Amanda Helms

… if it isn’t Amanda!

(coughs) Hey, website.

How are you? Seems like it’s been ages since you’ve graced my pages. I’d give you the exact number of months, but having to say it may cause me to have a brain aneurysm.

More likely me than you, seeing as I’m the one with an actual brain. (coughs)

True enough. I’d apologize for all the dust, but we both know that’s not my fault.

Yeah, yeah…

Anyway, so what’ve you been up to, lo, these many months?

Well, there was the move into the townhouse.

Mm-hmm. And as I recall, that was completed about two months ago.

But then there was the unpacking of boxes. And I’m still not done with that.

But you see your floor, right? You’re “done enough” to go shopping on the weekends and whatnot.

To the farmer’s market! I’m buying local! And I joined a CSA, so I have all this food prep to do to keep the food from going to waste.

Didn’t I also hear that you joined Netflix again?

Um, yeah. But I’m only on the one-out-a-time plan!

Oh, of course. And how about that satellite you were thinking you’d cancel as a result of rejoining Netflix?

Er. Still connected.

I see. And Netflix has greatly improved its streaming service since you were last a member. So I’m told.

(coughs)

I think you’ve already cleared away the dust, dear.

But I do much more stuff than watch movies! I’ve been working to improve my posture and mobility. And I bought a Freestyle Suspension Trainer to help with workouts. I mean, I don’t want to reach 60 and be unable to move due to sitting all the time.

Laudable goals, yes. And regarding that bit about sitting all the time–didn’t you have plans to purchase a treadmill and treadmill desk so you could walk while writing?

I’m waiting for my $8000 tax credit to come in.

All right, Amanda, let’s cut to the chase. How’s the writing coming along?

. . .

It’s not coming along, is it? What about Holly Lisle’s How to Think Sideways course that you signed up for as a means to–what was it? Jumpstart you?

(sighs) I’m still getting the lessons, but I’m about six weeks behind now. I think. It might be more. I discovered my pet idea that’s supposedly been percolating in my head since NaNoWriMo ‘04 has no plot. Worse, I can’t give it one. Nothing fits. Everything I think of feels wrong. I don’t want to give up on it, website, but I think I need to shelve it again. And it’s not that I don’t have any other ideas to use for Think Sideways, but I just feel, stymied, you know? I mean, it’s a huge blow to one’s–well, my–writerly ego to realize I have problems with plot. I like Stephen King’s concept of Story and all, but I don’t think his method of write write write and let things flow really works for me. I mean, I can do it–I’ve finished NaNo that way–but then I wind up with a series of events that aren’t Story. And there’s a decided lack of conflict. So I need more structure upfront, I think. But at the same time, I feel like Think Sideways may be too structured for me, even though it’s supposed to be designed to walk the balance between left-brain and right-brain writing. (grabs a tissue and sniffles)

There, there. Let it all out. I’d pat you on the back if I had hands.

Thanks, website. (blows nose) But that’s not the worst of it. (lowers voice to a whisper) I think my muse left me.

Oh, my. That is serious. Please know that if I had arms, I would now give you a hug.

I appreciate it, website, particularly since I’ve been so remiss with you for the past, um, mumblety-something days/weeks/months. Like I said, I have other ideas I could use for Think Sideways, but they’re overall ideas that still need more plotting. And it also sucks that I’ve lost ground with Think Sideways since my original idea isn’t panning out. Now I have to go back and repeat some lessons.

Careful; you’re starting to whine.

But if I can’t whine to you, website, whom can I whine to? Then a while ago Miss Snark’s First Victim had a post called On Writing As Career. I get her point, I truly do. And I believe it. If I want to write for my career, I have to treat it as a career now. But what with the full-time job and the CSA and the cooking and the mobility work and–well, everything, I don’t have much more time to devote to writing. Then the prep work I do doesn’t feel like it’s writing, even though I know ostensibly it’s saving me time in the long run.

