Still no 12-hour orgasm in sight

... but I've found that those toothpains I've had for the past two days are due to tensions in the jaw and me pressing my tongue against the front teeth.

BTW, I threw out the scene where the heroine is holding a knife to somebody else's throat. I thought that was a bit extreme for that book. But to make up for it, my next heroine is going to stick a dagger or a sword or something like that into the villain.

And tomorrow I'm going to buy a big, HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE box of Lebkuchen (that's German gingerbread) and will spend the weekend munching Lebkuchen and watching all the GUARDIAN episodes I missed this week.

Hey, and perhaps, who knows? on Monday I might even start the next book *g*

Where is that %$&§"§ 12-hour orgasm????

What the heck is she doing here again, you might wonder. Well, it's been an hour since I sent that manuscript off.

I fed the cats.

I killed the dust wombats that had taken over my flat.

I ate a bit of chocolate.

And by now I'm utterly convinced that I've written the worst story that was ever written. EVER. Even a dinosaur would have written a better story than I did! It's got no conflict, the hero's a dolt, the heroine a hysterical chicken. And it'll be my fault if my poor editor drops dead with boredom when he reads that manuscript. Or perhaps he'll just run away screaming when he sees me at the next RWA conference.

I'm off to eat more choclate....

It's done!!!

I've just sent the dratted WIP to my agent. (Did I mention I had some nightmares about this on Tuesday?) And I feel like something really heavy has dropped onto my head. Really, really heavy.

And while Elizabeth Bevarly mentioned on Squawk Radio that she's having 12-hour long orgasms after mailing her manuscript, the only thing I feel coming is a migraine. Splendid.

And I don't feel elated either.

I feel horrid.

Because now two people will read that dratted WIP and they will know what a fraud I am. ("Uhm-hm, Chapters 1-10 aren't bad, that 30-page love scene in Chapters 20 and 21 is rather unusual and wonderful -- but horrible things were done to the rest????") AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!!!

I'm off to eat chocolate.

Deadline about to whack author over the head

All I say is:

T O M O R R O W

*gulp*

I FINISHED THE FIRST DRAFT OF THE DRATTED WIP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hooray! I did it! I did it! I did it! I just wrote the last few words of the first draft.

Okay, so that last transition is ... awkward, to put it mildly, and at the moment I'm thinking I've managed to let the whole story unravel, and how the heck shall I manage to hammer it into shape in just a week???

But still ... *taking a deep breath*

I finished the first draft!!!!!!!!

'nother Update

The wedding is over, we've hunted down the Christmas tree -- on we go to decorate it! Yeah, three cheers, there's indeed a light at the end of the tunnel! Hey, AND the last scene I'm going to write is a kiss scene. Now, isn't that nice?

hugs & kisses
from one very happy author,
off to feed the kitties :o)

Only One More Hole to Close in the Fabric of Story

Okay, so it's a BIG hole: marriage and hunting for a Christmas tree and then everything else until the heroine crushes her finger in the library door in the following year (Note: Silvana, at least I'm not letting a mountain crush on heroine's head as some other authors frequently do! *ggg*) And I have to say the story has developed in a slightly different fashion than I had planned. It seems that THE LILY BRAND was a bit too dark for my subconscious, which then proceeded to shoot my gothic aspirations to pieces. Well ... there's some gothicness left. And there's some mention of the devil -- in the disguise of a little man in grey --, of hell (that's what Nifelheim is!), and of eerie wooden masks. There's a bat, too. And rats! But unfortunately that's where the difficulties start because one of the secondary characters has sturdy boots and stomps the rats to death. Which in turn makes the butler turn green. You see what I mean? How can you uphold the gothicness of your story when your characters come equipped with stury boots???

I've also started to think about some nice catchphrase for promotional purposes (yeah, you'd think I'd have enough on my plate with only five more days left to hammer a manuscript into shape). I've already got a very nice catchphrase for the next WIP, but for this? Duh. So far I've come up with:

"Nothing but her light matched against his darkness
to redeem the beast" (has no nice ring to it)

OR

"All she wants is a new life --
but she finds herself caught up in his darkness.
Will her light be enough to redeem the beast?" (better than the first, but again, no nice ring and furthermore much too long)

OR perhaps

"All she wants is a new life --
and finds herself caught up in his darkness.
Will her light be enough to redeem the beast?" (Oh, that's most definitely better, isn't it?)

All right, 'nuff played. It's back to smooching the muse. :O)

The Muse Relented ...

... and gave me a little boost last night. Unfortunately, by that time I was just too tired for a smooching party. Never mind, we're having a little thing going on today. *g* And I'm doing funny translations like

Up rose Odin,

the old hero,

and saddled

Sleipnir.

