What’s up next? My novel!
On February 10, 2018, I started working on a novel.
It wasn’t the first one I’d write, but it was the first one that would ultimately find its way onto bookstore shelves.
I picked away at the draft throughout the spring, and had 16,000 words by the end of July. By the end of August, I had 38,000 words. I worked at it two more days in November, taking it up to 40,000 words … and then I just stopped. FOR A FULL FREAKING YEAR.
I still have absolutely no idea why I stopped working on my novel for a year. Busy with “real” work, I suppose. Busy with the kids. Busy with DIY projects so I could write about them.
It was a year later (November 2019) when I got serious about it. I participated in NaNoWriMo for the first time, and shot from 40,000 words to almost 78,000 words.
I lost my daily writing streak in December, where I only wrote another 4,000 or so words for the entire month. January was OK — I was up to 85,000 by the end of the month — and February was better. I was really starting to make it a habit to work on my novel every possible chance.
In early March, I hit 100,000 words.
And then the pandemic hit.
Schools closed. Everything closed. I lost my job temporarily. My husband lost his job temporarily. Everything was horrible, all through March and April. I tried to work on my novel a couple of times, but just wound up either crying or not able to focus at all.
I gave it another try in May, and was able to start getting 500 words at a time. It was better than nothing. By the end of May, I was up to 117,000 words.
June is where I really hit my stride, getting up early every morning to write before I started my “real” work writing. I wrote almost every single day in June, and hit 132,000 by the end of the month. It was getting so, so close!
Yesterday, July 4, I officially finished the first draft. It came in at 135,867 words. One hundred and thirty-five thousand, eight hundred and sixty-seven words that took two and a half years to put down.
Now I’m in the editing process. I’m tweaking, adjusting, and perfecting every word so it’s ready to show the people who can help me put this novel on shelves where it can be sold. I’m researching literary agents and publishers. I’m excited for what comes next, and trying not to listen to the voice in my head that tells me it’s still a long shot.
It doesn’t FEEL like a long shot, honestly. Being a published author is something I’ve dreamed about since I was eight years old. It’s been almost 30 years getting to this point — I’m 36 now — but it feels good to have arrived.
Stay tuned for the next steps!
And, hey, if you’ve landed on this site because you’re interested in signing me or publishing this novel, PLEASE LIKE ME. I’m hardworking and unbelievably motivated, and this is only going to be the first novel of many.
It’s a COVID, COVID SUMMER
WITH EVER-CHANGING RULES, PARENTS AND KIDS ARE STRUGGLING TO ADAPT TO NEW NORMAL
I cringed when my kids ran up to a family of strangers on the beach the other day, asking if they wanted to see their bucket full of hermit crabs. Then the dad coughed, basically right on them, while I watched from across the sand, horrified.
“But we don’t have to social distance anymore?” they argued when I called them over and told them, in no uncertain terms, not to run up to strangers and be coughed on.
“Oh yes, you do still have to social distance!”
I keep telling them that, but it’s not easy to explain the vague, ever-changing rules of the moment — that it’s OK for people to hug when it’s a group of 10, but not 11. That the group of 10 should be exclusive if possible, but it’s not mandatory. That crowds of up to 50 are OK, but you have to social distance. That there are no bubbles anymore, but if you’re already in a group of 10 and your former bubble arrives on the scene, then … oh, I don’t even know.
It is a strange time for all of us, but especially for kids.
We’re basically in a holding pattern this summer. We’re not as restricted as we were for nearly three long months, but we’re also not back in “real life.” Everything is different … and weird.
Continue reading in my parenting column, The Mom Scene …
Dear Kids: Part I
I haven’t been blogging much lately.
Blogging was something I did “before.” It doesn’t feel like something I do “after” — at least, not yet. Not while the world is still on fire. I almost can’t bring myself to look at this 12+ year archive sometimes, written at different times in my life but all of those times are so, so different than what we’re dealing with now.
I haven’t been blogging or DIYing, but I am always, always writing. I have been focusing on my work (blessedly almost back to normal levels) as well as writing my novel (I’m up to 124,000+ words and getting so close). And sometimes I write random notes on my phone that eventually turn into blog posts. Like this.
Here is a note I wrote back in April. Let’s call it Part I …
***
Dear kids,
I checked your toes and fingers today for purplish lesions. It’s the latest possible symptom of the virus that’s keeping us locked inside, away from school and activities and friends.
I know I should stop reading articles about symptoms and risk factors because they terrify me, but if I stopped I’d worry I might miss something — a warning sign that meant you were sick with “it,” with “the virus,” with the thing I try not to say out loud.
I wonder what you’re remembering about this time, this pandemic, if you read this post in the future.
I know you won’t remember what you didn’t see, like me creeping into your bedrooms at night to make sure you were breathing. To make sure the virus hadn’t somehow stolen you away from me, just because you had a bit of a cough. Silent tears rolling down into my hair, berating myself for not getting refills on the old puffers you’d bad for previous coughs, just in case they would help right now because something HAD to help, right?!
Will you remember how I went crazy buying different kinds of cough syrup, because that’s what they recommended we do in the beginning? And Tylenol — all the Tylenol — because Advil might kill us or something. That was in March, maybe early April.
Oh, and the food. When it became difficult to get things at the grocery store, I went a little nuts stockpiling some basics in a few bags in the basement — crackers, cereal, juice, applesauce, pasta, canned goods. You found it. Mom’s Basement Food, you called it. You thought it was weird and kind of funny. I told you it was because I couldn’t fit it all up in the kitchen, but really it was my secret, scared stash. The food I reasoned we might need if the shelves were bare, in a world where our poor little Superstore was full of smoke and looters and screams.
But wait, you might be asking, food shortages? The whole world shutdown? HOW many people died?! Let me go back to the beginning.
Read MoreParenting beyond the family bubble
Our kids understood that we all had to “stay the blazes home”. They understood that only Dad went to the store or picked up take-out. They understood that if someone stopped by our house, we stood on the porch and talked to them from a safe distance.
Now, everything is a bit wishy-washy.
Most Fridays during the province’s update, our world changes a little. As more restrictions loosen, there’s more room for interpretation. Some of us are gun-shy while others are eager to push the new limits, especially as the province’s number of COVID-19 cases dips even lower.
It’s hard for all us to keep up with the updates, but it’s especially confusing for kids.
We can hug those in our bubble, but no one else. We can see other people, but not up close and not too many at once. We can go into someone’s house, but also we shouldn’t. We can go to public places, but not touch anything or get too close to people.
The gathering limit is currently 10 people. We are a family of four. In theory, we could invite six non-bubble people into our home as long as we’re social distancing and don’t share food or dishes.
But … can we?
Continue reading in my parenting column, The Mom Scene …
On sneakers … and closure
Our son and daughter are returning to their elementary school in a couple of weeks … but just for a few minutes.
We just received a long, multi-page plan of how each student (or parent) will be picking up their belongings and dropping off any school property. It’s been organized with military-level precision.
It made me burst into tears.
Each class has its own time slot — two teachers at a time, one set up in the cafeteria, with another set up in the gym. You must arrive during your class’s designated hour. Only three people and two staff members can be inside at any given point (social distancing, of course). Enter through this door, exit through that one.
Continue reading in my parenting column, The Mom Scene …
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Heather's Handmade Life 