(sighs) Look, Amanda, you already know the responses to your excuses and the answers to your unspoken questions. You’ve said yourself that writers write, period. You’ve said that the only way to get past writer’s block is to write through it. If you really feel the prep work from Think Sideways isn’t helping you, or that it’s not “real” writing, then take a break from that and get back to the basics. Journal. Write a scene you do have in mind. Blather on for page after page about character development.

Um, but I don’t want to wind up in the Stephanie Meyer route, with lots and lots of  “characterization” but little to no actual plot. Particularly since I already show unfortunate tendencies in that direction.

Says the unpublished writer regarding the multimillion-dollar author. You may not want to write like Stephanie Meyer, but she did manage to get published. Go thou and do likewise.

(thoughtful silence) Hey, website?

Yes?

You’re not my muse, are you?

Do you want the psychobabble/metaficition bit about me being part of your subconscious that you have consciously employed in order to write this post, or do you want to stick with the simpler “you’re weird”?

Weird’s good for writing. If you mean weird in terms of creativity, I mean.

Weird it is, then.*

Hey! I see that footnote!

Go away and write something.

*Watches tumbleweeds drift across her site*

Well, so much for my goal of updating my blog twice a week. Epic fail on my part. I should really edit my home page since it erroneously claims I post regularly. Whoops.

At any rate, here’s where I’m at in regards to writing:

My WIP from NaNo remains unfinished. The ending–or lack thereof–has me stymied. I would like to finish the story at some point, but of course then it would still need massive revising.

However. Yesterday I signed up for Holly Lisle’s How to Think Sideways course. I’m hoping it’ll help jump start the WIP, but also to really develop my idea from my ‘04 NaNo. Honestly the ‘04 NaNo idea is what I have the most faith in–or rather I have the most faith in the characters behind it. But it’s complicated, and I never did quite manage to get my head around the true story. Various iterations ( I should drop in the main character’s mentor figure and he should be evil; I should drop in the main character’s mentor figure and he should be a typical, kindly mentor–the main nemesis should be this organization that was upset when the world didn’t end after all;  it should be from the POV of the original main character’s daughter, and it should be twenty years later than the original setting the main character shouldn’t be a POV character and instead I should do something more like The Great Gatsby where it’s from the POV of a “secondary” character;) have cropped up, but none of them truly feels right. At least not yet.

Yes, I’m aware that I’m being very vague about this, but that’s because everything regarding this idea has become so amorphous I hate to detail much of it. Though truthfully I don’t feel I could possibly muddy the waters anymore than I already have. So yeah. Hoping Think Sideways will help.

And here’s where I’m at regarding house-hunting: House–townhome, more accurately–has been hunted and found. I made an offer and the sellers accepted. I had it inspected, and the sellers are supposed to resolve the various issues. I am currently waiting on the appraisal, which my lender is responsible for setting up. If there are no hiccups from the appraisal (i.e., no cries of “Idiot, you offered way more than that place is actually worth!) then everything should tie up nicely for me to close on April 21. It is this happy thought, and that of relocating, that prevents me from trudging outside to throw a brick through the window of my upstairs and/or downstairs neighbor when their music (DS neighbor) or stomping/altercations with 6-year-old son (US neighbor) wakes me up at 2 or 4 in the morning.

Well, that happy thought and also the knowledge that I would have to pay to repair the window. And that I don’t happen to have any bricks in my apartment. The next best thing to throw would be my tool box, but that I need that. I must take apart my build-a-couch somehow.

…particularly when they occur just in time for me to seriously consider getting in on the first-time homebuyer tax credit. Which means my writing is, sadly, taking a backseat for the moment to number crunching and researching of various loans and housing options. I do have a goal, though, to finish Disenchantment by the end of February. It could still happen.

But for now, back to budgeting.

I should probably apologize for not blogging in so long, but it’s my blog, so I don’t have to. Makes me feel all mighty and powerful in a world where my control is small and finite. Or something.

