It hasn’t been the best year in my life. It hasn’t been the worst, either.

I wrecked four first drafts of my Ohio Series (books two through five) by exuberatant pantsing.

After a longish Think Week and some time spent away from fiction writing and away from deadlines, I’m rested and ready to go through OHIO BOOK TWO, and finish up that revision.

I’m not going to make any judgements on Three through Five until I’ve read them. There will be some salvagable stuff. There always is.

Probably not a lot.

I updated my blogging software to the next version. From my end, since I’m not a power user, it’s essentially “same software, different-shaped logo”.

In an app I want to NOT make my life difficult, that’s the best possible outcome.

If you’re looking for something like that, this is a shout out to Red Sweater Software and MarsEdit. Not an affiliate link — I don’t make a dime if you buy it. But when you can move seamlessly from Version Four to Version Five of a piece of sofwware without folks being damned determined that you’re going to get all the new bells and whistles right in your face… when, in other words, you get to just keep working rather than re-learning everything you knew — that company deserves thanks.

Have done the rest of my work for the day, and I am now going to go crawl under the big wool blanket I’m knitting, and work on it wrapped in the warmth of it. It’s cold here. I’m glad.

Cold is my excuse to knit up all the wool I have… so I can buy more.

Have a great New Year.

I’ll be back on Monday, doing year goals and planning out my work (as much as that’s possible).

One of my goals is to blog more. There will be others… but you’ll get them when I decide they’re worth the committment.

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In my first run through my five-novel Ohio series, I carefully plotted the first book, wrote it, love it…

And carefully plotted the next four books.

Followed by ignoring my outlines and pantsing the novels.


Because it was fun, it was exciting, it was like being a kindergarten kid again, standing on the top of the sliding board in my slick-soled Mary Janes and skiing down standing up (until the playground teacher grabbed me and told me I was never allowed to do that again).

That same recess matron also made me stop running up the teeter-totter so that I could hit the other end before it dropped to the ground (that drop out from under me was the fun part.)

She was a killjoy — but in her defense, I never ended up in the hospital with a playground injury.


Sometimes, you know what works, and you know how you do what you do, and you have proven it through a whole lotta books and stories and deadlines…

And knowing what you know, you climb the ladder to the top of the slide anyway, thinking DAMMIT, screw the rules…

And you stand up in your Mary Janes and try skiing down the damn thing, and this time, you go over the side and hit your head on the concrete.

(Because yes, when I was a kid, school playgrounds were covered in concrete. Our parents and public schools really were trying to kill us.)


Ohio One is solid and done.

I’m managing to cannibalize some scenes from Two and Three into completely new first drafts. I’m just about finished with the PLOTTED, OUTLINED, Book Two, and this time the novel is working.

I’ll be able to use more pieces of Two and Three in Ohio Three.

However, where books Four and Five are concerned, like Bugs Bunny, I shoulda turned left in Albuquerque. I did not end up anywhere near where I wanted to be. (Bugs Bunny info at Wikipedia).

Instead, while I might be able to cannibalize a few scenes from them, Four and Five are essentially write-offs, and I’m not counting on being able to use more than the few scenes that I know still fit in the story universe.

So… this is going.

It’s not going quickly, and I’m thoroughly pissed off with myself for chasing rabbits and skiing down the sliding board standing up.

The skinned palms and skinned knees really, really weren’t worth the thrill.

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When I was a kid and my family lived on the western tundra of Alaska, my dad took me hunting and fishing with him. We were bringing in food for the table in a place where agriculture was impossible.

I loved tagging along and helping out. I was nine, so for hunting I was just a pair of extra hands carrying stuff home. I actually got to participate in fishing, and was pretty good at it. In later years, in Ohio, I fished in a nearby lake for bass and bluegills, right up until I turned sixteen and would have needed a license.

I inherited certain traits that made me a good hunting and fishing companion, the primary one being the ability to sit still and quiet for long periods of time without falling asleep — a survival skill that with fishing requires you to keep a tiny portion of your attention on a single spot of undercut at the outward bend in a river or stream under which a big bass is probably waiting, watching for food to drop into the little corner of the waterway he’s staked out for himself. (Or to sit utterly still in a boat over crystal clear water while waiting for one of the shadows moving beneath it to hit your bait.)

