Erikas Mansarde

Short story listened to last night: Some Zombie Contingency Plans by Kelly Link (PodCastle 120)

Comment: wow

Note to self: Do not listen to well written short stories as bedtime stories. They are interesting and make you more awake not less.

Right after getting up at a reasonable early time this Sunday morning (and most other mornings), after a nice hot shower, a breakfast of hot cocoa and rye bread with molasses (Zuckerrübensirup, yum) and quark I am quite motivated to start up the computer and do some writing. I did this morning. Two pages of chapter two of the new novel, called "Sunken City" as of yet. I wrote until I got hungry and made some lunch, äh Mittagessen, pasta the way my mother prepared it when we were kids, with fried bacon, and ketchup and soy sauce, yum. I went on a walk through the botanic garden and breathed in the herb and flower scent in the Mediterranean glasshouse, came home and thought I'll do another writing session.
And it's hard. What's easy in the morning, now is hard. I have to force myself to write the next sentence. And as you can see: I don't. It's easier to write a post.
I don't get it. Why is is always hard to write in the afternoon?

I started the new novel today. Working titel: Die Versunkene Stadt. 782 words. I'm feeling smug.

... and done.

I've just finished the English draft of the merman-novel. Three years ago, on the day, I made those walks through Berlin, which inspired the story.

I'll have a break now. Of several days. Then I'll make it a pretty draft.

At eastercon in London this year, I went to a panel about 'Writing in English as a foreign language'. All the panelists agreed that it was easier to skip translating and to start writing in English in the first place.
I'm sure they are right. It takes energy (or whatever) to jump from one language to the other and back.

Most panelists, if not all of them, I don't remember, had "abandoned" their native language though. They wrote only in English and seemed to feel that what they wanted to express did not express well in their native language.

That's not true for me. I like writing in German. I can play more with the language, have a wider choice of words and phrasings.
I like writing in English, too. I like its flowing, cascading, moving feel. Some scenes came to sparkling live once translated or rewritten into English.
Writing in German feels more like creating piles of pretty--sometimes beautiful--boxes.

That said, I find myself more interested in finishing the novel's English version first.

Phrasendreschmaschine.

I didn't sleep much last night and just don't have the stamina to write two thousand words today. Or one thousand. I have to be contend with 488. A pity, as this is a day, on which a don't have to meet the demands of my day job.
But, this endless translation gets a bit tedious, too.

End of June, I completed the German draft of the novel (I've been working at it for three years now, so it's just 'the novel')
As of now, I am still inordinately proud of the little thing. Experience let's me expect that state of bliss to pass eventually.
At 93 K words it's a bit shorter than expected. Or that's what I thought until I started translating...err, writing it again in English. It grows in words without getting longer in story. I think, I'll end up at about 100 K.
Finished with chapter 28 this morning at 81 K words. I'm soooo tired. Haven't had a weekend since ages ago. And I really have to learn not to put German commas in English sentences. It's a disease. Maybe I'm just so happy about having mastered German comma rules at last that I now can't stop applying them.
I'd hoped to finish the English draft by the end of this month but seem to fail at that. Too tired. Too exhausted to keep up the high word count.
Well, the world as we know it will not end in September. I hope.

Spring is here and the sock-knitting season has ended. I knitted 10 pairs of socks since Viable Paradise: 6 for myself, 3 for my sweetheart and 1 for my father.
I've written 56,903 words since VP. Three chapters to go until it is a complete draft.
This morning I may have made a hash of chapter 28. Can't tell yet. Anyway, it can stand as a placeholder for the real chapter 28 until it's time to revise.

On Thursday I will be off to eastercon in London, spent time with teriegarrison and hope to meet my two fellow European VPXIIIer's.

That's what I've got to write to have the draft of a novel instead of an elusive string of ideas.
I'm struggling with the end of the middle, of course, and am contemplating committing a writerly sin: shall I kill the protagonist's best friend to make the protagonist do what I need her to do? Or will I find a subtler solution, something less cliché.
Wish me luck and inspiration.
Outside it's a glorious spring day and here I sit at my desk, writing ever so slow. I still walk behind the turtle with this draft.

This year's first six books:

1. Tobias S. Buckell: Sly Mongoose
2. Peter S. Beagle: The Last Unicorn
3. Steven Gould: Jumper
4. Michael Ende: Momo
5. Sarah Waters: The Night Watch
6. Fritz Leiber: Swords and Deviltry

Sarah Water's TNW had an interesting narrative structure: she told the story backwards in time. In three stages: 1947, 1943 (I think. I "read" it as an audio book and cannot look it up), and 1941. She had to withhold a lot of information from her readers without annoying them, and she almost succeeded (as far as I am concerned).

In other news, life is back to normal, thank goodness. The new office rooms are in usable condition and I've got something like an almost-daily writing routine again. And today, I did a lot of outlining: five and a half chapters to go until it's a complete draft. Now, let's see how long it will take to write them. I walk behind the turtle.