Anyway, I moderate all my comments so as to prevent the vast body of spammers from infiltrating my blog. Spambots have even tried to “comment” on the pen image on my home page. In Russian, if I recall correctly. Most I just mark as spam immediately, but occasionally some pop up and make me smile. Or furrow my brow in bewilderment. Case in point:

The author of amandahelms.com has written an excellent article. You have made your point and there is not much to argue about. It is like the following universal truth that you can not argue with: If it is on the Internet, it must be free. If it is not free, it must be stolen at every opportunity. If it is not stolen at every opportunity, it must be remarkably inferior to something else that is duly free or stolen at every opportunity. Thanks for the info.

Yeah, this was more of a head-scratcher than smiler. It’s so convoluted that I struggle even to come up with snide commentary*. My “article” was my most recent excerpt from my NaNo project, in which I made a point about–nothing. That was the point where my brow first furrowed itself.

But of course the bulk of it is that “universal truth” bit. It’s so convoluted I’m having trouble coming up with snide commentary, other than that, no, not everything on the Internet “must be free,” IMHO. I mean, sure, it’d be nice if amazon.com would just send me free books and Blu Rays, but seeing as I’d like people to spend money on my book when I get one published, I hardly think it’s fair to exempt myself from that. Besides, there is some online content one must pay for, which I don’t have a problem with. The creators are providing a service, after all, and should be recompensed for their work.

So, spammer, though you made me pause for a moment with your somewhat more original “comment” before you wanted to link to your webpage about cheap insurance or payday loans or whatever it was, you are still trying to put spam on my blog, which I do not allow. Je ne sais quoi factor or no.

*Epic fail on my part.  I do apologize for that. And weep for my lack of wit.

Well, my regularity in posting has been slipping anyway, but I will be on hiatus from the blog until the new year. Except for marking as spam all the submitted comments in Russian I keep getting. Believe me, I have no interest in the website “macrosoft.”

Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

Post titles, that is. Were authors to stop titling their books, leaving blank spine after blank spine on the shelves of my local Borders, there would be havoc. Geeky, bibliophiliac havoc, which I suppose isn’t as havoc-like as what one might find at an anarchist meeting, but still. Havoc of a sort. So titles are important for some things.

But for this post, eh.

Anyway, I’m somewhat rethinking the direction of this blog/site after reading yet again about folding publishers, closing agencies, and the general decline of the traditionally published word. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not one of those doomsayers who thinks books are dying. Or rather, that the written word is dying. I think there will always be a need for stories. I’m just not so naive as to suspect the medium in which we get our stories is static. Or that the type of stories people want to read is static.

I have no hard plans yet, but I may discontinue my Thursday 300 posts. Or at least decrease the frequency. While I do believe that the “story-medium” is changing, there are still quite a few publishers out there who won’t accept works that have appeared on the Internet, as they consider that “published.” I’m trying to be realistic about what avenues I have of getting my work out there, but being realistic doesn’t mean I have to light a match and toss it on the bridges behind me. Even if they are already decrepit.

Right, that made sense as I was typing it. It may not in the morning.

As for the possible new direction, I’m keeping that to myself for the moment while I decide if it’s actually something I want to do or not. I don’t figure there’s much point in blathering about it here when it’s still a big question mark.

So yeah, not much going on with this post. Now you see why I didn’t have a real title for it.

A confession: My inner bread baker is a sourdough snob. I hesitate to use the term “inner bread baker,” since that implies the baker aspect of my persona is somehow cut off from the rest of me, or that it’s like a rarely worn shirt hanging in the back of my closet, that, when I want to wear it again, I have to pull out of a protective plastic cover and let it air out for a bit to get rid of the smell of mothballs.

Only I think mothballs are used in drawers and not the closet so much. I don’t know. I have never had to employ the use of mothballs. But that’s a tangent, anyhow.

