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I’m standing behind my desk, staring ahead at nothing particular.

Co-worker: What are you doing?

Me: Thinking

Co-worker: Thinking about what?

Me: Life (dramatic sigh)

Co-worker: …You do write YA.

Plotting vs. Pantsing

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Remember that quick 3,000 word short story I wrote in a weekend just for fun? Somehow it’s turned into 22,000 words and I’m still going. I’m not sure how that happened, but it’s exciting and I don’t want to stop. I missed that feeling – that feeling where I’m discontent when I’m not writing. Where I want to jot down every thought I have about the book. Where I don’t want to stop thinking about the book. I’m a bit obsessed.

The thing is, I’m going along without any plan, any bigger picture. And it’s scary in that oh wow I just graduated from college and have no clue what to do next way, but also in that the possibilities are ENDLESS way. And I love it! And while, of course, I’m worried I’ll end up with 50,000 words of slush, I also don’t care. Because I’m having fun, and that, obviously, is worth it.

In the writing world, there’s the common debate of what’s better – plotting a book before writing, or going along by the seat of your pants (what I like to call “pantsing”). When I wrote TNWSY, I plotted a lot. That’s mostly because the idea had been in my mind for years, so I already had a pretty good idea of where it would start and end. The book takes place in a limited time span, so everything had to be very exact. I knew where my characters would be at all times, I knew what would happen, I knew where they would end up. Sure, I made up the dialogue and many diversions along the way, and of course I had to change the written outline at times, but overall it was very charted. And it worked really well.

For this book I’m doing the complete opposite. I know what’s going to happen to the characters, of course, but I have no clue what’s going to happen along the way. Sure, I have some scenes I just can’t wait to write because I imagine them before falling asleep, but on the whole I’m making it up as I go along. And it’s kind of exciting.

In the area of plotting vs. pantsing, I think it depends on the writer, and it depends on the book. You can’t just go pants The Hunger Games or Harry Potter. There was a definite layout, a definite guide. But in my YA contemporary romances? Sure, I can have a bit of fun. See where the characters want to go without forcing them.

As of right now, I’m not sure which I like best, but I’m having fun experimenting with both.

What about you?  Which do you prefer?

My Crooked Nose

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(After seeing about five “How To Get the Perfect Body” type articles in a magazine, I wanted to blog something in response. So, here it is.)

I have my father’s nose.

I never realized it before, that is, until my grandmother pointed it out about a month ago. Sitting at the dining room table with me, she poked at my nose and said it was just like my dad’s. And I smiled and she smiled and it was a cute moment.

The thing is, my nose as always been a point of contention with me. I suppose it’s been since high school when it became more noticeable and I became more noticeable. My nose is extremely crooked. Not in that if you look at it in a certain light kind of way, but more so in a oh, wow, your nose really points to the right, doesn’t it kind of way. Yeah, it’s there. It’s crooked. And it makes me sneeze a lot.

In fact, there are quite a few parts of me that have been points of contention over time. My belly rolls remind me that playing Just Dance once a week doesn’t equal working out. My thighs are so large I have to go one size up in pants, and then hope they fit everywhere else. My hips are pointy and bulbous. My shoulders are broad. I’m far from perfect.

But here’s my secret – my deep dark secret – I love my body.

I love that my belly rolls remind me that I’m human, and I, thankfully, eat enough. I love that my hips accentuate how small my waist is. I love that my thighs let me have more of an hour-glass shape. I love that I’m not a stick – and that my shoulders and arms remind me of the muscle buried beneath.

Like many others, it took me a bit to get to this point. I had moments of doubt, but I never gave in. I never once did anything I’d regret. Because no matter how uncomfortable I was with my body while growing up, I still knew it was mine.

 

So when the doctor told me that my nose is crooked because I have a deviated septum, and asked if I wanted to get it fixed, I said no. Because I love my crooked nose. It’s my dad’s nose, after all.