So I’m toolin’ along on my lil’ ol’ WIP:
and things get darker and darker. Until I feel like this:
(That’s right. I’m thinking in Spanish. See how upset I am?)
I’m working on a YA novel that will probably certainly appeal more to the male side of teenland. It forces me to dig deep into the squishy groady violent mean ugly nasty evil vicious unrepentant seamy unsanitary side of myself. Uh-huh. I said, “unsanitary”. Put THAT in your pipe and smoke it.
Not that boys are any more squishy, groady, violent, mean, ugly, nasty, evil, vicious, unrepentant, seamy, or unsanitary than girls. They’re just more willing to look at that part of themselves.
Wait. I think I missed lunch.
Anyway. I am beginning to wonder a.) Where in tarnation this stuff is coming from. 2.) What the heck kind of person will want to read this and III.) Who the devil will be brave enough to publish it?
Starting with III.): Doing It by Melvin Burgess. The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. Annie on My Mind by Nancy Garden. Forever by Judy Blume. godless by Pete Hautman. Things that need to be published will get published.
2.): The WIP is pretty riveting, if I do say so myself. (Insert appropriate blushing here.) When your critique group reads your first chapter and looks at you as if they’ve never seen you before, you know you’ve got something. When you write your first chapter and read it over, and YOU, YOURSELF wish there was more to read, you’ve got something. And it’s just the first draft, ladies and germs. I’m going to polish this puppy until it bays like a champion hunting dog.
a.): This would be the scary part. I’m mining so deep I think I’ve struck reptilian brain. It’s not a comfortable place. Full of strange things.
Like the ugly, misshapen creatures at the bottom of the sea.
Full of fears, rational and irrational. The gray, rubbery things that nibble at your ears at night. Chisel away at your confidence in justice and happy endings. Make you realize that yes, we must have climbed out of primordial ooze, because we still carry that primeval instinct within us.
Hold my hand, Peeps. I’ve got a flashlight. We’re goin’ in.