My Writerly Blog

That's my goal, every weekday, from now until classes start at the end of September. If I can hit it, that will mean approximately 105,000 words in 7 weeks, translating to a finished draft of the La Llorona novel, several new short stories, and a buttload of blog posts. There will be setbacks, I'm sure. Like today - chaotic morning getting out of the house, dentist appointment that ran way late, soccer at 5, movie at 7. 3000 words have to be shoved in there somewhere. And next week is the Edinburgh Literary Festival, which will take up 3 days. Hmm. But I've got weekend buffer zones, which will hopefully help me catch up. And hey, I've done several 90k-in-4-weeks Novembers, thanks to NaNoWriMo. I just need these words out of the way. I need to send stories in to some competitions, to get a few more published. I need to finish this novel that's been hanging over my head as I take on more and more projects. I need to start writing some stories for my PhD proj...

Lots of things suck this week. One, I am an Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest loser. Didn't make the next round. Didn't really think I would, but it's a bummer all the same. So I sent the novel out to a couple of publishers, but not holding out much hope. It's not my time yet. Two, it seems to be just the right time for editors to send rejections on the last short story I sent out. That's fun. Three, it's the last week of spring break. Next week I have to go back to work, back to the classroom, back to reading painful first years' writing, back to being harried and in contact with the rest of society. Blech. The good news is there are only three weeks left in the semester. After that, I'm free for the summer, to write, to travel, to fail in finding funding all over again. Whee! I feel I've gotten some good stuff accomplished these past couple of weeks. I'm back on track with my PhD stuff, having finished a short story draft, come up wit...

It's called Easter Holiday here, but that does not clearly express the sense of freedom and liberation that is a 3-week spring break. Plus, I'm not Christian or pagan, so Easter just means more Cadbury mini-eggs to me. Anyway... It's been stressful so far in the term. I'm surviving, but barely. The triathlon training is finally taking its toll, and I'm grinding my teeth in anticipation of a job - any job - coming up on the boards that will allow me to continue my studies and hire a housecleaner. I hate cleaning house. I've adopted a strategy that I hope will allow me to meet my targets this semester: I'm writing for 20 minutes a day in timed sessions. So far, it's working. The story that would not budge is budging - moving and flowing even. It's a shitty first draft, but it's there. The good news of yesterday - being a quarterfinalist in the Amazon Breakthrough Novelist Awards - is already stressing me out. People are excited for me, and ...

Yes, I remember entering this contest...vaguely. Very vaguely. Oh well. Received notification this morning that I am one of 500 quarterfinalists (out of a maximum 10,000 entries, that's not bad). You can see my novel excerpt at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B001UG3B4U . Please download it, review it, pass it on to your friends. (If you're not in the US, you can view the excerpt on my site here .) It's a pretty big deal contest: Grand Prize is a publishing contract with Penguin and a $25k royalty advance. If I make it to the final round, I'll be stumping for votes. I hate that system, because it means the best campaigner wins, not necessarily the best novel, but you have to work with what you've got, I suppose. Let's keep our fingers crossed, shall we?

“Dr. Fuller?” “Yuh-huh?” “I can’t…I dunno what I’m s’posed to say here.” The caller paused, his voice gravelly with misery and dirt. “She asked me to call you soon as… She wanted you to come to El Paso.” “She who?” “Chrissy.” That was the word last night that brought me instantly awake. I sat up in bed, waving at Fern to go back to sleep. The connection wasn’t great, and I had no idea who this man was or why he was calling me at 3:16 in the morning, but he sure as hell knew the magic name. Chrissy. I hadn’t heard from her in probably ten years, save for two or three postcards featuring jackalopes and cacti with sunglasses. Regardless, when the man called, I jumped, leaving my disapproving wife, my three confused daughters, and my struggling medical practice while I galloped madly across Lone Star country to my childhood soulmate. The state of Texas, from the Panhandle to Corpus Christi, from the Rio Grande to Texarkhana, has given birth to so many singular breeds of men it’s a w...