Burning Fences

The title originally just referred to the scene in the Progress Report below, but it works well enough as an analogy to one way I end up writing. I don't typically get writer's block--generally I have the opposite problem, too many ideas at once--but sometimes I hit a powerful wall that doesn't want to yield no matter what I initially try doing. Usually what this ends up meaning is that I've confined myself inside the fence of some self-imposed rule, and breaking that rule, making a radical change somewhere, is needed to get through and keep going.

Burning the fence of keeping Arizona a single novel broke through one such wall a few weeks ago. But then I dazed myself by hitting another one shortly afterward. The ashes from the first burned fence were still warm enough to figure out what to do about this latest barrier: I'd broken Arizona into a trilogy, but the third book would cover 1861 to the present day, which I realized was way too much ground. (Getting away on a family vacation for a few days to the mountains, which included some hiking, horseback riding, archery, and other such fun items, helped immensely.) Once I decided to kick out my self-imposed restriction of trying to round up the series in three books, upping the Arizona Saga to four books instead of three just the same as I did with my Shenandoah novels, the wall crumbled to dust.

So now Book Three (which I'm on now), still titled Copper Heart after my fictional Verde Valley mining town, will end with the dawn of the 20th century. The concluding volume, as yet unnamed, will carry through the 20th and 21st centuries. That will also keep both books to a normal size. And as of yesterday I'm back at the keyboard again.

But I may also throw in an easygoing personal hiatus between Books 3 and 4. That's uncharacteristic of me, but there are a few overwhelming external things going on. I'll probably keep up the research but at the very least I want to relax a bit, hike more, and catch up on my pleasure reading. The Matter of Camelot is coming out in November and this should also give me an opportunity to try figuring out ways to market it that don't involve spamming people. I should be able to set aside the writing, at least the novel-writing, for a few weeks without feeling too awfully guilty.

I'll also try not to get into too many political discussions centered around Arizona, which I've been doing a wee bit too much of lately. Those are better than salt for raising my blood pressure.

So, yesterday's stats:

PROGRESS REPORT FOR 8/12/13

New Words: 1900 on chapter 2 ("The Winnowing, 1874") of Copper Heart. Roberto Kicking Horse accidentally joins his brothers and nephews burning out a ranch--belonging to Carlos Alvarez's wife's family, as it happens--including its fences in the process of "helping" U.S. marshals evict Mexican residents of the new Papago reservation.

Total Words: 74050.

Reason For Stopping: Getting late, and a lightning storm was moving overhead.

Book Year: I jumped backwards to gut and rewrite a scene, so 1881.

Mammalian Assistance: None. Vegas the Writing Assistant Cat is getting wary of the lean in his box pile.

Exercise: None. I was still writing when Laurie walked the dogs, and then I crashed hard for some reason before I took Tucker on an extra neighborhood walk.

Stimulants: None.

Today's Opening Passage: It was then, that January of 1881, that he received the summons from his family. They were planning to move to the new reservation for O’odham embracing the San Xavier mission, and they wished for his help.

Darling Du Jour: Not so much a darling as a sinister night ride...

The San Xavier mission was a pale white dot in the distance, the only bit of light on the ground in the direction they were riding. The area was somewhat familiar to Roberto, though he couldn’t remember why. He’d been to the church many times though not this way; he’d always used the road traveling southeast, but they were coming the opposite way, putting the church far off from his left shoulder. He was sure they must be on the new reservation by now but beyond that was certain about nothing.

Now and again he made out the vague silhouettes of houses, small things huddled amid the grass and cacti and cottonwood trees, surrounded by fences and sleepy lowing cattle. Some of the cattle were in the fences, others wandering in the small pieces of open range, not like the wide spaces the Marrak ranch enjoyed. Roberto found himself riding in the middle of small herds, some of whose members regarded him sullenly over the intrusion. This was no set path Manuel led them on, but his brother obviously had a destination in mind.

The house appeared almost when they were right on top of it. The silence was complete; the cows here made no sound, nor did any animals nearby, hiding themselves from night predators. If there was a dog it slept soundly, the sound of ambling horse hoofbeats disguised as the cattle the canine guardian would know.

Submissions Sent Out In July: 8. That's the most I've sent out in one month in years, and doesn't even include the number of agent queries I've sent out--which was also 8. So far I've had one no on Shenandoah, one bite for the same (a request for a partial), and no responses yet on Arizona.

Non-Research / Review Books In Progress: Dawn of Empire by Sam Barone; Witch Wraith by Terry Brooks; Zealot by Reza Aslan.