Down he rode

to Nifelheim.

Now I just have to find out what "Nifelheim" is supposed to be in English... Or what Nifelheim is. :O)

The Muse Is Sulking

Apparently she didn't like the part where I enthused about other people's muses. Duh. So the writing went lousy today, plus I ran into yet another problem with my plot; this time it concerns the time frame. Did people still keep strict lent in the early 19th century? Will people hate me if I let my protagonists make love during lent? Or perhaps I shouldn't make them Catholic after all? Of course this would mean that my wonderful Palm Sunday procession would have to go. And if she wasn't Catholic, would Cissy know about the Angelus chiming at noon? Will readers know what the Angelus is??? ARGH! Writing fantasy is so much easier!

Will I ever finish this dratted book and keep my sanity? Will anybody like the finished book? Will I be able to sell it?

Can I just hand in the beginning and the wonderful love scene so the readers can put in the rest themselves? The interactive book ... what a neat idea!

*sigh*

Stay tuned for further news of Sandy's descent into sheer madness.

62 More Pages To Go!

Or something. It's probably going to be more. So can start worrying about having to cut stuff. That'll be a nice change from worrying about whether I'm going to make it or not. Considering that this deadline is SELF-IMPOSED, this is all so ridiculous! Why did I tell people when exactly I would hand something in??? Argh! *banging head on the table* Apart from the general getting-the-manuscript-together worrying, I also worry that both my editor and my brandnew agent will think I'm not just a total bumpkin but also totally unprofessional. Argh! I mean, what do I know about proper author-editor relations? Or about proper author-agent relations? I usually just barge happily in and hope somebody will take pity on me and everything will turn out all right. Argh! Argh! Argh! *banging head on table some more*

It's a funny thing, this worrying bit: it never seems to stop. When you go and read other authors' blogs or to talk to other writers, you'll soon find out that they all worry about their WIPs and their careers. Even if they are multi-published. Even if their names regularily appears on bestseller lists: the worrying seems to never stop. How very depressing.

Still, I've got only about 60 more pages to write! And I'm tentatively hopeful I'll manage to pull everything together, though it will certainly different from what I thought it would become. For one thing, it has somehow become a book on stories -- which is somewhat reminiscent of Pratchett: "People think that stories are shaped by people. In fact, it's the other way around." Only Pratchett would have probably put a steamer full of tourists with funny white hats on the Rhine and have them (the tourists, not the hats) erupt into cheerful song at an appropriate moment. Which would translate into singing the famous Lorelei-song while going past the Lorelei. I was tempted, I have to admit, but in the end I refrained from writing that. But hey, perhaps I'll think about the alien invasion! *LOL*

Have a good night everybody!

Inspiration struck ...

... in a rather too literal sense of the word for my liking! You know, other people's muses are these gracious beings who gently spread inspiration as soon as some candles are lit or some nice, soothing music is played. My muse thinks it's great fun to bang the window shut -- with my finger inbetween the window and the frame. And we're not talking about your normal-sized window here, oh no! We're talking about a giant, heavy, metal-framed monster of a swinging window! So, last evening, while my finger throbbed and bled a little, while my blood sagged to my feet and I had to lie down gasping on the yucky, old grey carpet in my office, my muse got it into her head that this was a great opportunity to hand out inspiration. Wonderful! I thought I might faint any minute and my muse wants to have a smooching party.

So you can already guess what's going to happen to my poor heroine, can't you? Though, in her case I'll probably use a door instead of a swinging window (a little bit hard to come by in a derelict castle, these ...). Which will give my hero opportunity to display some tender, loving care. Yeah!

As to his heroicness -- chopping down a tree is a fabulous idea, Adair: he'll have to chop down a Christmas tree (good thing, the story is set in the Black Forest, eh? So they can have a Christmas tree! Which otherwise wouldn't be possible in a normal Regency-set historical!), and Dorie, yes, he's going to save the heroine, too: think carnival, think drunken ruffians. And while this might be terribly clichéd, my ruffians will at least wear carnival masks! Ha!

I'm off now. My muse still wants to have that smooching party ... :O)

Only 89 more pages to go!