So “inner bread baker” isn’t quite accurate, but nor would the more plebeian “amateur,” which I mean not as some naif of the bread-baking world, entirely ignorant of rising times and shaping and slashing loaves, but as an initiate studying the craft, as it were. That sort of amateur wants to become a master. Don’t get me wrong; I want to be a decent bread baker, and on the whole I think I am, but there are thousands if not millions of people better at it than I am. I enjoy baking, but I only do it as I need it, whether for the end product of the loaf or for the therapy/relaxation inherent with working with the dough. A serious amateur, I think, would bake to get better. Regularly.

So I’m not a true amateur and I don’t like the term “inner bread baker.” But I am definitely a sourdough snob. I do use dry yeast, but I get a greater sense of satisfaction from using my sourdough starter. I baked a loaf of sourdough bread today that was my best riser that I recall. It’s going to become a bread bowl for an artichoke cheese dip so I haven’t tasted it yet. But the rise was impressive enough to make me consider an activity more suited to an amateur bread baker than whatever I am: take pictures. Hey, it would be more interesting than taking pictures of myself writing. I mean, people like food. It has universal appeal. The creative process, however, not so much. Particularly since a great deal of it involves me staring at a blinking cursor.

Anyway. Why I’m a sourdough snob. There are those who argue that the flavor profile of a sourdough loaf is superior to that of an active yeast loaf, due to the slower rise and slower development of the wild yeast of the sourdough. Also, some have extolled the variety of sourdough. My sourdough should have a different taste to it than my mom’s sourdough, or a San Francisco sourdough, since the yeast spores in my kitchen differ from those in my mom’s kitchen and those in San Francisco. So yeah, there’s the flavor thing.

Aside from that, though, I just like the concept of sourdough. It’s almost like alchemy: I mix together water and flour and set it on my counter for a few days. I forget about it, and all on its own it starts getting bubbly and frothy and develop a pleasant, yeasty aroma.*

But it’s not alchemy, of course; it’s nature. Or science, if you start getting technical about the “how” of it. Both/and. But still, in this world where, were technology to be somehow stripped from my life, I would likely die** that making a loaf of bread is so simple does almost feel like magic.

The ingredients of my sourdough loaf are bread flour, water, whey (which could account for the nice rise), and salt. Since the yeast spores are from my kitchen and not a little packet, it’s about as close to “homemade” as you can get.  And people have been making bread like this for thousands of years. It is, well, neat. Yes, I am aware of how inadequate that sounds.

Still. That’s why I’m a sourdough snob.

_______________________________________________________

*Well, pleasant to me. Some people don’t like the smell of fermentation.

**I’m not being facetious; it’s currently 10ºF and feels like 0º according to weather.com. Plus, I’m not sure how long I could gather foodstuffs before eating a poisonous berry or mushroom. I’m botanically ignorant.

From Chapter 4. Might as well continue going in order.

__________________________________________________________

Aelis found a secluded corner in the banquet hall and covered Lyra up with one of those ludicrous and pointless curtains while she went to find a servant to bespell into directing her to the dungeons. Since the glamour had affected the servants on the way to the balcony, it must be that the reason her magic didn’t work on Lyra was a defect with the girl herself rather than Aelis’s own powers.

She felt vindicated when the successful spelling of a girl of about fifteen proved that Aelis’s suppositions were correct. She was less pleased to discover the manse had no dungeons.

“No dungeons?” she exclaimed louder than was wise, glamour or no glamour, spell of compulsion or no. “What sort of manse is this, not to have dungeons?” Honestly, where had the lords of old done their torturing? Particularly in what had started out as a fort, by all the celestial spirits?

The servant’s gaze wandered past Aelis constantly, not truly focusing on anything. “No dungeons, Lady,” the girl said in a monotone. “It’s the land, you see. Not stable enough for digging underground. It would cause the building to collapse.”

Aelis chewed her lip as she tapped at her thigh with a finger. “Well then, where are prisoners held?”

If at all possible, the girl’s blank look turned blanker. “Prisoners?”

She clenched her teeth to keep from throttling the bespelled girl. Then she would have two bodies to take care of, instead of just one. “Yes, prisoners! Enemies of the barony to be held for questioning, thieves, you know, prisoners!”

“Yaric doesn’t get prisoners, Lady.”

