Why do we dare to dream?

I’ve only had one dream that I ever wanted just for me, something that would be mine and mine alone, and that is to publish my stories. Yet each day that slips by without “The Call” is like a wound to my heart.

What happens if I never publish? What happens if I devote years of hard work and dedication to the craft only to be disappointed? What happens if I have to tell all the people who’ve been standing behind me that I have failed?

What do I do if my dream never comes true?

I DREAM IT ANYWAY.

Writing a dark paranormal has consequences.

I’m several chapters into the second in the Amazon series. The first was dark. This one is darker. The main villian is a pseudo-vampire who sucks the life force out of people to stay alive. I suppose I should have known writing something so horrifying would impact me in other ways.

I had several nightmares last night. My own pseudo-vampire wasn’t chasing me around. No, my stalker was Jason Vorhees from the Friday the 13th movies. One of the dreams was so vivid, I knew when I came awake, and I was too afraid to open my eyes. I was convinced I’d see that stupid hockey goalie mask glaring down at me.

For pity’s sake, I should be old enough to be able to brush aside nightmares! But I’ll admit to grabbing my sleeping husband’s arm and dragging it across my waist so he would snuggle up against me. His touch soothed me, and I was finally able to get back to sleep. The last dream I had before waking up for good was about getting lost in Baltimore. Go figure.

I have plans to write two more of these stories, with each book getting a tad more frightening. By the time I get to the fourth, I’ll have dark circles under my eyes and be living on caffeine to stay awake. I guess I should realize writing requires sacrifice.

Why can’t I dream about Gerard Butler instead?

I put another semester to bed today.

Every year, it seems like the days slip by more rapidly. Perhaps it’s that slippery middle-aged slope. Perhaps it’s because I work with teenagers. Perhaps time itself is speeding up. Whatever the cause, this semester seemed to fly right by. I love my job, and I actually think that accounts for the days seeming so quick.

I was able to finish grading all my final exams before I bid Greenwood High School a fond farewell until 2008. We actually get to enjoy two full weeks off this year. I plan to use as much of it to write as possible. Only a Type A like me would turn a hobby like writing into a job. But I do still love writing so much.

I opened the faith healer book this weekend to read a few chapters to refresh myself with the characters. Not one to brag, I have to say my writing has improved so much since I started two years ago. The story is absorbing, and the characters are real enough I feel their emotions. I hope I can do the manuscript justice because it truly is a sweet story.

Two years. Wow. I’ve been writing two years. What do I have to show for it? Seven contest finals with four different manuscripts. Seven completed stories — five of which I think are worthy of an editor’s read. The other two are going to have to stay under the bed until I get the Amazon series out of my head. Maybe then I’ll work on rewrites. Two years sure slipped by fast.

Time flies when you’re having fun.

Pantser or plotter?

About the time I think I’ve decided I’m one, I morph into the other. The first book I wrote, I meticulously plotted every scene. I had a timeline drawn out and knew exactly where the story was going. At least I thought I did. Funny thing. The characters started to talk to me.

Now before you start to think I’m schizophrenic, let me explain. My characters develop personalities so strong, they often tell me when I write them “wrong.” This character intervention started with that very first book. I would no sooner write a couple hundred words of a scene, and one of them would shout, “No! That’s not what I would do! I would…” And he/she would proceed to tell me where I needed to steer the scene. And these characters were brilliant. They led me down roads I never would have considered and those interruptions of the meticulous plotting I’d done made the stories more rich and more emotional.

When I joined the Critters, I found out I didn’t have to plot. They gave me permission to just… write. To let the story steer me instead of vice-versa. And I’ve never looked back. At least until now.

The Amazon series is more complicated than a normal romance. This world-building stuff ain’t easy. Now that the “rules” are in place with the first book, I need to think about how those rules play out in the lives of the other three Amazons and their heroes. I’m ambitiously making the other three stories share some common threads, and keeping track of those details have proven to be a challenge. The pantser in me wants to just pound the keyboard, but the logical plotter is holding me back as I work on the major plot points. I’ve spent more time plotting the second book than any other project I’ve worked on. My biggest fear is that I’ll lose the richness and the spontaniety pantsing has given me. One the other hand, the plot has to be logical.

Maybe I can ultimately meld my pantser and plotter into one really good author.

My contesting days are coming to an end.

I received notification that RWA received both Murphy’s Law and The Reluctant Amazon for the Golden Heart contest. Those will be my last contest entries. I put in a year of hitting what I considered to be good contests, but I am ready to move on.

Part of the problem is that I’ve had some bad experiences with contests. Maybe it’s just bad luck, or maybe it’s that some contests aren’t organized well. But I have had some very odd things happen to some of my entries.

The very first time I received a call to tell me I was a finalist was for Free Falling. I waited for the website to post my name, absolutely thrilled that I’d finaled in the first contest I’d entered. Nada. When they finally listed the names on the website, mine wasn’t among them. An email to the contest chair was answered with a message that a mistake had been made. I’d missed the cut by one entry. The only apology offered was to invite me to enter the contest this year for free. As if… Luckily, I received a phone call the following weekend that Murphy’s Law was in the Heart of the Rockies final. Took some of the sting out of the whole thing.

Another interesting anecdote… In a recent contest, The Reluctant Amazon was listed as a finalist. I was thrilled because it was two for two in contests. But it was listed as a Single Title. Um, excuse me… Paranormal here. An email to the chair had it placed in the right category. The silver lining here was that she told me the score was high enough to final in either category. My fragile ego loved that.

There have been a few contests where I missed the cut by a single point. There have been a couple where I had a judge who was downright cruel in her critique. There have been some that have given me excellent feedback. But I think it’s time to pass on my contest diva crown. So the 2008 Golden Hearts are my swan song.

It’s been… fun.

I cannot imagine how hard it is to be around me.

This isn’t a self-esteem thing. I’m growing in confidence. That’s not the issue. My concern is my overall intensity. My need to keep driving forward. My need for everything to get done expediently. What was the quote? “Damn the torpedoes; full speed ahead!” Well, that’s how I live, it’s who I am.

The reflection comes from a self-evaluation, perhaps because of the approaching new year. For example, I had a great meeting with my beloved Critters yesterday. They are working their way through the first in the Amazon series. When we were done helping each other, we brainstormed. I truly appreciate their help because my son — my best idea person — is away at school. I don’t think he needs frantic calls from his mother begging for help with her current story. After our crit session, when Judie, Judith and I were eating dinner and chatting, I just suddenly felt like I’d been a bit too demanding of them, always wanting to go through one more idea, to have them look at one more paragraph.

I suppose my family would understand this best. I imagine I tend to drain them with my ferocity at everything I do. My Critters and my on-line partner must be blessed saints.

I have to ask myself, “Why? Why is everything so imporant, so imperative?” I wish I had that answer. In some ways, it makes me wonderful. I never start a project I don’t finish. I give 120% of myself to anything I tackle. And I love people with the same fierceness. There just isn’t anything halfway about me. That is probably why I exhaust people. Some days, being around me must feel like standing in the middle of a field during an Indiana thunderstorm.

Will I change? No. Do I want to? No. I like feeling like every day I live marks some accomplishment. I like knowing that I bring passion to everything I do. I like seeing the fruits of my labors. The only thing I need to do is to pull back on the reins, if you’ll excuse the horse reference. I need to know when to pace all out and when to jog.

When I learn that skill, I’ll be fine.