When I left class tonight (heck, while I was still in class) I was just bursting with blog thoughts about my first day. But the downside (well, one of the downsides) to going to school an hour away is that by the time I got home at 9:30, all I could think was “Tired. Want sleep.”

So, to commemorate this occasion without making me work too hard, we’re going to play a little game called “Expectations and Surprises.” I think the title is pretty self-explanatory.

Here were my expectations going in:
1. UWM would be different from USC.
TRUE, but not that different from UW-Madison, and I’ve spent enough time on campus to be reasonably comfortable.

2. I would be appropriately dressed.
TRUE. The only thing embarrassing about my outfit (purple shirt, dark blue-green jacket, green scarf, jeans, Chuck Taylor-like sneakers, hoop earrings) was how much time I spent planning it.

3. I would get very lost, right away.
FALSE. The GPS took me to the right parking lot, and I got on the right tram to take me to campus. I DID get off the bus one stop too early by mistake, but I found the right building pretty quickly.

4. Once class began, I would be intimidated almost immediately.
True AND False. This was a workshop class, which means the entire point is to share short stories and critique them. In some ways, I felt pretty experienced and on top of things - I had already finished two novels, I had an agent, and I’d taken courses through UW-Madison’s Continuing Studies. On the other hand, I felt way out of my league. I was the only first year student there, and the only one who wasn’t a short story writer (NEVER written one, which is just frickin’ awesome). Everyone else seemed to either know each other, known the professor, or both. Awkward.

I also realized, for the first time, really, that I am a silly person. Everyone there was so focused on High Quality Literature, and I’m like “Look at my new Batman folder, guys!” They all took everything really, really seriously, in a perfectly healthy academic way, and every time the professor said something like “Now the professionals use Times New Roman font, although it used to be Courier,” in my head I made comments like “Ha! Fuck you, Courier!” Who does that? What’s wrong with me? I’m seriously considering blaming this on Tyler.

5. The prestige and formality of grad school would not save me from doing stupid around-the-room introductions.
TRUE. Speaking of inappropriate humor, the conversation went something like this:

Professor: Now, let’s go around the room and say our first and last names, and also what you’d like to be called. Just think, guys: this is your chance to finally give yourself a nickname!

(good-natured chuckles)

Student 1: Hi, I’m John Doe, I just go by John. I’m in my second year in the doctoral program, and I’m a short story writer, focused on publication.

Melissa: Hi, I’m Melissa Olson. No, wait…I’m “Animal!”

(crickets)

(sound of Melissa’s head thunking on table in humiliation)

Here were the surprises of the evening:

1. UW-Milwaukee is a Pepsi products school. Tragic.

2. For some people, there are no cliches too lame to be embraced. One of the students in my class was actually sporting the goatee-and-beret look. Not a trendy newsboy hat, an actual beret. If he had had a black turtleneck, I might have thrown up.

3. My professor seems flat-out awesome. I was expecting someone a little snotty and superior, maybe, but he was incredibly cool and funny. And just nice, which can’t be overrated.

4. Format-wise, this class is almost exactly like the only film production class I took at ‘SC. We made our own short films and then sat around while everyone criticized them. Then, in case any egos were left standing, we turned in written criticisms as well. Let’s hope I write better than I shoot/edit. (Should not be hard.)

So that’s the rundown. I’m hoping to feel a little more comfortable next Monday, when I start my two lower-level classes. I must say, though, it was definitely nice to have someone poke at my brain, though. (Brain: “what? what are we doing? Breastfeeding? Watching Blues Clues? What the hell is this?)

Final words on the evening: how can there be no diet Coke?

Last week I turned in a draft of “Dead Spots” that I was fully satisfied with, and I haven’t so much as opened the file since. Until my agent or an editor sends me the changes they want, I’m considering that book finished. Which is actually a little nerve-wracking. See, I’ve trained myself to fill every spare hour - time when I’m not working, Mattie is asleep or with someone else, and Tyler is busy - with writing. So now when I get a spare hour and there’s no book in progress, it makes me twitchy.

In an effort to combat said twitchiness, the other day I sat down and began the sequel to “Dead Spots,” which I’m calling “Trail of Dead.” Agents and publishers often change a book’s title, but the book is about chasing down a murderer who literally leaves a trail of dead bodies, so I thought it was pretty suitable.

I have the rough plot kinda sketched out in my head (I don’t believe in outlining, which tends to make the actual drafting process really boring for me), and a good idea of the first two scenes, but on page two I ran into a problem: exposition. See, I’ve never written a sequel before, and I hadn’t considered just how much time I would need to devote to explaining the events of the last book. This is a delicate process, because you have to create a completely new story that someone could pick up and start reading cold, but you still need to please the fans of the first book and reward them for their loyalty.