And the girl went back to sweeping the stairs, as she had been doing when Aelis had placed the spell upon her. Aelis had half a mind to slap the girl into obedience, but instead spat out a spell of forgetting and wheeled about on her heel to reascend the staircase. She wasn’t accustomed to relying upon physical force to induce unconsciousness, so she had no idea when Lyra might start coming to again. And that she couldn’t allow.

Her mind spun as she tried to think of a plan. If Darnett could see her now, he would give her a thorough tongue-lashing. His philosophy was that one should always go into one’s endeavors with a plan, and a backup plan, and another backup plan in case the first failed. And even then, one ought to remain flexible.

Well, she had remained flexible, which was what had gotten her into this spot of bother in the first place.

The girl was still breathing when Aelis returned to her. Drat. She’d half-hoped her blow had been severe enough to kill the girl. But of course if an annihilation spell were to work, that would be far superior, as she would be left with no corpse to contend with. Death by brute force would warrant either hiding the body or coming up with a scapegoat to blame the murder upon.

The things she did for love.

Aelis froze, limbs stiff, but then forced herself to relax.

She would just have to deal with that particular epiphany later. Now, she must focus on what to do with the girl.

Thousands of novelists are, as I write this post, frantically typing away at their novel, hoping their heads don’t explode or their fingers catch fire from the friction of speedy keyboarding. Or at least that their heads kindly delay their explosions and fingers their igniting until after midnight, local time, so that they may verify their novels and claim their winner goodies, and enjoy the satisfaction of writing 50,000 words–or more–in thirty days.

But not me.

….

….

….

Did I hear gasps of shock and horror? Likely not, since I am quite sure that no one reading this is so caught up with my life or my NaNoing that the prospect of my failure kindles in them deep-seated dismay.

But if I am wrong, I implore you: Get your own life. No offense.

Anyway, I am not feverishly working on my novel or stressing about verifying word count since I hit 50k on hmm the 21st, I think it was, and verified over the weekend just in case the server went down or something today (which always happens around midnight). Far better to have a badge and be locked in a with a slightly inaccurate number, methinks, than to not get my badge and certificate at all.* My caution proved unnecessary, though, since I just updated my novel info with my final November word count (though I did include the words written for my aborted idea–hey, it was written during November, so I figure it’s all good). I am officially verified at 82,541 words, which is around 1,000 more than what I wrote last year, and is therefore my new record. So yay!

And now let us bask in my NaNoWriMo Winner badge.

Aww, pretty, isn’t it? *sniffle*

This year marks my sixth year of participation and my sixth win. I’m not done with the story yet, but am close enough that I think I’ll have the first draft finished by mid-December. But to ensure I get it done, I’m giving myself a hard deadline of December 21, which is two days before I head to Austin for Christmas. I’ll likely break entirely from writing during vacation, though I’ll need to think of something to keep myself going while Disenchantment will sits for a month or two so I can gain some distance from it. Then I’ll commence with revising and rewriting.

And two or three drafts later, hopefully it’ll be in a shape I can shop around to agents. Which I would normally pontificate about, but the idea is still too abstract–I’ve never seriously shopped any of my stuff. I tend to have issues with starting long projects and not finishing them, or not wanting to put the work into revising them. New ideas get too bright and shiny.

But of course that’s part of the discipline necessary to become a published writer. First drafts, particularly when written under a system like NaNo, are almost always crap. But underneath the crap there’s some good stuff. And yes, cleaning off the crap is yucky and hard and unpleasant, but necessary if you–well, let’s be honest: if I–don’t want to keep that pile of steaming crap around.

So for now I’ll enjoy my win and commit to finishing the first draft. The rest of it will come.

But in the meantime, I send out my positive vibes to those furiously typing novelists. My your fingers fly swiftly to bring you to your 50k, and may the NaNoWriMo site servers not become overloaded as you log on to verify your word count.

And even if the servers are overloaded, and even if you did not reach 50k, every word you wrote is still an accomplishment. For every Wrimo who fell short of 50k, there are still a hundred more who didn’t even try.

