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1 - Plant Kid has a name. Thank you everyone who helped yesterday. I let them all swirl around my brain and before bed I went to the link artistqhad shared with me and I saw a name and I thought, yes, maybe. And this morning I got up and said yes, that's it. So Plant Kid's name is Boone. Yes, as in Daniel. And no, I don't know why except maybe it sounds close enough to Bloom that it works for me.

2 - I contemplated doing a Poetry Friday post today. I mean, I'm off on Fridays now and supposedly I'm a poet and one would think I'd want to do a Poetry Friday post but then I realized I was putting too much pressure on myself which made me feel guilty which made me not want to do anything about poetry. But then I thought about a book I'm reading right now and in it the author mentions the poem HOWL by Allen Ginsberg which I guess had a major impact at the time of being published as well as for some time after. So I went to look up the poem and read it and realized I had absolutely nothing to say about it except it must have scared a lot of people of the times.

3 - I am currently writing three books at once. (Which according to people who know me pretty well, explains a lot about me because I bounce around all the time from thought to thought.) VZ, which is Flyboy's story, Max which is Max and Frankie's story, and the book that still has no name but is Plant Kid's story. (And it is killing me to not have a title for it but, oh well.) Ahem. Anyway, I was thinking about poetry and I was thinking about Hugging the Rock and how I didn't start off thinking it was going to be a verse novel. I started off with it in prose and it evolved to a verse novel after a whole bunch of things including a suggestion from Janet Wong. So that got me thinking about my various other WIP that I am not actively working on at the moment. (Sidebar - one thing when I am stuck some place where I have I have to sit still but have nothing to say is to make a list of every book I can remember I ever started to write. Sometimes it is just the title because, well, I am good at titles, except when it comes to Plant Kid.) Anyway, I did this the other day and I wrote down this title that I know is perfect for this YA I want to write someday but am too afraid to write at the moment and for the first time ever I thought, hey, what if I did that one as a verse novel? The subject matter lends itself to it. The MC is so much of me that it fits. And I got that wonderful little chill that told me it was a good idea. But I am NOT writing it now. No, really I am NOT.

4 - Money motivates me to write. Not the lack of money which tends to motivate lots of people to write in order to feed their obsession with things like food to eat and gas for the car and power to run the computer. No, money in the bank. Just sitting there. The more money that sits in the savings account, the more I am motivated to write. I don't know what that says about me except I am very weird.

5 - My favorite pens are no longer my favorite pens. Most of my writing starts in longhand, especially the poems. For more years than I can remember I have used a fat medium point Bic ballpoint pen. I used to love the freebie ones that businesses gave away. They were perfect. No pressure to write exquisite words with such ordinary and functional pens. But I am older now with an always messed up shoulder and writing by hand for any length of time is harder than it used to be. I worried for a while until one day at work I needed a new pen and I went to the office supply drawer and just grabbed one. They are always different depending on what brand the admin can get a good deal on when she orders. This time it was a kind I hadn't seen before -Sanford Uni-Ball Signo Gel 207. I used it for a few days at work and fell in love. Off to the office supply store to buy a stash of my very own. And lo and behold, they don't come in just black or blue but a total of 8 different colors. So now I have a new favorite pen.

This writing edition of the Friday Five may soon be followed by the home improvement edition. Or not if I am getting a lot of writing done.

Please cross all assorted fingers and toes and ??? If things go as planned I will have something to report this week. Not a sale, but something that will seriously affect my writing life.

This weekend I did something I've never done before - I wrote the last scene in a book long before the end of the book was in sight.

It wasn't intentional. I didn't sit down and say wow, let's write the last scene in the book because, heck, I don't really even know what this book is about - yet. But I am continuing on my bit by bit method of writing these three stories at once by just trying to write a single scene every night before bed. Of late they have all been in the plant book and that's okay. The character is very real to me and, I almost hesitate to say this, but I may have found his voice which goes a long way to bringing a book to life.

Friday night I knew I wanted to write a scene about the MC and a particular plant. So I did. And then I reread it, as is my habit before turning out the light and I realized that it was the very last scene in the book and suddenly I knew where I was headed. I have no idea how I'm going to get there but that's okay, I have a goal for this kid.

Saturday night's scene was prompting by watching my husband spend most of his Saturday pulling weeds in the yard. So I set the MC to pulling weeds. And in the process of writing the scene I had that wonderful experience where, before you can even get the words down, you can see the whole scene unfold in front of you. I gave him a simple task to do which set something else in motion which created a conflict that I needed but didn't know how to orchastrate.

Sunday night's scene was an apology that was not accepted.

I have no title for this book. I don't even know if I have the main character's name for sure and I'm not sure I know what his problem is or what he wants.

But I have scenes. And for now, that's enough.

I have always tried to use the power of my subconscious to do some work for me when I am sleeping. If I am in the middle of a book I will give myself a sleep question before bed in the hope that the answer will come to me in a dream. And often it does. Lately, as I work my way back to words, I am giving myself a lot of sleep intentions that have to do with writing. I work hard to remember my dreams before getting out of bed, looking for insights into how my brain works when I'm not awake to put shackles around it in an attempt to control it.

I share them not because they are earth shattering but because they are not. They are the dreams of an ordinary writer trying to make sense out of her ordinary life.

