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You Boys Ever Been To Mex-E-Co?
Sep. 8th, 2013 04:59 pmThis week has proven to me just how much I've taken to heart the writing advice "Finish what you start". That normally applies to a book, but now my brain is arguing with itself in also applying that maxim to a series.
As I'm closing in on the end of what is now the third Arizona book--30,000 words away from finishing is closing in on the end to me--I've been debating whether or not I should give the Arizona books a rest for the time being instead of jumping straight into the fourth and last one. Here's what's going on:
First, I've agreed to take on a Secret Project. There was no hesitation about this; it's something I would've jumped at regardless of whatever else I was doing. I can work on it alongside the last of Arizona Book 3, but I'm less sure about doing it alongside researching, outlining, and then writing Arizona Book 4, which would cover the whole 20th and early 21st centuries.
Second, it may be the professional thing to do. Granted I'm only two months into the agent hunt for the series, but I haven't yet gotten a nibble. It might make sense to work on something else in the meantime--be it the Secret Project or getting down to research and outlining the next historical novel, which will be about the Mississippi River.
Third, I'll admit that I'm feeling a little worn out. I've been working on the Arizona books for two years this month, and once the third one is done those three books will have almost the same total word count as my four Shenandoah novels. I'm concerned that I should temporarily halt work on them while I still love the series, then come back to it later with renewed energy.
Of course, there's the gremlin whispering in my ear that if I stop, I won't come back to it later--especially if the first three don't sell.
And there's the fact that I hate to leave anything incomplete. Even when that incomplete still leaves behind three finished novels.
I'm not going to make any major decisions just yet. I've gotten hit with a few frustrating things this week (mostly of the Mechanical Stuff That Doesn't Want To Work Right sort) so I'm not necessarily doing my best thinking, even with the extra exercise. And I've got 30,000 words yet to go on the current book anyway. But I suspect this is one of those things that will show up on my doorstep sooner rather than later.
At least I'm still getting some writing done.
PROGRESS REPORT FOR 9/7/13
New Words: 1600 on chapter 3 ("The Conquerors, 1882") of Copper HEart. Riley welcomes back General George Crook to Arizona. The criminals of the Tucson Indian Ring are less enthused about Crook's return.
Total Words: 92950.
Reason For Stopping: End of scene, feeling worn out from various negative external stimuli, and had to deal with some of the aforementioned frustrating stuff.
Book Year: 1882.
Mammalian Assistance: None. Though Vegas the Writing Assistant Cat belatedly realized his error and wanted in the Writing Room with me as I was coming out.
Exercise: Around the neighborhood with Tucker in the morning, then an afternoon solo campus walk with the soundtrack from Star Trek - Into Darkness.
Stimulants: Minutemaid Fruit Punch.
Today's Opening Passage(s): When Riley was summoned to the general’s office at San Carlos that September, he nearly choked.
At first he wasn’t sure why. This was the moment he had been wanting almost desperately for years while never truly thinking it would happen—the incompetent General Willcox, badly outmatched by the Tucson Ring and other white criminals, was transferred out, and General George Crook, the man who had brought peace in the Apacheria, returned to take his place. Crook, who had the will and the desire to fight the Ring and ensure that the Apache would no longer be denied their basic necessities of survival. So why did Riley freeze when he was told to report to Crook immediately?
He realized that he was embarrassed. Riley was forty-four years old, with twenty-nine of those years spent in the army. Yet he was still a lieutenant, as he had been ever since he rode with Kit Carson against the Navajo. Part of the reason was his own lack of ambition to work his way up to the upper echelons of rank. But mostly he kept being passed over again and again by men who were much younger and had far less seniority because the army didn’t trust him. The one time he took a stand it was for the Apache, as far as the brass was concerned.
Never mind that he was carrying out the army’s own official policy. That he was fulfilling the army’s own promises to the Apache. In doing so he pitted himself against some powerful men, and he knew for certain—thanks to Carlos—that they had done everything in their power to keep him chained in place and at his current rank.
Yet he found himself ashamed to go to the reunion with his old commander. You’re being an idiot, Riley told himself. You’ve faced Navajo and Apache. You crossed Arizona alone when you were fifteen years old. You can step into the office of someone you know to be a good man.
