It’s hard to stay motivated on the project. I’ve had several mental setbacks, most often dealing with real-world news events that so closely mirror some of the elements in the book that I worry about how it would be accepted, if it would be too gauche so close to a tragic event. I worry about whether it’s even possible to publish the book, since several of my naming conventions have recently been used in other media to describe similar entities or elements in the book…that I came up with in 2007 (grrr). Either of these things can be handled with care and sensitivity – adjusting the story slightly, or simply having faith that the fictional elements of the plot are strong enough to compensate for what now seems like reliance on reality.

It’s also hard to know how to approach the book again after having shelved it for so long. It’s nearly 70,000 unedited words, still missing a completed climax and ending. A monster of a manuscript. The plot is gnarled and twisted after so many revisions that a massive retooling and restructuring is needed before I can fit those fantastic scenes and elements where they really need to be. Sometimes it feels like I’m trying to cram so much information and so much action into this one novel that it needs a prequel for the reader to make sense of it all, or to even become invested in the characters. But that’s not right either – I just need to find a way to charge the scenes with background and engagement every step of the way.

It’s been helpful recently to get back into reading other novels and short stories (which I rarely do when I have the time to sit down and write). I’ve been able to step back and consider some of the elements of my plot that come off as too familiar, tropes that have been used too frequently in the exact same plot outlines. It’s a lovely challenge for me, something that keeps my mind dreaming and scheming during swim practice and play dates and the monotony of second trimester bed rest with this pregnancy.

Telling my husband that I’m working on it again is almost painful – I avert my eyes from his predictable sigh of exasperation each time that he discovers I’m taking the plunge yet again. He’s my most ardent supporter, my sounding board, the one who picks up the pieces when I’m falling apart in misery over something that’s just not working. It’s like admitting to a regression for a terrible habit that we both thought I put behind me long ago. I think the angst and agony over this project is rooted in the length of its presence in our lives, the fact that it’s my first novel, and that it’s a story that we both really love that just hasn’t found the right form yet.

I fortify myself to dive back into the stygian depths with an ample amount of Trader Joes peanut brittle and large quantities of ginger ale (about all my pregnant stomach can handle). Please ensure a ready supply of wiggly, squirmy, giggly “Mama Hugs” from the four year old are available to sustain motivation and forward progress.

I’ve earned an Honorable Mention in The Year’s Best Science Fiction #28 anthology, edited by the legendary Gardner Dozois, for my short story “Sunlight,” published originally by Abyss and Apex. The anthology includes 33 short stories selected for publication, and then a list of around 300 or so stories published in 2010 that earned Honorable Mentions. My friend, Alan Smale, also earned two nominations for stories last year. The list includes Elizabeth Bear, Orson Scott Card, Cory Doctorow, Neil Gaiman, William Gibson, Kij Johnson, George R. R. Martin, Cat Rambo, Alastair Reynolds, John Scalzi, Michael Swanwick, Vernor Vinge and Gene Wolfe. I’m a bit star struck, and rather delighted, I must admit.

The book will be available for purchase on July 5th, and you can even go to Amazon now and look inside the book for my name (not the full story though; for that you need to hop over to Abyss and Apex). Yup, I promise. It’s really there.

Now, of course, comes the point where I need to buckle down and add some catchy and gripping plot elements to an otherwise mostly-atmospheric story. The framework is there. The story lends itself to embellishment and structure well. I just need to make up my mind about…well…what it’s really about. And get it down on paper. And edit it. And resubmit. All by a mid-August due date. I’ve written about my hesitance to rewrite before, but really, it’s all about having the right motivation. And a little positive feedback can do wonders for a writer in a dry spell.

I wrote this particular story two years ago at the Outer Banks, sitting on a chair facing the water for a few hours one hazy afternoon, watching my guys building sand castles and body surfing. There’s nothing quite like the overwhelming sensory overload of the beach to crystalize a little creative inspiration. The wind buffeting, the surf pounding, the sand blasting, the sun baking. They drive all those mundane, pointless thoughts from your head about whether you remembered to turn off the water to the slip and slide in the backyard almost 300 miles away, or if the vacuum will wake up the kid during nap time, and reduces you to a simple existence of frolicking, resting and hydrating. I can practically taste the old bay seasoning underneath my fingernails as I crack a crab claw larger than my son’s fist, the first sip of crisp cold beer in the shade, and warm dark chocolate fudge, folded meticulously on cold marble slabs heavier than my car.

Can you tell I’m in beach mode? OBX, I’ve missed you. We’re headed back down on Friday for a few days. We haven’t ever been mid-summer, preferring to go in early September when the crowds thin and the beaches are wide, beautiful and empty. Cross your fingers for us that the traffic won’t be too miserable.

Today feels like an important day in both its significance and its complete and glorious normality.

Today, my husband started a new job – a real job that will actually pay him what they’re contracted to pay him, a job that won’t hold a sword to his neck each day with the impending threat of lost funding or unemployment.

Today, I started a new pattern of homeschooling with my son. Almost 4 years old, he’ll be ready for kindergarden in another year and a half. But with constant “playschool-itis” exacerbating some recently diagnosed health issues, I’m happy to keep him home with me for this precious and unrepeatable time in his life where we simply get to play together. Today’s docket included getting dirty, getting grass stains on our butts, playing in the mud, planting some flowers, and climbing the Caboose. It’s been a good day.

Today, I opened up StoryMill and started writing again. I may not have written very much, and what came out and onto the screen certainly won’t be classified as anything but junk. But it was progress. Dusting out the cobwebs and opening up the shutters. Okay – it felt more like prying them open with a crowbar, but I know the words will come if I just keep at it.

I started writing fiction nearly three years ago as an exercise to sharpen my wits and dust off my right brain functionality. I’ve missed having story lines and characters to meditate on while sitting at the playground. I’ve missed jotting down little tidbits of conversations and observations as I’ve been out and about. And I know I should have come back to it sooner.

Giving myself the freedom to daydream, even in dribs and drabs, is that last step forward I needed to shake the vestiges of the past year away. Today I’m digging my toes in the grass, and listening to my little guy giggle at the worms, and knowing that it’s all going to work out just fine.

Sam Tomaino from SFRevu posted a lovely review back at the end of October. “A very touching story…” Hooray!

Lois Tilton from Locus Online had an interesting, if direct, observation about the story. “A warmhearted, obvious sort of YA story. I was annoyed more than interested by the prosthetic mechanics that so obviously needed a friend to keep them maintained.”

I appreciated the fact that she read the story and understood the heart of it was in the relationship between Leo and Ray. I didn’t think it was particularly unrealistic to show that the implementation of first generation technology (like battle-ready prosthetics) is often poorly designed, not very well conceived for long term care and maintenance. Or that an old veteran might be forgotten and unable to help himself.