I remember reading the Babysitters Club books when I was little, and I would always have to skip a page and a half at the beginning, while they did the little background description of all the characters, which was almost verbatim from book to book. (Every single book referenced Mallory’s gorgeous red hair and Jessie’s looooong legs, even though they were allegedly told by different narrators. Irksome.) The Harry Dresden books, on the other hand, have done a very nice job of infusing background information wherever it’s necessary, but never going overboard. For the fans who’ve already read the previous sequels, these descriptions serve as a reminder, not an obstacle.

When I tried to do it myself, though, it was pretty tricky. How do I explain Scarlett’s powers, her love triangle, her current dilemma, and the serious villain introduced at the end of the last book without it getting all clunky? Ack. After careful consideration and research, I’ve decided to fall back on my standard creative writing technique, the one that’s served me so well for four years now.

I’m gonna wing it.

Sort of.

I know what you’re thinking: Melissa, where’s the fanfare? Where’s the excitement? Why aren’t you peeing yourself with self-satisfaction and glee? Well, dear reader, it’s a lot more complicated than that this time. First of all, a book is never actually “done” until it goes to the printer for publishing. In this case, I’ve only completed the first of what will undoubtedly be many drafts. Last year when I finished my first book, I was a lot more ignorant about just how much work the revision process would be. Now I have a much better idea, and therefore more realistic expectations.

Secondly…as it turns out, “done” is a strong word. See, when I went to writer’s conference at the end of April, one of the agents I met with told me in no uncertain terms that an urban fantasy novel has to be at least 85,000 words long. Minimum. No exceptions. Well, with this book, I wrote and I wrote and I wrote, and I ended up with 73,000 words, about the same as my first book, which means I’m about 45 pages short. This is not good. In fact, this is really bad.

So what’s my next step? Well, for the moment I’m in a holding pattern. I’ve printed and distributed a few copies of the book to designated readers (this time I chose people who specifically read in the urban fantasy genre), and asked them the usual questions about whether everything makes sense, if there are any loose ends, if anything really bothered them. This time, though, I also asked my readers to tell me what they want more of. Hopefully I’ll get some good feedback and will be able to boost the word count on this sucker and start getting it out to agents.

Until that feedback comes, though…I’m kind of adrift. I could start on my next novel, but I’m having serious trouble deciding whether to write a new Lena book or a new Scarlett book. On the one hand, Scarlett is the voice in my head right now, but I do miss Lena. Either way, I’m also kind of reluctant to jump back into a full book, especially when I’ll be starting grad school in the fall, which will keep me very busy and require me to do a lot of writing anyway. What I’d really like to do now is finish my screenplay, which I began years ago but never could find an ending for. I’ve been dragging my heels, though, and here’s why: I have absolutely no desire to jump into the process of trying to sell a screenplay. Trying to find an agent for your book is hard, but I really think finding one for your screenplay is even harder. And the pool of writers is even bigger. It’s just a completely different mindset from book publishing, and one that I was skeptical about back when I was living in LA. Now I’m in Wisconsin, where successful screenplay writers seem even more rare and endangered, and I suddenly think I’m going to stick out from the pack? Not so much.

Still…the truth is, I’ll probably do it anyway. Not because I think I have a chance in Hades of actually selling it, but because it has come to my attention that I have to write. Seriously, I have to, or I start to lose my mind in ever-increasing increments. So, watch out, Hollywood. Here I come.

Kind of.

In other news, I’ll once again be attending the Madison Writers Conference this spring, where I’ll be attending classes and lectures and meeting with not one, but two professional agents to pitch my book. Hopefully neither of them will break an elbow the night before and blow me off, as the New Orleans agent unfortunately did. And if one of them does, well, at least I’ve got a backup this time. This year the conference is at the end of April, a month later than usual, and I’m hoping to use the extra time to finish up “Dead Spots.” Then when I walk into the agent meetings, I can say, “I’ve got a women’s lit mystery and an urban fantasy, which would you like to hear about,” all cool as a cucumber. That’s the dream, anyway, but I’ve got a ways to go: right now “Dead Spots” is in the uncomfortable stage where I’ve got pretty much all the planning done, but still need to plod through the rest of the writing. The planning and the early writing are the most fun for me, because they’re the most creative, so I just have to keep working my way through this part.