Darling Du Jour: (Sort of.)
“...But as I recall, you once shared my mind on this matter. Is this still the case?”
“It is, general,” Riley said without hesitation. “May I speak frankly, sir?”
“I expect it, captain, if you’re to be of any use to me.”
“The Apache have bedeviled my family since long before I was born. They burned our ranch and wounded and killed members of my family. I rode alone from Tucson to Fort Defiance”—Riley swallowed hard—“lying about my age so I could enlist.” He felt emboldened at Crook’s suppressed smile. “General, I joined the army specifically to fight Apache. But what I’ve seen done to them in the years I’ve been at San Carlos…it’s inhuman, sir. There are a few renegades who will fight no matter what, but most of those who’ve risen up against us had good cause. Sir.”
“I see. I appreciate your honesty, captain.” Instead of saying more he withdrew a cigar from his desk, lit it painstakingly, took a few puffs, and then offered another to Riley, which the younger man turned down. “I appreciate it a great deal. Which is why I’m appointing you as an aide on my staff. Also effective immediately.”
“Sir…” Riley near choked again when Crook raised his brow. “Thank you, general.”
Crook nodded, then stood. Riley stood with him, but it was clear Crook wasn’t finished. “The Apache are a beaten people, Captain Beckett. Some of them may not know this yet, but it’s God’s truth. Part of our job is to begin the process of allowing them to have pride again and enjoy the fruits of their own labors, free of government interference. But we cannot do that while there are still renegades out there. There may not be a single one in Arizona right now—my best intelligence puts them all south of the border in the Sierra Madres. But they will ride north again sometime, probably sooner rather than later.”
Or until we ride out to meet them, Riley thought. George Crook was not a man to sit and wait for the enemy to come to him. But in this case the enemy was in another country, and though Mexico had tentatively agreed to let American soldiers on their territory to fight Apache, the provisions were vague. Crook was likely uncertain of exactly what he was permitted to do, or else he would already be riding against the Apache today.
“Get a good meal, captain, and some rest,” Crook ordered gently, “because tomorrow I intend to dump a great deal of work on your shoulders.”
Non-Research / Review Reading: None. It's all research and book reviews right now.
As I'm closing in on the end of what is now the third Arizona book--30,000 words away from finishing is closing in on the end to me--I've been debating whether or not I should give the Arizona books a rest for the time being instead of jumping straight into the fourth and last one. Here's what's going on:
First, I've agreed to take on a Secret Project. There was no hesitation about this; it's something I would've jumped at regardless of whatever else I was doing. I can work on it alongside the last of Arizona Book 3, but I'm less sure about doing it alongside researching, outlining, and then writing Arizona Book 4, which would cover the whole 20th and early 21st centuries.
Second, it may be the professional thing to do. Granted I'm only two months into the agent hunt for the series, but I haven't yet gotten a nibble. It might make sense to work on something else in the meantime--be it the Secret Project or getting down to research and outlining the next historical novel, which will be about the Mississippi River.
Third, I'll admit that I'm feeling a little worn out. I've been working on the Arizona books for two years this month, and once the third one is done those three books will have almost the same total word count as my four Shenandoah novels. I'm concerned that I should temporarily halt work on them while I still love the series, then come back to it later with renewed energy.
Of course, there's the gremlin whispering in my ear that if I stop, I won't come back to it later--especially if the first three don't sell.
And there's the fact that I hate to leave anything incomplete. Even when that incomplete still leaves behind three finished novels.
I'm not going to make any major decisions just yet. I've gotten hit with a few frustrating things this week (mostly of the Mechanical Stuff That Doesn't Want To Work Right sort) so I'm not necessarily doing my best thinking, even with the extra exercise. And I've got 30,000 words yet to go on the current book anyway. But I suspect this is one of those things that will show up on my doorstep sooner rather than later.
At least I'm still getting some writing done.
New Words: 1600 on chapter 3 ("The Conquerors, 1882") of Copper HEart. Riley welcomes back General George Crook to Arizona. The criminals of the Tucson Indian Ring are less enthused about Crook's return.
Total Words: 92950.
