I hab a toad

Two days ago, I started getting this dry, scratchy throat. "Not to worry," I says to myself. "I never get sick."

That's my mantra - I never get sick. And I don't, hardly ever at all. Each December I have to sell back sick leave because we can only carry over so much from one year to the next.

Whenever I do get the sniffles or a sore throat, I go to work to spread the joy. I figure if I'm gonna feel like crap, I might as well be at work. Now sure, if I have a fever I stay home. But like I said, I just don't get sick.

My constant state of denial serves me well.

So I'm sitting here on a Friday with a horribly sore throat and that otherwordly feeling you get from cold medicines, and I'm happy.

Why? You ask. Well, because it's October 19th. By the time November 1st hits, my throat will be fine, my snot will have run, and I'll be healthy and ready to take on The Great Tea Debacle with vim and vigor. Add to that the fact that it happens to be Fall, and that means grey skies, grey water, and solid rain - the perfect recipe for staying inside at the keyboard, plugging away at my novel.

That old Fall/Winter depression that hits so many this time of year -- when you realize the cheer and color of Summer is long gone, and you've nothing to look forward to now save for cold temps, rainy days, impending snow, Thanksgiving with the in-laws (and all that bickering, burned turkey, Grandma's harping and the baby puking up on the fine linen tablecloth you inherited from your Great Aunt Edna) -- doesn't affect me. I've lived here all my life, grey is my favorite color. What do you have coming? Christmas, and all the dashed hopes, ruined plans and Visa bills.

Wouldn't you really just like to curl up on the couch under a blanket, get yourself some hot chocolate with the little sprinkles on top of your marshmallows, the TV remote in one hand, some cookies in the other, and begin that long, Winter's nap? Your favorite shows are on, and those slippers with the warm, soft fuzzy insides are calling your name.

Go ahead and put down the laptop, close it up, and pull out that book you've been dying to read. Let the rain fall, let the wind blow, just feel the steam from your mug of hot cocoa as it warms your nose. Enjoy the soothing warmth as it slides down your throat, and try not to think about those heating bills to come next month.

How's about some Peppermint Schnapps for that mug?

You know, there's plenty of time to get that novel written. Just kick back, enjoy the early sunsets and long, dark evenings. Maybe knit yourself a sweater for the coming blizzard.

Oh, and if you need my address for mailing all that tea, just let me know.

What the -- ?

Who, What, Why and Where. Writers often use the What If tactic to either come up with a plot, fix a plot, figure out a plot, or plug up a plot.

I do it now and again just to amuse myself, but I'll also utilize it for working out a plot when I need to know the best way to get from point B to point C. And it's a good tool for checking over your novel when it's completed - asking yourself some questions to see if you've left anything open and dangling in the realm of stupidity that your agent/publisher/readers will catch.

The question that I've been pondering lately involves time travel, which usually makes me roll my eyes because too many writers (books, movies, and tv) really screw it up. But my question is: What if those predictions from the 50's were true, and by the year 2007 we're all flying around in our personal hovercrafts, leaving the household chores to our robots, working two days a week from the comfort of our home offices, using our virtual reality computers, and taking long vacations on a resort on Mars?

What if all that were true, and a reality, only someone from the future invented a time machine, traveled back into the past on a lark, and stepped on a butterfly. And thanks to that hapless twit, we have the reality we live in now - which is technically an alternate, someone-screwed-up-and-changed-it reality. We're completely oblivious to this until that hapless twit shows up and apologizes for having fucked us over and set the human race back about a thousand years.

The consequences of that question are explored to a certain degree in my new novel - the one I'm competing with in the Great Tea debacle.

Now, I know what you're saying: If this guy from the future travels to the past and changes the future, wouldn't that cancel out his own existence, thus making it impossible for him to travel to the past in the first place? That's called a time loop, which is solved by the parallel universe theory.

Let's imagine Fred, Barney, Wilma and Betty are standing in Fred's basement, watching as Fred steps into a time machine. He goes "poof" and heads into the past. While he's there, he steps on the proverbial butterfly, thus causing dear old Betty to never have been born. When he returns to the present, he finds Barney and Wilma waiting for him, anxious to hear about his adventure - but no Betty.

Fred stepped on the butterfly, Betty was never born. Fred remembers Betty, realizes what he did - but Barney and Wilma have never heard of Betty. She was never born, so they don't know she's gone.

You're thinking - But, if Betty was never born, then she never married Barney, who then never took that job at the rock quarry, never met Fred, and wasn't there to help him build the time machine in the first place.

Now instead of following Fred, let's stay with Barney, Betty and Wilma. They wave as Fred goes 'poof' then stand there, chatting and enjoying the cheese platter, and wait. Fred has now squashed said butterfly. Does Betty puff out of existence? Does she vanish, leaving Wilma and Barney with a serious case of amnesia? What happened to her wine glass? Did it fall to the floor?

No. What happened was, Betty, Barney and Wilma are left to wait forever - because Fred never returns.

The reality Fred is alive in is the one where the butterfly died, and Betty wasn't born. So that's the only reality Fred can return to.

The reality Wilma, Barney and Betty are alive in is the one where Fred left in a time machine and never came back.