Sadly, though, I’m going to have to do it somewhere else. This is the last blog I’ll be writing from my little writing office, the second bedroom in our house. When Husband and I moved in, I was wary of moving in with another guy (having had a not-good experience with this already), and insisted on having my own space. I painted the bedroom just how I wanted it, deep forest green and warm yellow cream (a concept which worked great in my head but turned out like Packer colors. My bad.), and decorated it with all my favorite geek stuff: a Batman the Animated Series print, my decorative Little Mermaid plates, the Godspell painting I swiped from my parents house years ago, and two giant bookshelves full of my books. (Sadly, this is only a sample of my “collection” - just like the Smithsonian artifacts, I can only display a small percentage of my books at one time.) When I was setting up this room I spent weeks on craigslist, looking for the perfect writing chair, and finally splurged on this big comfy chair I absolutely pined for. It’s extra, extra wide, thick and comfy, and kept away from the dogs. Best chair ever, and I keep it for myself.

Yes, I love this room, but I rarely get to use it. A lot has changed in the three years we’ve lived in this house. Well, one big thing in particular: a daughter. When Mattie was born it made sense to keep her in the little half-bedroom between our room and the bathroom, but as she’s grown it’s become less practical. Her sleep is often disrupted when someone goes through to get to the bathroom, and her toys basically need a room of their own at this point. And I’m too busy taking care of her out in the house to actually write. Now when I can write, it’s usually because she’s asleep, and I just plop down in the living room with my laptop.

Once I needed this room to have my own space, but now Mattie needs it so she can have hers. I get that, and I’m not bitter, but it’s still kind of sad. I’m still going to have an office, though, it’ll just be that smaller room. I’ll still get to use my special comfy chair (though measures must be taken to keep it safe from the sheddy dog), maybe more than I did before. And so, as this blog comes to a close, so does my time in my special room. Goodbye, Melissa’s office. We hardly knew ye.

All right, so let me back up a minute to make a formal complaint against United. United is the abusive spouse you keep going back to even though you know better. I have yet to have a perfectly normal, uneventful trip on United, and this trip was no exception. I was supposed to fly from Madison to Chicago and Chicago to New Orleans, with only about a 50-minute layover. I rushed like hell to my gate, only to find they’d overbooked the flight and the last three there - including me - were booted. Just booted. It would have meant missing almost the entire first day of the conference, but luckily, ONE person decided to take the incentives and fly out the next day. The couple was before me in line, and there was a nail-biting moment while they were deciding whether or not they were willing to split up. They were not. I managed to make the flight, no thanks to stupid United. Chicago is the closest major airport to Madison, and that’s United’s hub. Still, I know better, and every time I swear I won’t do it again.

Oh, and then they lost my luggage. Assholes.

Poor airline choice aside, the big disappointment of this week was that the agent I was supposed to meet with ended up calling in sick with a broken elbow. No agent meeting for me. I will get to do a phone meeting with her, but I was definitely crushed when I found out: I know this makes me sound like a ditched prom date, but I had a new outfit and everything.

Now, here was the big, awesome conciliation prize: Dennis Lehane. Lehane’s been on my favorite author list for years and years, and I’ve been honest-to-goodness nervous to meet him - me, who has interviewed celebrities and been to the Oscars. He’s definitely one of my heroes, and one of those writers whose work convinces me that I’ll never be more than a hack. But, you know, in a good way.

Anyway, he was scheduled to speak last night, and while I was leaving the panel discussion BEFORE his talk, he suddenly popped out of an elevator in front of me and said, “Excuse me, do you know where this ballroom is?” Did I! I said, “Come on, I can show you,” and he followed me; though he did not seem to pick up my subtext of “you’re the coolest person ever and if I wasn’t already attached to my firstborn I’d give them to you.” We chatted on the way, I was very cool and not at all gushy (I’m pretty sure), and then he proceeded to give one of the most entertaining and informative Q-and-A’s I’ve ever been present for. They say you should never meet your heroes, but Dennis Lehane was everything a fan could want: funny, articulate, modest but not falsely so, insightful, thoughtful, etc. After he spoke I blew tomorrow’s lunch money on one of his books, and took it to him to sign. I joked that he should sign it “Thanks for showing me the way” - and he did. It was so cool!! Afterwards I was geeking out about it for a good 45 minutes. I haven’t geeked out that much since…well, it’s been years.

Last night was also notable in that I finally started to make some friends - most of this conference I’ve been pretty alone, but there was a faculty-writers meet-and-greet with an open bar and live music. I was exhausted (did I mention every day I have to be here at 8:15 AM? And that it takes almost an hour to get here and park?), but I went, and started talking to people, and was so glad I did. When I left the party at 11:30, two different people had offered to let me crash on their couches rather than drive back. I know this is New Orleans and people are friendly, but that’s still progress for me. I’m not the world’s greatest friend-maker.

