I have two journals. (More, actually, but only two that count.) One is for writing, the other is for life. But when writing=life, which should I use?

Tis a puzzlement.

Anyway. Have done about 800 words of revising today, though it’s probably more in the area of 2000 if you count everything I typed and then deleted. (Who is it that said “I never write ten words but I erase eleven”? Something like that.) The first chapter finally resembles something like how I wanted it, though it feels a bit character-heavy and info-dumpy. But the first version also felt info-dumpy, and this at least also has the advantage of sketching out all the conflicts that will come into play in the course of the novel.

But I’ve got to stop messing with it and move on. Tinkering with a first chapter is just another method of procrastination.

There was also some errand-running and laundry, and some enjoyment of how winter has abruptly descended on us. There’s snow on Mt. Timpanogus that wasn’t there Friday.

I was thinking about Nanowrimo prep—mostly about snacks, of all things—when I realized something.

I’m nervous about Nanowrimo this year.

Now, I’ve participated in Nanowrimo 3 times. I’ve won all three times: twice I’ve completed the novel itself, not just hit the word count (my first Nanovel has never been finished, and considering I don’t know how it should end it will probably stay that way), and last year I got well over the word count to the tune of 63,000 words.

I’ve always had fun. It’s an insane way to create something but I need that energy to actually settle in and do it, I’ve found: I need something prodding me to write every day. They say it takes 30 days to make a habit, which is one of the ways Nanowrimo succeeds: it gives you just enough time to make writing a habit, and if you’re serious about it you’ll stay in the habit. (If not, you’ll not write again until the next November. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that. My philosophy towards Nanowrimo is that it’s the best, most fun, most exhilarating, way to see if you’ve actually got a novel in you or not.)

But this year, I’m nervous. This is the first year I’ve had something actually riding on Nanowrimo. The first year, the novel was fanfiction, nothing of consequence. The second it was just to see if I could tell a non-fanfic story, which I hadn’t tried since 1997. The third was because I’d gotten ideas from the previous year’s that needed expanding.

But I’m Published now and it changes everything. I’ve never given much thought to sales before now, and while I have no complaints about how Chiaroscuro is doing it’s like there’s an expectation now. I’m excited about my ideas, but I worry if they’re worth pursuing from a selling point of view. That’s a question I have no experience with whatsoever. I’ve always written stories I wanted to read myself and never worried much about audience, because that’s the surest way to freeze. But now I have to, don’t I? Or at least find a way to reconcile the two? Assure myself, maybe, that I’m not the only one who wants to read this stuff?

Hopefully I can push past this wibble and just enjoy the experience like I have in the past. Otherwise . . . geez, I don’t want my writing career to end before it properly begins.

Nanowrimo starts in about six weeks, which is very exciting. I’ve done this three times now (Chiaroscuro began as a Nanowrimo project, and then grew) and always enjoyed it. As I’m something of an adrenaline junkie (though very safe adrenaline, like roller coasters and tattoos) I find the group energy very stimulating.

Last year’s project was about another couple from the same universe as Chiaroscuro (I find these boys very inspirational—must be all the pretty) and I was planning for this year’s to be about a third couple from the same ‘verse. But now I’m reconsidering . . . see, I’ve had this title looking for a story in mind for years and years, and I think I’m finally ready with a plot. I was planning to write it as a Single Shot for Torquere, but now I’m thinking, You know, this is a pretty complex plot, it could be fifty thousand words . . .

I’m torn. I mean, I have 45 days to decide, but deciding is the hardest part. And this one will involve some research and stuff. Fortunately I’ve got a lot of sources on this particular subject. The part that worries me most, though, is that it’s a genre I’ve never explored much: it’ll have some supernatural elements, some adventure elements, and of course the romance element. And I always feel a little silly writing about the fantastic. (Well, perhaps not always: in jr. high I wrote a report on lycanthropy for a science class. Got an A on it, too. But that’s vastly different from writing fiction about something supernatural, and trying to keep to its rules and still keep it fresh.)

Expect waffling on this until November 1st.

Also, I want to revise last year’s Nanovel before Nanowrimo begins. Of course, I’ve been wanting to do this all year and have so far been unsuccessful in settling into it. My discipline is shot. Woe.

There’s another romance novelist out there by the name of Jenna Jones. She wrote Regencies back in the late 90s.

She is not me.

Chiaroscuro is my first publication, and I’ve never written a Regency, even in fun. (I love history, and my master’s thesis was going to be on Jane Austen, but . . . I’ve never written a Regency, nonetheless.)

(I may publish the next one with my middle name, to cut down on the confusion. *sigh*)

It’s time to go on to the next, don’t you think? So here’s a little excerpt of the current, Something Beautiful.

Dune walked back slowly to the waiting room and sat in his chair, and then leaned his head on Jamie’s shoulder. Jamie put an arm around him and kissed the top of his head. “How is he?”

“Scared.”

“Poor mite.”

“He’ll be fine,” said Ben. “People don’t die from having their appendix removed.”

“But if it’s the first time you’ve had surgery it’s still scary,” Dune said.

“Yeah,” Ben admitted, “but he’ll still be fine.”

Dune nodded, knowing Ben meant well, and Jamie kissed the top of his head again. “I thought I’d go hunt up some coffee,” Jamie said. “Do you want any?”

“Sure, please.” Dune started feeling his pockets for his wallet. “And something to eat, too, if you can find anything.”

“My treat,” Jamie said, waving Dune’s wallet away. He stood and kissed both their foreheads, and ambled off down the hall.

Ben moved over a chair and held out his arm. “C’mon.”

Dune laughed wearily and leaned against him. “Is it that obvious?”

“It’s not often I see you fall apart. This feels like a night for the scrapbook.” He chuckled. “‘Dear Diary, tonight Micah was hospitalized and Dune fell apart in the most zen manner possible. It was the best night ever.’”

“Dork,” Dune said, poking him in the side.

“I tease because I love,” Ben said and hugged him one-armed. “You’ve really got it for that kid, don’t you?”

“I’ve got something,” Dune said into Ben’s shoulder. “I couldn’t even tell you what it is. I just–” He shook his head, unable to find the words.

“Like having him around,” Ben said.

“Yeah. I mean, he may be a high-strung little twink but he’s my high-strung little twink. It’s too quiet without him. Too predictable. Too normal.”

“He’s going to be fine,” Ben said again. “It’s not like he was hit by a bus.”

This may stay, it may go. That’s the nature of a WIP.