*winces at the corniness*

Um. I’m signing off now before my schmaltz filter fails completely. Good luck, novelists!

* Though I’ve never printed out the certificate. Don’t get me wrong; I love NaNo–November isn’t November without it–but printing out my winner certificate alone in my apartment, signing my name to it, also alone in my apartment, and putting it on my wall where only I will see it strikes me as, well, somewhat sad.

I thought about calling this “The Obligatory Thanksgiving Post,” but decided that had too negative a connotation, like it’s just something I need to check off my list: “Oh, it’s Thanksgiving; time to be thankful,” since of course we ought to always be mindful of the blessings we’ve received. Still, thankfulness is the core of the holiday, and honestly coming up with these Miscellany Monday posts is harder than I thought it’d be. That whole thing about boundaries freeing you, I guess. When you can write about anything, it can actually be harder to come up with ideas. So yeah, I’m not above looking to the season for inspiration.

Here it is, in no particular order.

I’m thankful…

1. That I’m solvent. Maybe my safety cushion isn’t as big as I’d like, but I’m not living paycheck to paycheck. I do have a buffer. A tiny one, but I have it. And that I still have enough leftover to feed my book edition and buy various baking accessories.
2. That my parents have always supported my dreams. I’m sure it helps that I see the necessity of a day job and not mooching off them while I purse my goal of publication, but still. They’ve always encouraged me to figure out what I want to do, without trying to impart their ideas on me. (Though I’m sure my dad is still somewhat regretful that I didn’t prove to be physics- or math-inclined.)
3. For Christ’s sacrifice.
4. For my senses, which allow me to perceive beauty. Harmony is a lovely thing. Sunsets are lovely things. The smell of cinnamon is a lovely thing. So is the taste of cinnamon, but of course most of what we taste is actually smell. But still. Lovely. Hugs. Hugs can be beautiful, too. *pauses to count* Yup. That’s all five senses. If I had a sixth sense I’d go into that, but no, I don’t see dead people.
5. That I don’t see dead people. It’d freak me out.
6. That I have a job which, even in the midst of a merger, is relatively secure. It’s good to work directly on what makes money for the company.
7. That even if I were to lose my job, I have people I could turn to for help.
8. That even if I were to lose my job, I still know where my meals are coming from for at least a month. I am sure I have that much food in my kitchen, which is not the case for many people in this country and abroad.
9. For my dear college roommates, to whom I know I can say anything and still receive unconditional love. (Well, unless I told one roommate that Batman is the worst superhero ever, she might not forgive me. Luckily I don’t feel that strongly about Batman, so I’m safe.)
10. That I still have a local support system of friends and family, since my dear college roommates have not deigned to move to Colorado. *sniff*
11. That I have the time to indulge in activities that make me happy–writing and baking. (I’d be happier yet if the calories derived from eating what I bake didn’t affect me, but oh well.)
12. For my health. And that I have decent health insurance in case something were to go wrong.
13. That I’m a permanent employee. I have been a temp, and it sucks. A lot.
14. For my family, both immediate and extended. I am blessed to have a family that gets along with everyone.
15. That my uncle’s blocked artery was caught relatively quickly, and that the balloon angioplasty went well. Still praying about the aneurysm they found, and thankful that they did find it while he was still in the hospital.
16. For dogs, even though I don’t have one living with me right now. Dogs are a perfect example of unconditional love.
17. That zombies aren’t real. The idea of having ambulatory, rotting corpses pursuing me to eat my brains does not appeal.*
18. That I live in Colorado. I love our mountains and 300 days of sunshine. I have been without, and did not enjoy it.
19. To have a roof over my head and central heating.
20. For fuzzy socks, a cup of hot chai tea, and a book to read.

Twenty is a nice number, so I’ll leave it at that. Happy Thanksgiving, whatever readers I have!

*And for those who might say that zombies are real, well then fine; I’m thankful I’ve never encountered one.