I’ve had the idea for a while (and by a while, I mean years). There’s nothing new about blogging a book. Others have done it before me and others will do it after me.

But with this particular book, in my humble opinion, blogging it is the perfect medium. My one worry is having my material ripped off or plagiarized. That said, it’s a chance I’m willing to take.

With that, here’s my goal: blog one page (300 words) from the book each day. (Not on this blog, mind you. I already have the book blog set up.)

Since it’s a first person journal-style book, I must plan out how to display the content—basically, make it easy for someone just jumping in to read from the beginning.

Something else that just popped into my head is whether to allow commentary on the individual pages. On one hand, it can help me build a following and offer great feedback/direction, but on the other, it can adversely hamper my own creativity (and negative comments could just plain make me feel bad).

Then there’s the question of how to get it from blog format into edited manuscript format.

And, of course, I’ll eventually have to explain that it’s a work of fiction.

*sigh*

Enough yammering, it’s time for me to start doing. I’ll work out all those little details later.

I was re-reading the first chapters my WIP and realized that a few secondary characters, though they were important to the story, lacked depth.

I hadn’t taken the time to get to know them as I did with my main characters. I hadn’t done full bios or backgrounds on any of them. I knew nothing about who they were as people or what motivated their actions. That made me feel a little sad. I had neglected some of my characters.

Rather than sulk, I opened up my sketchbook and did a bit of drawing. The result? I came up with a couple character sketches, but it didn’t end there. I was struck by some inspiration which lead to writing excerpts from their diary entries.

A revealing process indeed. It lead to another key point in the story which I had never thought about and it deepened the relationship (and the rift) between the secondary and the main characters. Happy days.

Character Sketch #1:

Name: Rachel
Age: 16
Hair: Jet Black
Eyes: Hazel
Height: 5’8”
Career: Social Climber

An excerpt from Rachel’s diary:

I want to feel guilty, but I can’t. Emily has changed. She’s forgotten where she comes from, she’s forgotten all the rules. That’s why I can’t feel guilty and why I don’t intend to apologize for what I’ve done. Eleanor always told us that if we want something in this world, we have to convince those who have it to give it to us. That’s exactly what I did. Emily could have had it all, but she threw it away. Now Tristan is mine and I don’t intend to let go.

Character sketch #2:

Name: Jill
Age: 16
Hair: Blonde
Eyes: Pale Blue 
Height: 5’3”
Career: Tortured Social Climber

An excerpt from Jill’s diary:

Sometimes I think they only reason that Rachel and Emily even hangs out with me is because Victoria’s my sister, but I try not to let it get to me. Rachel can be a real bitch sometimes, but I’d rather not cross her—she has her claws sunk too deep into the CC Elite. I like Emily though and I feel kinda bad for her. I’m torn. Tell Emily and have Rachel turn my life into a living nightmare or stay quiet and watch my friend’s life get turned upside down? I wish Em would just beat Rachel at her own game.

Yesterday I went shopping with my sister. She needed to pick up something from a department store, I really didn’t need anything. But somehow, I ended up leaving with more than she did. (Funny how that happens, isn’t it?)

Well, before you start rolling your eyes and wondering what any of that has to do with writing, let me just move it along.

Continue reading »

There’s a moment just before you drift off to sleep (or are just waking up) and I call this Twilight Time because your mind is in two stages.

It also happens to be when the ideas tend to come to me; sometimes I’m good about remembering them when I wake up, other times not so much. That’s why I’m here to preach the importance of having a notebook and pen sitting next to your bed (or wherever you happen to sleep).

Last night, as I was drifting to sleep, a fragment of an idea the size of a diamond fleck came to me. The Sandman had given me an extra dose, so I was fighting it as I clawed my way onto my side and grabbed the notebook off the nightstand, luckily the pen rolled onto the bed with it.

I scribbled that first small thought. Then another followed. Before long, I had the page completely filled with gems that I would need to gently thread into a story. But, I also had something I was not expecting.

Some time ago, I’d say about six months, I had developed a general premise for a story. No matter which way I spun it, however, it never quite felt right to me. I already had the title, which I loved, so I just let it sit. When I had finished scribbling my notes, I realized that one of the lines was the title to that story that never quite wanted to be written. Until now.

Stories are strange creatures. Some will let you know the moment they are conceived, but will force you into a gestation period–like the one above. Others won’t let you know they’ve been conceived until you’re delivering it right on the page.

Linkin Park Meteora

I was stuck in traffic when the song came on. It was by Linkin Park and I suddenly felt inspired to write a particular scene I’d been putting off because of its delicacy.

In that brief moment when I was able to let my mind drift and just listen to the song, the harsh beat (which is my male lead), the melody (who he is inside) and the words (his desires), I suddenly realized it was the song for his revelation.

Naturally, as soon as I got home, I set my iPod to “Repeat One” and wrote like a mad woman. Now, the scene’s not entirely perfect, but I was finally able to get the emotions, the tension, and the revelation out on paper and it was all thanks to a song. Continue reading »

I’m about 90% finished my first actual novel. (I say actual because I’ve written books in the past, but none were quite a full-length novel.) As I printed a hard copy of what I’d done so far and began reading it with a red pen, I remember an old man I once saw wood carving. Continue reading »