To maintain this necessary stillness, you have to set the bigger part of your mind adrift, letting it wander wherever it will and entertain itself as best it can, while you keep just the tiniest bit of your awareness hooked through your fingertips to the rod and reel, and your vision aimed at the tip of the rod, so that when you see the twitch and feel the first tentative nibble, you bring your awareness back to what you’re doing. If you’re quick enough, when your prey takes the bait, you can set the hook and reel it in.

(I’ll note that if you’re sitting in a kayak, and you pull in a Northern pike, see two rows of dagger teeth coming at you, and flail your fish and all those teeth straight at your dad, the danger of the kayak tipping and dumping both of you into permafrost-chilled water is extreme. We did NOT tip the kayak, so we also not freeze to death and drown the day I did that. However, it was a near enough miss that I also did not get to go fishing in the kayak again.)

Hunting for your dinner (at least the kind of hunting you can do with a nine-year-old in tow) is the same process. Both of you mark the point in the sky where the ducks or geese will come from. And then you sit utterly still and silent behind the cover of overgrowth, set most of your mind adrift while staying awake, and keep the pinpoint of your attention on the direction from which you expect incoming motion.

Hunting (or at least being a good hunting companion) and fishing and the fact that even at the age of nine, I was good at these: That’s Exhibit One.

* * *

Exhibit Two is civilization as embodied by five hundred years of representative government in the Roman Republic (and the additional two hundred years of the increasingly awful Caesars of the Roman Empire). These are the origins of my husband’s people. Germans and Romans, the rule of law, a long and impressive representative government that deteriorated into god-kings and debauchery, as republics tend to do when people forget why representative government has to actually BE representative.

My husband’s ancestors were Germans and Romans. They had a civilization that was agriculture-and-domesticated-livestock-based, so that food grew on patches of ground that folks owned and tended, and it didn’t try to get away from you (or kill you), or in the case of livestock, could at least could be herded by shepherds and dogs. There was no need for the hunter mind, for the long stillness and the utter silence of waiting, for the need to set a tight focus on the single point of your objective while letting the rest of your mind float around, entertaining itself with amusing thoughts and daydreams.

My ancestry is Scots and Vikings.

The Scots are descendants of the blue-painted Celts who were so terrifying the Romans ceased their northern expansion and built Hadrian’s Wall so they could sleep nights behind something sturdy…

My ancestors are also the inventors of haggis. You win some. You lose some.

The Vikings were poets, explorers, and inventors of the full-body, for-keepsies panty raid, in which they went viking for wealth and replacement women. Some bits of it might have been heroic. Some bits were horrific.

Down at the baseline, though, it was a necessary population replacement maneuver essential to their continued existence.

Childbirth is a deadly bitch for mother and child alike in pre-medical cultures, and when you throw in the long winter darkness of high-latitude Scots and Viking terrain, inevitable food shortages, and brutal vitamin D deficiencies, you’re going to need to get replacements for the women and children who don’t survive.

My ancestry, and that adaptation for grabbing all possible Vitamin D during the short sun season has left me with practically transparent skin, and a tendency to burn, blister, and peel even in even relatively moderate latitudes. I sunburn in OHIO.

* * *

But my forebears also gave me the hunter adaptation. The ability to focus long… to set a tiny attention flag on the object of my interest, and then to disappear into stillness while waiting for my future meal to trigger the flag I set to bring me back.

Which was great when I was in a world that needed hunter skills.

When I came back to civilization— to riding a school bus and sitting still in a box for a bunch of hours a day, and being talked at by people who insisted that I not fidget, not talk, and not get up and run around, the adaptive stillness of the hunter kicked in, my mind set its tight focus on the object of my captivity (the teacher in charge of the class) and the rest of me went Viking through the realms of my imagination. When I got the inevitable sigh, the “Earth to Holly” remark from the teacher, and came back, I’d answer the question (after it was repeated, anyway)… and then vanish again back into my own much more interesting world.

THAT is ADD. It is an adaptive survival mechanism that does not mesh well with “Everybody stand, everybody sit, everybody watch this board, everybody pay attention to these boring-ass numbers…”

It is not a disorder.

It is not a fucking disease.

It does not mean you’re broken, damaged, or an object to be pitied.

It is just Hunter Brain, and it means that if you’re in an everybody-stand-up, everybody-sit-down, everybody-be-the-same situation, you’re in the wrong place, doing the wrong thing — that you need to change the kind of work you do, the kind of play you do, the kind of life you’re leading to give yourself things that you can focus on in stillness, in quiet, away from the constant low-level chaos that is “Multitasking, Bells, Stand-Up, Sit-Down, Everybody Do Everything All at the Same Damn Time in the Same Damn Way Because We Said So” bullshit that is most of education, and most of life outside of education.

