Okay, the issue with the wolf has finally been resolved. It took roughly 3 months, but at least it's done now and I know where I'm going with that. Of course, I feel like a dunce, because now that everything is straightened out, the answer seems so obvious, like there's no doubt this was how it was supposed to work out. What sort of idiot am I not to have seen it immediately? I'm trying to not beat myself up too much, though. It did involve some tricky thinking and research of legends from multiple countries.

Moving on, I'm happy that I'm getting to write about the Skeleton Man. He's the scary guy with all the answers and bad advice. Admittedly, I worry at times that I'm making him too sleazy - I have enough male characters that fit that adjective (hello, Renfrew). But I think if I let him fly his scary flag, it'll all be good. The main consideration with his dialogue is that he hints and reveals a little, but mostly he sets things up for Hallow/Hollowed to reveal later and gives Fin truly horrible advice and information.

Sure, the others set her on the path to self destruction, but he's the one who informs her best on how to drag a lot of questionably innocent people down with her.

There's pressure about writing him now, I must say. Like the maulers of chapter 18, the Skeleton Man is a character I've been hesitantly enthused about since I started this book. And now I can write him! I just half to keep from freaking myself out about him. The draft isn't going to be on par with my image of him, but I have to start somewhere; this is what I'm going to have to keep reminding myself of as I commence drafting him.

Now I'm thinking about chapter 18. I really should get back to that chapter. It has the potential for so much awesomeness - and really, I'm going to have to learn how to write an action scene someday; it may as well be now.

Okay, a teaser and then I'm gone to the Spiritscape for another month or two.


“There was a Veil through which I could not see. Come through the veil, Fin. Come and find the key.”

Lifting a bony hand, he cued a symphony of slithering and quiet clattering as the vines and flowers of the wallpaper became rows upon rows of dancing, jittering skeletons.

I stared at him, at all of it, in a trance. Fascinated by the way his skin stretched and tore over his knuckles, his hand came to my face. But as the tips of his fingers brushed my cheek, the trance broke and I ran.

I ran down the steps, my weight bowing them and shaking the thin, paneled walls that enclosed me. I ran through the store, shouting a rushed ‘thank you’ over my shoulder at the cashier as I fled the building, a bell above the door jingling as I went. I ran out into the freezing air and the setting sun. My feet hit the pavement and I kept running.

Creeping Since 1989,
Maria

June Update

I have 20 chapters finished of an expected 52. So. Go team? I've printed them out to hand edit, since I've realized I catch my mistakes better when reading on paper rather than on a screen. It's an expensive process and a time consuming one since I have to retype any changes I make instead of just dealing with them in the document from the get-go. But it's what seems to work best for me, and I have to respect that.

Admittedly, this is also a delay tactic while I suffer from writer's block. I know exactly what I want to write about, but the words have completely abandoned me. This way, I can still make progress on Nevermore, even without writing anything new. It's frustrating, though, since I'm getting into the action chapters and I've been looking forward to writing them for a while. Of course my brain betrays me.

Finally, figlitchat and yalitchat on Twitter had their weekly chats tonight - figlitchat talked about chemistry between characters while yalitchat discussed torture of characters - which inspired me to share a section of my draft. It's rough, but I like it.

           That did it. I don’t know why, but it did. I lunged at him, my fingers bent to form claws, aimed at his eyes. I had the satisfaction of feeling his blood gush under my nails before his hands wrapped around my wrists, bending them back until I was sure they would break. Under the blood, he was smiling. He backhanded me across my room and I landed on my bed hard. I got back up quickly, but he was already there, standing over me. I lashed out at him, filled with the same fear and rage I’d felt the first time I had run afoul of the Maulers. He staggered back, his smile gone. A fountain of blood gushed from three long gashes across his stomach; they stopped and healed almost immediately, as had the wounds my nails had made in his face.

I was ready to strike again, confident now that I’d found – for the moment, at least – a source of power. But he was faster than me, and stronger than me, and in an instant I was flat against the mattress, my arms pinioned above my head, his hand wrapped around my neck.

His lips were curved in that horrible, infuriating smirk. Fighting against the growing pressure of his hand, I pushed up to press my mouth to his. And for a second, before I was lost in the hate and the pleasure, I saw his eyes flash in triumph. We rolled together over my bed, while my sheets still smelled like the skin and blood, the life and death of another man.

May Update

I don't want to talk about how slow writing had been the past couple of months. One of my classes became incredibly intense almost immediately, and while I enjoyed it, it ate up my time like a Langolier coming off a diet.

Since school is out and I've forbidden myself from taking any summer courses - so help me God, I AM going to New Orleans this year to do some research - I'm cranking up to a decent pace. It's not where I wanted to be, but at least I'm still writing and I managed to work out a lot of the plot details and character-related issues during my imposed hiatus. The Scrivener for Windows beta finally came out, and I've been making use of it. Generally, this has meant as of late that I spend about half my scheduled writing time playing with Scrivener tools instead of writing. Don't worry though, I'm pulling myself into focus again.