Yes, yes, yes! Finally, I'm getting there: towards the end of the dratted WIP (which, by the way, stands for "work in progress" -- just in case you wondered). Last night I reached a total page count of 311. *beaming smile*

Unfortunately, last night also saw another character of mine freaking out. This time it was my heroine, who suddenly developed these rather surprising new characteristics and ended up holding a knife against somebody else's throat (no, it wasn't the hero's throat) (hey, that's at least something!). Hmm. Which brought me back to a problem I already had with THE LILY BRAND: it seems that I've got this small tendency to unman my heroes. Thus, my unfortunate heroes get tied to boulders (while the heroine saves the day) or fall down stairs / off horses (while the heroine saves the day). Which is, of course, a bit of a problem, because by definition the hero in romance is supposed to be tall, dark, dangerous and saving the day (as well as the heroine). Have you ever tried saving the day while tied to a boulder? See? BIG PROBLEM! Duh.

Thus, during revisions, one thing I need to do is making the hero more heroic. Since he doesn't save the day (see boulder-problem above), new scenes have to be created to allow the hero to prove his heroicness (which explains why Troy had a bit of a rough ride when trying to get the doctor: crossing dangerous rivers on horseback is, apparently, an appropriate test of manliness) (something like slaying a dragon, only you can't have your hero slay a real dragon in an otherwise normal Regency-set historical romance) (by the same token you can't end your story in exasperation on page 200 by having aliens abduct your Regency protagonists. This is considered to be a big No-No!).

So now I'll need to think of something heroic for Fenris to do. I'm sure something will come to my mind eventually.

If not, I might try the "UFO-dropped-on-castle" approach after all. *G*

Thursday Afternoon/Evening Chat

Please join me for a chat at The Mystic Castle

on Thursday, 8 September, at 2 p.m. EST.

I'm totally thrilled about this opportunity to "meet" some of my readers, and I hope I'll see many of you there! I'm looking forward to it! :O)

Free Plotting

During the last few days I indulged in a bit of what I call "free plotting." What the heck is that, you will ask? Well, it's very simple: you just move along with the flow and let the scene carry you where-ever it wants to. There's no prior plan; the scene enfolds "naturally", like a blossom (now, isn't that cheesy *g*). And I love it! Yeah! (So there is indeed still hope for the WIP!) (At this point feel free to cheer and throw confetti.)

Today I worked at a wet-and-naked-hero scene. This was a homework from my crit group, and I have to thank Jen (who's queen when it comes to thinking of new homework) (and not just then! :O) ) for this very inspiring exercise which turned into a fully fledged scene. (Yup, there's another "Yeah!" coming. Throw more confetti, if you like.) Well, and since Dorie asked for more Wolfenbach ... Enjoy!

~*~~*~~*~~*~

The set-up: Cissy married Fenris, but didn't get a wedding night (uhm, yes, my heroines tend to be rather unlucky in that respect ...). After a few months she is thoroughly sick of the situation and decides to take action. Here we see her putting Step 1 of her plan into action: Getting Hold of Your Husband. After Fenris has just come home from a ride, Cissy marches upstairs to his room. She knocks, nobody answers, and she decides to go exploring ....

Cissy tiptoed fully into the room and closed the door behind her to shut out any witnesses of her indiscretion. Though what witnesses there might be in an almost deserted castle was anybody's guess.

The door screeched in protest.

Drat! She closed her eyes.

"Johann, is that you?" came the muffled voice of her husband from the other room amidst more splashing of water.

She grimaced. No, not exactly. She opened her eyes again, rubbed her nose. Courage, Celia. Courage.

She crept forward, toward the intriguing doorway.

Another step ... and another ... around the bed ... My, wasn't it large!

Shivering a little, Cissy thought of the intriguing possibilities a large bed provided.

Hastily, she took another step forward and came to an abrupt halt in the doorway. Her mouth fell open. Her right hand reached up and covered her frantically thumping heart. Her lips formed a soundless O.

For in front of her, her husband stood with his back turned towards her and all he was wearing were his tight moleskin riding trousers. Muscles bunched and flowed in his shoulders and back as he sponged himself down. His skin glistened wetly, while sweat and dust still clogged his hair. Only at the nape, the strands lay damply against the skin.

Utterly fascinated, Cissy watched how a drop of water fell onto a shoulder blade. For a moment it hovered there like a tiny diamond, then Fenris moved, his muscles rippled, and the waterdrop slid down towards the grove of his backbone, gained momentum, swept along tiny drops clinging to his skin, slithered down and down and -- disappeared under the waistband of his trousers.

Cissy drew in a much needed breath of air. Oh my!

"Johann?"

Starting wildy, she couldn't prevent a tiny squeak to escape her.

Fenris's head snapped around. Green eyes widened.

Nervously, she lifted her hand and wriggled her fingers in what she hoped looked like a friendly wave. "Uhm. It's me," she croaked.

(Excerpt from working title THE CASTLE OF WOLFENBACH by Sandra Schwab. Copyright 2005. All rights reserved.)