So, could the Terminator have traveled back in time and murdered Sara Conner - thus preventing her son from being born, which would have eliminated the Terminator from ever having to travel back in the first place?

Yes and No. He would have traveled back, killed Sara, and prevented the kid from being born - but that would not have affected the people who sent him. It would have created an alternate reality, wherein Sara Conner was murdered before ever having a son.

Dizzy?

Don't worry - when I go back and spray Raid all over the Jurassic and prevent your birth, it'll only be a reality somewhere else, which is where I'll be, which kinda makes it a win-win for me, eh? :D

Obsessive Compulsive Slacking

Not too long ago, a writer by the name of Robert Jordan died. A sad occasion, to be sure, but I've heard it said that he was the type of writer who took copious notes. So many notes, that it's possible his next novel could still see the light of posthumous publishing. Good news for his readers.

The other day, my sister and I were discussing this, and she pointed out that - should I pass while in-between novels in a series -- it would be impossible for my 'last' novel to be completed, as I take no notes. Not even she, who lives with me and functions as my best Beta reader, knows what I have in mind. She prefers to read the novels green, without hearing what I have planned ahead of time, because that ruins and/or could influence her thinking as she reads.

It's true, I don't take notes.

I wish I did - I honestly do think they'd be a good idea. And I love notebooks! I have several, some hand made for me as a gift, and several of these black leather bound numbers with a magnetic clasp. I'm drawn to notebooks at the office supply stores, and constantly look for new styles.

Thing is - I'll get a new story idea in my head, and sit down with a pot of Lapsang Souchong, some cookies, a nice micro-fine black gel pen and crack open one of those notebooks . . . then turn into some kind of Wereidiot.

First, I can't use a pen for more than ten minutes before my arm cramps up and my penmanship circles the drain. Second, while I'm not anal-retentive or a neat-freak, my note taking screams for perfect organization. I must have headers, bullet notes, clear, precise and logical points and details.

Basically, what happens is this: Sit down, start writing out character names to get proper spelling. Write the header Chapter One, sit for an hour staring at the lint on the floor, remember what I was doing, jot down some high points, change my mind on the spelling of one character name, rip out the entire page so I can start over.

Yep, can't just cross it out, gotta start over so the notes will be pristine and easy to read!

After a few pages of this, and several re-starts, something will snap inside my head and I'll start inserting lines, crossing things out (like normal humans) and making notes that even I can't read. Then I'll change my mind about the entire plot, need more tea, see something shiny and never open that notebook again.

So, when I become a famous, published author, then die right smack dab in the middle of a series, my readers are gonna be shit outta luck!

But, before anyone think this gives them a distinct advantage in the Great Tea Debacle - fear not . . . For I once penned a 240,000 word epic without jotting down One. Single. Note.

Bwhahahahaha *cough* 'scuse me.

A Nano-we-will-Go!

It would seem that not only am I doing Nano for the second time, but I've entered into a wager with Pete, Carrie and Lori (and anyone else who wishes to chime in before we begin). To the victor goes the Tea!

The thing about Nano (national novel writing month) is that you're allowed to write garbage, so long as you're writing. It's all about BIC (butt in chair) and getting things done. It's helpful for the newbie writer who has never completed a novel-length story, and for writers who might have the occasional issue with Newton's First Law (like me) and it's also just there for those of us who wanna have fun.

Writers often place bets with each other, offer up dares and challenges. Those are useful for the participants who have no idea what they want to write during Nano - someone will challenge the creation of a story with vampire robots, for example, and - having nothing else in mind - a writer(s) will take up that challenge and (try) to whip out 50,000 words.

But then there's us. I'm pretty sure all of us: Me, Pete, Carrie and Lori, have something specific in mind. Novels we fully intended to polish and submit for traditional publication. Nano exists for that, too. It's a way to force out a first draft, or at least the first half, of a novel you wanted to get done and decided to use the challenge as a way to do it.

The orginators of Nano encourage writers to feel free and uninhibited, so they encourage you to put away the internal Editor and go forth, writing garbage if need be.

What might hinder me in this competition is my inability to do just that !

Oh, I can put the Editor away for a while. I often write that way, for the most part. But what I can't do is breeze through a tough scene by simply typing: Insert Better Scene Here. I'm a linear writer, and can't skip ahead or jump around. So when I hit a scene that isn't coming out well, it's like hitting a brick wall with no airbags. I have to write that scene before I can do the next one.

Putting in this blank section with a promise to myself that I can go back and fill it in later makes my hands shake. So this should be interesting. I did complete Nano last year, my first try, successfully, which tells me it can be done, and I can knuckle down and get busy with it when necessary.

And I have a secret weapon this year: Several days of annual leave scattered in around the month. Thanks to a ridiculous work ethic that netted me the nickname Energizer Bunny, I always end up with well over the carry-over limit of leave allowed in a year, and have to scramble to use it up before December 31st.

But - should this leave my competitors trembling in their booties - I also have an art show during the Veteran's Day weekend, and I experience some small difficulty writing at home vs writing at work.

So . . . countdown to the Great Tea Debacle: Tea minus 16 days (or something).

I'll try and put up a counter to show some progress, if I can figure this thingie out.