Waiting On The World

And I keep waiting, waiting on the world.


I seem to be having one of the rough days. The kind where it seems like everything is in slow motion, just waiting on that first spark that catches.

Do you know, when you're reading a book and at some point a week goes by in steady time for the main character and the author just summarizes it in a few paragraphs?

I feel as though this year and maybe even last year, could be summarized in a few paragraphs and just slipped into the middle of the book. It's the kind of thing a reader guiltily skims through, not really worried about the down time, but not appreciating that the main character had to go through all of that. Every minute of it, experience it all...and you just skimmed a couple paragraphs and it was over.

I'm not trying to make you feel bad (well, maybe a little) but you have to admit, the analogy brings a certain poignancy to the boredom that is right now for me.


On the upside, I might be getting some time off from work in the next couple months where I could possibly devote a large amount of time to writing.

I have been feeling mentally constipated (I apologize for the crudity, but that is truly the best metaphor) lately and really need to get it all out on paper. I figure, time off and no money will prove a very good laxative.

Now I really feel bad about that metaphor. Seriously, I am sorry. This sort of thing will only get worse until I find time to really write.

Why NOT To Piss Off A Writer

File this under the heading: Why Not To Piss Off A Writer

Okay?

Moving forward; yesterday's work night was a good night. Why? Well, certainly not because a certain coworker has been pushing me patience toward it's limit. Actually, it's because I was a smart little cookie (writer, rather) and brought my beloved Black n' Red with me.

Black n' Red(tm) Notebook,
my good friend

So, when aforementioned jerk started pushing me, I was able to simply take out my notebook and escape the inane stupidity that was trying to force itself upon me.

I wrote most of a scene from the next book, Shadows On TheWall, in which Anthony finally pushes David to the point of violence. And you must understand, David is much like me in the respect that, while he talks a good game, he is generally laid back and non-violent.

Anywho, so, Anthony got thrown through a window (about ten stories up in a hotel) and now Cameo is cowering in the corner. And I feel fine! It's nice to be able to express myself so eloquently.

So, kids, remember this the next time you are pissing off a writer. We may not react much outwardly, but you are on our kill-off list.

There are only two types of people who sit around thinking of ways to kill off people:

Psychopaths,

and writers.

 As Castle would say, I'm the one that pays better.

A Scattered Accounting

Whoo, so it's been a little while since I blogged. Sorry 'bout that ya'll. I've been terribly scattered lately. I really do need an assistant to keep me organized. Between trying to make sure all the bills get paid on time, working six days a week, the apartment stays clean, Pangur Ban is fed-oh crap I forgot to refill her dish, dammit!
Hold on a sec, I'll be right back.....
Okay! So, as you might guess, blogging is not exactly at the top of the list. It's true, there have been several times in the last couple weeks where I have wanted to blog, but it's usually about silly things that probably only matter to eccentric, hermit-wannabe authors like me.


My CafePress shirt,
from CASTLE(abc TV show)

I haven't been writing much if at all, and it's seriously frustrating me. Logically, I know that I'll be much more emotionally stable if I get a few chapters out of my system, but I'm rebelling for some stupid reason.
I downloaded Flyleaf's 2009 album, Memento Mori, last week and I have been listening almost exclusively to it since. Literally, all of my side thoughts have been expressed in lyrics lately. It's wonderful in a frustratingly plagiaristic sort of way.

Also, I'm close to launching into a full rant on the topic of cuss words. It is a topic that frustrates me considerably, as I can see both sides of the story and wish only that everyone else could. They are WORDS. Words have only the power we give them. So, like anything else, the spirit in which they are used must be taken into consideration before sentencing someone.

Perhaps scattered was not a strong enough word to use to describe me lately. In fact, an example might best serve to demonstrate.

Today I woke up, fed Pangur, showered, filled out my CA voting ballot, called my dad, got dressed, checked the mail, drove to drop off my ballot, paid my electricity bill, went to the bank, filled out a credit card application, called my mom, texted my brother, surfed Amazon, checked FB, dA and YouTube, read the first 2 chapters of The Golden Lily, by Richelle Mead, and then realized it was 1:30 pm and I hadn't had anything to eat.

