miles (round trip) to the grocery, then toted everything back--enjoying the much-needed exercise. After showers and cocktails with the crowd on Skater (see photo of the group arriving!), we took a cab with the group into the city of St. John for some shopping at the City Market and dinner st Billy's Chowder House. Excellent Bouillabaisse!

Knowing the tide would be slack at the Reversing Falls at 12:15 Thursday, our three boats left RKYC at 10:45 next morning, got through uneventfully, then said goodbye to St. John Harbor and sailed over to Dipper Harbor for out last night in Canadian waters. Dipper is a wonderful, working harbor where a long line of fishing boats nestle on moorings behind a huge, 30 foot tall breakwater. And after an uneventful night, Cleave and I said goodbye to the rest of the flotilla and blasted off for a non-stop, 40-hour sail back to Portsmouth.

Our Final Days on the St. John

Monday we once again had wind, and the three boats tacked back and forth across the Lake for a few hours before heading off toward Kingston Creek on Belleisle Bay. Now we are officially on the return run, planning another run across the Reversing Falls toward the mouth of the St. John River mid-day Thursday. On Kingston Creek we spotted a nesting pair of Bald Eagles, unfortunately too far away for a photo. Darn!

Tuesday morning we slept in, had a late breakfast of oatmeal with fresh blueberries, read a few hours, then motored the 10 miles back to Whelpley Cove for a last night before two of our party leave us.

This will probably be the last vacation post till we return to Portsmouth ,as we'll be offshore for several days. I promise the skinny on that when we hit the mooring!