As for where I am in the story, well.... The weather in Baltimore has become suddenly and impossibly hot, so I'm actually bizarrely pleased that I'm still in the winter months in the story, writing about the snow, and the icy cold, and body parts going numb; it helps me appreciate the current heat wave a little.

And now, for a shared snippet.

There was a pause after I quit yelling, lasting no longer than it would take me to breath in. And all at once I heard every door still on its hinges creak open and slam shut as one.

- Maria Out!

Blah

Haven't had much time to work on Nevermore this semester, which is in itself really irritating. Right now, I'm trying to get chapter 6 finished so that chapter 1-15 will be complete. But it's hard when what I've written for it so far sucks so badly.

I'm not even going to give a peek at the deleted material. It's awful. Middle school, self-insertion fanfiction awful. There's enough of that nonsense on the internet without my adding to the mass of literary shit.

Now to quit my bitchin', get back in my kitchen, and write like I'm baking a pie. And pie is good.

Welcome 2011! Here, Have A Cookie.

A new year has begun and I'm striving to finish the first draft of Nevermore by 2012. I think I stand a good chance of achieving that; barring any catastrophe's, I'm set to graduate in May and my tine after that is going to be largely devoted to writing. And yes, I do know how lucky I am to have a family that supports me doing this. They're awesome. :)


One thing I am going to try do is post scenes - interludes, orphans, funny dialogue, whatever - maybe once a month or so. Also, provided I can hold on to a thought for more than five seconds once school starts up again, I'm going to try write about the process and my problems with writing. You know, make you all familiar and friendly with my crazy. Anyway, the first cookie of 2011 is cozy *cough*smutty*cough* scene between Fin and Ian. ;)

Enjoy!

**********

“Neat story.”

I didn’t jump. I knew the voice to well to give its source that much satisfaction. Ian was behind me. There was a look in his eye, a little like the leer he gave me in 13, but not as lewd. “You have a way with words. Ever thought about switching to the writing major?”

“What, so you can stare down my shirt everyday without your sister seeing?”

He laughed a little. “Maybe. It’s a nice view to look forward to in the morning.”

I should’ve punched him. I kind of wanted to. But it was flattering and no one had flirted with me like this in New Orleans. No one had really looked at me at all. And I wanted someone as handsome as Ian to look at me, if I was honest. The facial features that were so unusual on Iris were sharp and rugged and attractive. In a few more years, he’d be gorgeous, with flocks of women fawning over him. It was inevitable, as clear to see as his outline against the fire.

By then, hopefully, I’d be smart enough to not be among those flocks. But why couldn’t I enjoy him right now, when he was paying attention to me? Sure, he was a jerk. According to every woman I’d ever met, all men were jerks. I’d deal.

“So what, you want me to write it down for one of your assignments?” I teased. “It sure as hell sounds better than that crap you put in the school paper.”

“There’s an idea,” he stepped forward and I held my ground. “But I was actually interested in where you got the story from. You said you were injured, right?”

“That’s right.” He had this queer little smile. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling back.

“Iris said you had a scar. Same accident?” I nodded. “Can I see it?” He stood toe to toe with me, and his left hand was on my right hip, just at the edge of my shirt. I couldn’t help smiling then. I turned and ran.

The forest floor sped away under my feet. I listened to the crackle and thud and his boots pounding the ground and wondered how long it would take until he caught up with me. He’d wanted me to run and I’d wanted him to chase me. I wondered if he really had wanted to do this since he met me. The thought, the wish, was so loud I could see it written in the air above his head. It amazed me Iris had never noticed it. But Iris could be exceptionally unobservant at times.

A ginger bread house was ahead of me. I swerved to run around it and felt Ian tackle me. I landed hard on my stomach, but there was moss and more leaves that had bunched against the building, acting as a natural pillow. I gasped and breathed in the musk of decaying foliage. His hands were on me, pulling me onto my back. I could barely see him. The ginger bread house had blocked out the light from the fire now yards away. But I could tell it was him and when he kissed me, it was the most natural thing to bury my fingers in his hair, giving back as good as I got.

I hadn’t realized I was still carrying around the taste of Renfrew from that hazy liaison at the Peabody. Then I realized I still remembered how he felt pressed against me in the stairwell. Suddenly, the kissing wasn’t enough. I started tugging at Ian’s jacket, and when he shed that I started pulling his shirt up. His hands had found their way under my top and as his palm slid over my rough, scarred skin without hesitation, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My fingers were teasing the skin just above the top of his jeans while he fumbled with my bra.

“Hey Iiiiiiiiiaaaaaan! Where aaaaaare youuuuuu?”

We both froze. Iris’ singsong call was coming closer.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Ian said over and over again as he pulled his shirt back on – I was amazed he could see well enough to even find it – grabbed his jacket and hobbled away from his sister. As though he’d just remembered me, he turned back, grimacing. “Maybe another time?”

*****
-Maria D