Now, normally in a day I might accomplish 3 of those things. In a WHOLE day, not in a matter of hours. I mean truthfully, out of all those, only 3 things. I could have a day where all I do is feed Pangur, shower and surf Amazon. And that is typical.
And now that I have to leave for work in half an hour I realize that I forgot to call the tire store about my car. Even though I made a list (a very scattered, crazy list of things to do, things to buy, and things to remember).
I'm this cose *hold up fingers about an inch apart* to giving up. I need an assistant, a keeper....
And for some reason, I am sounding more and more like Damon when I lose my temper, I keep saying things like "Bloody hell!" and "Blast it!" and "Oh for the love of..." I think I hang out with him too much. Actually, he's been avoiding me a bit lately, my hectic moods make him uncomfortable.

I think if I could convince myself to go to sleep before 2 am I might be able to start waking up earlier and actually accomplish something.
Off topic(not that there was a specific topic): I think I want the soundtrack to the new Underworld movie...I love Lacey Sturm's and Evanescence's contribution there.

I believe, what if I believe you? Forgive, relieve me, please come back to life. Come back to my life.

Out of Frustrating Sometimes Comes Some Good

My scheduler at work has been annoying me rather significantly lately. You see, I am supposed to be a server/busser in our restaurant. Lately though, I have been scheduled to cashier. The problem should be clear to anyone in the restaurant business, but if you aren't I will explain:

Servers make mullah tips.
Bussers make so-so tips.
Cashiers make next to no tips.

The reason I left my former job for a job that pays a full dollar an hour less was that I would be making tips. In the first couple of months at my job I was making about $700/month in tips, and only $750 in actual paychecks.

So, instead of only making $8/hr, I was in fact making about $18/hr...nearly unheard of in this county.

Now, cashiering, I am making much, much less. Barely enough to survive on. Actually, I am not making enough to survive on. I have made my issues known, and have been assured that it will only be for about another week, but still I am very tight on cash.

The good that has come out of this very frustrating bad is this: Cashiering is so damn boring and slow that I have been able to roughly outline the entire first half of Shadows On The Wall this week. HUZZAH!

Unfortunately, I have come across a new problem: a plothole.(Like a pothole in the road, only it's in the storyline).

A plothole right smack dab in the middle of the book. The rough draft that I wrote approx. 6 years ago has this huge hole, like a time vortex that one of the characters just slipped into and disappeared while the others carried on as if nothing had happened. I mean, they should feel really awful for letting that happen...terrible human  beings.

I think I have come up with a cure for the plothole, but getting the story back on track after that hole may in fact be difficult.

Nonetheless, the fact that I have had so much idle time on my hands at work lately has brought this bugger of a problem to my attention far before it became a really difficult issue.

I suppose I should be a bit on the thankful side that I have had the extra time, but my wallet and bank account are not feeling very magnanimous.

This looking on the bright side post brought to you by: Shanco.corporations.
(Lobbied against by: The wallet and bank account of Shannon A Hiner.)


On a completely unrelated side note: Long time and very successful authors may not be effected so much by their reviews on book selling websites, but I certainly am. I feel that it is necessary to give a hugely thankful shout out to my first reviewer in the iTunes bookstore, a certain Beekersc. I appreciate so much that you took the time to not only read Only The Stars Know but to also leave a few lines telling others how much you enjoyed it.

Only The Stars Know in the iTunes Store
Remember everyone: A book read, but not reviewed, kills a faerie. No joke.

When Being Happy Becomes A Problem

So, I'm pretty content at the moment. Yep. I mean, sure, there are a few things that I would love to change (having to work in customer service, oversleeping the alarm everyday, basically talking to myself and receiving odd looks for it), but on the whole I've been fairly happy in the last month.

I've settled in at the new job, got rid of the troublesome roommate, and I've been very adventurous in the kitchen lately. I'm practically on cloud nine.

Are you wondering why it almost sounds as though I am complaining?

Well, see here's the problem: I'm rewriting Shadows On The Wall. What, you mean that one sentence doesn't answer all your questions? I suppose I will explain then.

When I originally wrote Shadows On the Wall it was the spring of 2006. My sophomore year of high school, and also the year I passed the CA HS Proficiency Exam and left high school behind forever. It was the year I got my license, my first job, and we moved from Modesto to Oroville. BIG Year. (I also started writing Die For Me Again, but that was in the autumn.)

In the Spring of 2006 I let myself fall in deep deep like with someone entirely unsuitable and unavailable to me. I already loved this boy as a friend, so it was doubly bad. Unwittingly, he ended up breaking my heart that spring, or rather, I let my heart break over him. He really didn't do anything to break it, so I shouldn't blame him.