Reason For Stopping: End of scene, feeling worn out from various negative external stimuli, and had to deal with some of the aforementioned frustrating stuff.
Book Year: 1882.
Mammalian Assistance: None. Though Vegas the Writing Assistant Cat belatedly realized his error and wanted in the Writing Room with me as I was coming out.
Exercise: Around the neighborhood with Tucker in the morning, then an afternoon solo campus walk with the soundtrack from Star Trek - Into Darkness.
Stimulants: Minutemaid Fruit Punch.
Today's Opening Passage(s): When Riley was summoned to the general’s office at San Carlos that September, he nearly choked.
At first he wasn’t sure why. This was the moment he had been wanting almost desperately for years while never truly thinking it would happen—the incompetent General Willcox, badly outmatched by the Tucson Ring and other white criminals, was transferred out, and General George Crook, the man who had brought peace in the Apacheria, returned to take his place. Crook, who had the will and the desire to fight the Ring and ensure that the Apache would no longer be denied their basic necessities of survival. So why did Riley freeze when he was told to report to Crook immediately?
He realized that he was embarrassed. Riley was forty-four years old, with twenty-nine of those years spent in the army. Yet he was still a lieutenant, as he had been ever since he rode with Kit Carson against the Navajo. Part of the reason was his own lack of ambition to work his way up to the upper echelons of rank. But mostly he kept being passed over again and again by men who were much younger and had far less seniority because the army didn’t trust him. The one time he took a stand it was for the Apache, as far as the brass was concerned.
Never mind that he was carrying out the army’s own official policy. That he was fulfilling the army’s own promises to the Apache. In doing so he pitted himself against some powerful men, and he knew for certain—thanks to Carlos—that they had done everything in their power to keep him chained in place and at his current rank.
Yet he found himself ashamed to go to the reunion with his old commander. You’re being an idiot, Riley told himself. You’ve faced Navajo and Apache. You crossed Arizona alone when you were fifteen years old. You can step into the office of someone you know to be a good man.
Darling Du Jour: (Sort of.)
“...But as I recall, you once shared my mind on this matter. Is this still the case?”
“It is, general,” Riley said without hesitation. “May I speak frankly, sir?”
“I expect it, captain, if you’re to be of any use to me.”
“The Apache have bedeviled my family since long before I was born. They burned our ranch and wounded and killed members of my family. I rode alone from Tucson to Fort Defiance”—Riley swallowed hard—“lying about my age so I could enlist.” He felt emboldened at Crook’s suppressed smile. “General, I joined the army specifically to fight Apache. But what I’ve seen done to them in the years I’ve been at San Carlos…it’s inhuman, sir. There are a few renegades who will fight no matter what, but most of those who’ve risen up against us had good cause. Sir.”
“I see. I appreciate your honesty, captain.” Instead of saying more he withdrew a cigar from his desk, lit it painstakingly, took a few puffs, and then offered another to Riley, which the younger man turned down. “I appreciate it a great deal. Which is why I’m appointing you as an aide on my staff. Also effective immediately.”
“Sir…” Riley near choked again when Crook raised his brow. “Thank you, general.”
Crook nodded, then stood. Riley stood with him, but it was clear Crook wasn’t finished. “The Apache are a beaten people, Captain Beckett. Some of them may not know this yet, but it’s God’s truth. Part of our job is to begin the process of allowing them to have pride again and enjoy the fruits of their own labors, free of government interference. But we cannot do that while there are still renegades out there. There may not be a single one in Arizona right now—my best intelligence puts them all south of the border in the Sierra Madres. But they will ride north again sometime, probably sooner rather than later.”
Or until we ride out to meet them, Riley thought. George Crook was not a man to sit and wait for the enemy to come to him. But in this case the enemy was in another country, and though Mexico had tentatively agreed to let American soldiers on their territory to fight Apache, the provisions were vague. Crook was likely uncertain of exactly what he was permitted to do, or else he would already be riding against the Apache today.
“Get a good meal, captain, and some rest,” Crook ordered gently, “because tomorrow I intend to dump a great deal of work on your shoulders.”
Non-Research / Review Reading: None. It's all research and book reviews right now.