Dream from 2/16/08
I was watching a young girl at a desk. I don't think anyone else even knew I was in the room. Some woman said something to her and she started to write. I realized she was in an editor's office. I don't know what kind. She handed the woman her page and the editor said it was very good. That there was lots to work with and that she was looking forward to working with her on it. I stepped back into the shadows more and listened to the conversation about what she should do next and how she should proceed. Suddenly the girl was writing like crazy and getting all this encouragement from everyone in the room. One woman told her she needed to get her picture taken because she would need it for the press. The next thing I saw was a girl rearranging because she needed a place to write.

Afterthoughts
We have been in our new home just a few weeks shy of a year now. When we moved in the only two rooms we painted were the library and my office. The library is so warm and welcoming and gives you a "hug" the minute you walk in. My office is bright and airy and, well, I never work in it. Which means I work on the couch with the laptop resting on a pillow between my legs. That's fine for blog posts or playing Scrabulous. Not so much for writing a novel.

Since that dream I've taken a good look at the office and what does and doesn't work for me. While both the library and my office have the vaulted beam ceiling, the library was left natural. But the previous owners painted my office beams white. I am going to paint them to match the wood in the library, lower the ceiling and increase the coziness factor. While I love the pale yellow I think the room is too bright for work. I am looking at sage greens now. Most importantly (and actually the most difficult) is covering the windows. I have two patio doors that leave me feeling exposed (since we removed 99% of all the plants in the backyard and neighbors can look over the fence into the house.) Drapes will warm up the room but will have to always be partway open in order to allow the dog to keep watch over her domain. So I am going to look at some wood blinds with a block-out liner. That way I can leave the one section up partway for the dog.

There are other things to be covered in the room as well, two sets of French doors and a small window at the end of the room. It is no wonder it doesn't feel as cozy. I'd take out the small window if I could but for now, I just need to cover it up.

The most important aspect of the room (and the dream) was the desk. Currently I have two desks in my office. One is working well, the other one, not so much. The two desks are back-to-back. When you come into the room there is a big antique library table. It's the perfect place to write notes by hand or spread out research books. On the other side is the computer desk. But it is (and has been for a while) too small. Once I have the laptop and the docking station and the big monitor on there there is no place left for a piece of paper or a cup of tea. So I am searching for a new, larger computer desk that will work in the room. (Like one of those old oak teacher desks.)

All this began from a dream.

Dream night 2/18/08
Last night I gave myself the sleep intention to dream about what is keeping me cut-off from writing, from being fully present in the moment and how I could change it. I had three short dreams.

First I dreamt I was trapped like a mummy but instead of with cloth, it was some kind of plaster. Only my eyes and mouth were visible. I couldn't hear anything.
 
Then I dreamt there was this tiger laying on his back in the swimming pool - sprawled like arms to each side, just drifting along as happy as could be.
 
Then I dreamt I was in a pool with a whale and I had my arm around his "neck" and I was dragging him away to the ocean, to freedom.

 

Afterthoughts
I am feeling trapped by something, still, perhaps myself. I am not sure what it means to that I could see and talk but not hear. Perhaps I am not listening to something, to someone that I should.

A tiger is a strong hunter, a powerful animal. I do not know what it means in my life but I felt like the power was there for the taking.

I liked the idea that I was taking the whale to freedom but I wonder why I was working so hard to save someone else and why I won't work that hard to save myself?

2/24/08
I had this dream while I was at a 3 day writing conference. I had spent the conference just trying to connect with people for talking about how writing and creativity fit into their lives. Just trying to learn how other people made it work from them.

In the dream one of the women from the conference came to my house (I knew it was my house but it didn't look anything like the house I live in) I walked her all over the house and told her all about my writing and all the wonderful ideas I had for simplifying my life, getting back on track, writing the stories I meant to write. She was very encouraging, kept saying, "yes! yes! yes!" and then she started to drag me out of the house toward her car. My husband came home then and I started telling him all about this fabulous day that the two of us had had, how exciting it was, how motivated I was. He got all excited with me, FOR me.

Then the woman pulled me out of the house and opened her car door. I had a hold of my husband's hand. She shut the door and he was left on the outside. I had to tell him that he couldn't go with me.

Afterthoughts
I confess, at first this dream made sad and a bit afraid. I didn't want to have to choose between my husband and my writing. But then I realized that of course the writing is the one place he can't go with me. When I think about why the dream scared me I had to think about what my husband means to me. He is my safe zone. He is the one who has given me the comfort and security that I need in order to go deep with my writing. I remember reading this wonderful quote by Pat Schneider that said (paraphrasing) "You can write as powerfully and as deeply as you want, provided you feel safe."

It was that quote which made me realize that my husband had helped create a safe haven for me that allowed me to write the painful story of Hugging the Rock. 

Which must mean that it is time for me to go deep, once more, knowing that he is there waiting for me, making it safe enough for me to write the truth.

For a fun Spring thing...go to Ginger's blog and check out Vern.

So here he is "Vern" 2007. The spring thing that we do each year at our house involves standing a fresh egg from the fridge on it's end during the time of the Vernal Equinox. Although many scientists say it isn't so, the child in me loves to believe this can only occur during the vernal equinox. Check out the internet references for pro and con, but at any rate, enjoy little Vern 2007 as he stands up for Spring!