Well, those of you who don't know me all that well will not realize how catastrophic this was. I don't just get crushes on guys, when I decide I like them I go head over freaking high heels and totally lose my heart. No, really, I don't do anything halfway, especially not love. So while this wonderful boy thought we were just really good friends, I was in fact losing my mind over why he didn't like me in the same way.

When I realized he never would, and that I couldn't simply be 'just friends' with him, my heart did a weepy little break in two and I haven't been the same since. I believe that was the first time my heart was truly broken. (There have honestly only been two times in twenty-two years).

In the year following this heart break I completed two novels in the Immortal World series, one and a half standalone novels, and droves upon droves of weepy heartbroken prose.

Have you caught on yet? When I am heartbroken I write like crazy. And apparently, I write rather well because two of the most popular IW books came out of utter heartbreak.

I am now faced with two distinctly different problems, both resulting from the fact that I am in a happy state of mind currently:

1. I can't seem to write easily when I am happy.
2. Shadows On The Wall is a very emotionally stormy book, with deep lows--something that is quite hard to write from a good mood.

The answer? I'm not sure. I suppose I could go out and find some completely unsuitable man to fall head over heels for, in the hopes that he will tear my heart asunder and leave me a wasted shell of a woman....but that seems like an awful lot of work, and plus, there really aren't any worthy males to be had at the moment.

Nope, I just don't know. It's a problem, that is for certain.

Suggestions are welcome (with the understanding that, depending upon my mood, I may rip them apart or take them out of context or do any number of annoying/shannon-like things with them).

A Trip To The Levee

A stork lifted off the water, canting gracefully through the trees. Its snow white feathers flashed through the dead brown trees like a beacon. On the other side of the river another stork called to it and they met in the middle, diving toward the water and then lifting back into the sky, side by side.

The duck shook its head and then dipped its neck back down into the water in search of lunch.

Ripples in the water flowed with the cool breeze, while underneath the river flowed the opposite way with deceptive strength.

Across the river a hawk landed on one of the trees. Her wings stretched out to enjoy the breeze as she balanced precariously on the edge of a branch. She called out for her mate, and the sound echoed across the river, but he did not come. She called again and then took off, circling the trees and eyeing the water.

Mission Control: We have a break-through! (BGSP)

It has been 4 long, long days since I have read a new book. This knowledge/inspiration desert has been tough on me, I won't lie.
At first, I didn't know how the Ultimatum would resolve itself. I knew I wouldn't touch a book until I had written the prologue--I couldn't go against Damon's wishes like that-- but it was very tough going.
The first day, I wrote a few paragraphs.

The second day was little better, I could think of nothing, so I went to work after writing nothing and with little hope of ever knowing a new book. The meager brainstorming I did at work resulted in me adding paragraphs of scene description to what I already had.

As I tried to sleep on the second night I had a brief burst of inspiration which made me glad that I had a pad of paper and pen on my bedside table.

On the third day, I woke to rainy skies that mirrored the aching of my soul. (melodrama, anyone?) It was my day off, so I went off to run errands. When I arrived home I spent a few hours working on the marketing strategies for Only The Stars Know. Then I spent a few more hours creating a book trailer. Then I spent an hour watching TV.

By the time 1am rolled around I was thoroughly disgusted with myself. Really, self? This was the best I could do?

So, I pulled out the big guns. Sometimes the only way to get excited about a scene is to have lived it. Sometimes the only way to get all the details is to have lived it.

After going through my Big Gun Secret Process I started scribbling madly away at my journal. I literally could not write fast enough to get the scene onto paper. By 3:30am I had the gist of it down, and I couldn't stay awake any longer. I laid aside the journal and turned out the light. I fell asleep easily.

On day four I woke up late, a result of being up until 3:30, I'm sure, so I got ready for work and left soon after. Business was slow at work, and I was itching to work on the book, so I requested to go home early and ended up leaving around 8pm. I stopped for dinner and then hightailed it home. I brainstormed for about half an hour (painting my nails is a very good way to brainstorm, I have discovered) and then discovered I had left my journal in the car. I ran through the dripping cold rain to retrieve it and then finally sat down to finish the prologue.

Last night, around about 12:15am, I finished that prologue.

It is...indescribable. Damon asked me if I love it, and I had to reply honestly that I could not love it, because of the horrible pain he suffers through for it. But I am proud of it. I think my writing ability is becoming more and more finely honed with every story I write. And I think that you, the readers, will love and hate the story, which are not two different things, but facets of the same thing: passion. And I want this story to inspire passionate responses.

Of course, the best news is that as long as I type up the prologue today, Damon said I could start reading my new books immediately! Huzzah!