Hunter Brain is really, really useful for writing fiction. Total body stillness, focus on that one pinpoint of attention (the plot, the character, the conflict — whichever one is at the forefront at the moment), the patience to let let that idea come, like the shadow of a fish under the water moving toward the lure, like the shadow of a V of ducks coming in over a lake, with the one that will keep you from starving for another couple of days somewhere in that aerodynamic formation swinging around to land.

It’s a good brain for folks who like to work alone. Forestry, Fish and Wildlife Management, or exploring.

It was pretty good for nursing when I was working ER (it was great for emergency situations), and not too bad for Med-Surg while having a single set of patients who were mine for twelve hours.

It’s not so great for office jobs, for water-coolers, for constant interruptions, for multitasking.

It’s not, in other words, the best brain for most modern-life jobs.

But for sitting in silence plotting fiction, for finding the story, for spotting that shadow beneath the water that is your plot, and luring it in, being still, being patient, letting it come to you…

Fucking awesome for that. For that, it is a significant advantage, and not a deficit, and not a disorder. It is, in fact, a damned useful tool.

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I’m revising.

It’s a process. I’m doing back-to-back read-throughs of five novels (over 500,000 words of fiction, and then I’ll be doing the work to make them the books I want them to be).

First draft is where I explore what the story can become. That’s all finished.

Revision is where it becomes the story I love.

Here’s the problem: I’m not going to have anything to say about writing for a while, because I don’t do spoilers or hints, and I do all of my revision working offline on a paper copy of the book, where even if I were inclined to demonstrate progress (and I’m not, because again, I don’t do spoilers), the medium isn’t amenable. So…

Sheldon. Because once a week, I can post a picture of him, confirm that I’m making progress, and then get back to making the novels I wrote about my very odd version of Ohio into their best versions. Sheldon Friday 2022 09 16

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A lot of stuff is going from this part, to be replaced by some significantly better stuff following a line of thought my editor pointed out to me.

I’m excited by how things started coming together here.

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I made it a nice chunk of the way through Book 3, and there is, in fact, a whole lot of story that’s worth saving — that’s funny, and in places moving, and overall very strange — but which fits the world I’ve built and the characters I’ve put into it.

So after a few stressful days, there’s actually a whole lot about Ohio Three that I’ll be keeping.

Cannot even begin to describe what a huge relief this is.

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Book 2 has a lot of salvageable material. A lot of awesome world stuff, some wonderfully funny scenes, some pretty scary scenes.

It was fun for me to read, and I made myself laugh a bunch of times, got a little teary-eyed, did a light revision and passed it off to my Editor.

Matt, however, is really, really good at what he does.

And he discovered that while the story is a lot of fun, what it doesn’t have is a strong story through-line.

Here’s the thing…

I had a line-for scene plot for the book built out.

It, however, lacked the sort of epic sense of wonder that made my heart beat faster while I was writing it. 

So… when Epic Sense of Wonder crept past me while I was being a good girl and following the plot, my hunting brain caught the scent… 

…And chased.

I got some great stuff out of the chase. The plot, however, got eaten by volemarines and vile scunners in the process. 

So now, I’m going back and figuring out how to keep all the epic stuff, the sensawunda stuff, the glorious terrifying magic and the really creepy evil…


Today… plotting worksheet and tight focus.

There are folks saying, “But you teach classes on how to write novels.”

Yup. I also invent and test new processes, because if you do the same thing every time, you get the same results every time. And to get BETTER results, and consequently better novels, you have to experiment.

Many experiments… um… explode.

And the person looking at the new processes, and experimenting, is the one upon whom they explode.


THIS process is not going to be in any new class coming your way from me. You can thank me later.

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I’m going through all five novels.

At the moment, I’m tearing apart Book One, which I got right, to find out where I need to take Book Two THREE in the revision.

It’s a complicated process, and I’m managing to give myself regular headaches going through it. And all of this is my own damn fault.

I have a good process for plotting and writing novels, but somehow, I was having so damn much fun with these that I didn’t use my process. I essentially pantsed my way through Books 2-5, having built out my four line-for-scene outlines for each of the remaining four books… and then ignoring the damn things to chase “better ideas.”

Well, if you know what works for you, and you decide to ignore your proven process to go rabbiting after “Ooooh, SHINY!!!”, you deserve what you get.

And here I am.

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