Obviously there’s plenty of other stuff going on, and I haven’t even started on the amazing French Quarter or the truly bloodthirsty cost of parking ($30 yesterday! I’m almost out of money, and I’ve only bought one book!), but I need to get back. Next time I post I promise to be a little more lively and awake. Probably.

Picture this: You’ve been running errands all day, you’re tired, and the baby has finally fall asleep (yay!). You sit down to read a book, delighted to receive the unexpected gift of a few minutes of free time. The baby begins to fuss, so you groan and pick her up, trying to get her back to sleep. Two hours later, you wake up late for work. Duh DUNNNNN.

It’s a real threat, people. Could happen to anyone. With a baby.

This has been my first week of working only one job, and a few things have changed. I don’t have to wake up early, I’ve been staying up really late (I work until 12:30 AM two or three nights a week, which makes it harder to get to bed much earlier on nights I don’t work), I’ve had time to play with Mattie and start thinking about things like her eating schedule and how to get her to nap, and I’ve run about 30 errands that had been piling up for weeks. I’ve also felt just a little bit clearer than I used to: I’ve mostly lost the feeling that I was walking around with, the sense that I wouldn’t remember any of this when I woke up.

So I was surprised to notice that I’m still falling asleep pretty much whenever. I am stalked by the Involuntary Nap. Mostly it’s because more sleep isn’t the same as enough sleep, but I’ve also come to a conclusion: having a baby means that even when you’re not busy, you’re busy. If I had this work schedule two years ago, I’d be getting 9 hours of sleep a night and watching about six hours of TV. My house would probably be almost as messy as it is now (okay, maybe not quite) but I’d have more books read, more movies watched, and I’d just generally be…brighter. More relaxed, and without the sense that every moment of free time is grotesquely limited. I’m not unhappy now, and I’m certainly grateful to have more time not at work, but I’m always busy.

This has also manifested itself in my new inability to be punctual. I used to be a person who was always on time. I thought punctuality was tied to responsibility and respect, and I paid attention to it. In other words, I thought of being on time as something I had the option of doing, and I did it. Now I feel like being on time is something elusive that I’m always chasing. I always intend to be on time, but at the last moment Mattie decides she’s hungry or I realize I need to pack more bottles, and everything gets delayed. Or i get distracted and actually (gasp) lose track of my schedule, a quality I used to despise in other people. Last night one of the last thoughts I had before I fell asleep was to remember my chiropractor appointment this afternoon. This morning after I woke up I thought of it several times, reminding myself to pack up the diaper bag so I’d be ready. At 1:45, I was half a mile from the house, walking Mattie around in the nice weather, and I realized the appointment had started 30 minutes earlier. Fabulous.

I now wish I could go back and un-judge all the people I’ve known who couldn’t arrive on time for anything. Well, maybe not all of them, but certainly the ones with kids. I’ve never been a fan of the expression “it’s always something” - I think it has gotten tossed around to the point of meaninglessness in our culture - but I’m starting to realize that it really is always something. Or it was always something, 20 minutes ago but you forgot about it. Plus, at any moment, it’s entirely possible that y- zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…..

As we know, a month or so ago I finally finished my first draft of The Book. I went to Kinko’s, had five copies made, and sent them, along with a questionaire, out to volunteers - friends of mine who promised to be honest and thorough. To help them with that, I even arranged for me to receive the questionairess anonymously. And now I have them all in, and there’s some really good comments, and it occurred to me- I’m going to have to do this all over again.

I’ve been writing in some form or another for a long time, and I think I have a decent understanding of the writing process - or at least, my optimum writing process. I write for as long as I can, and then I need to go away for awhile. (This is not necessarily a draft, since “as long as I can” may only produce two paragraphs.) I come back to the work, reread what I’ve got so far, make whatever changes I want, and then keep going. Repeat until finished. When I’m sure I’ve got it right, I try to go away for awhile again, and come back and look at it with fresh eyes. If I still like it, then I really am done.

The book, though, is proving to be different. First, in how I wrote it all in the first place: in fits and starts, leaving it for months at a time, and sometimes writing 15 pages in a day. The weird thing is, I did do a lot of rereading as a wrote, which SHOULD mean that the beginning is the best part (like, if the book was 10 pages long, as I was writing page 3 I would reread pages 1 and 2, and as I was writing page nine, I would reread 1-8. Get it?) But I became a better writer while working on this book, and in some ways the end is much better written than the beginning. It’s kind of all over the place, which is not a feeling I’m used to with my writing.

This has made my questionaires extremely helpful, but I’m on new territory here. Already, I’ve completed a “second” draft, which is mostly just copyediting from the first - fixing spelling mistakes and grammar problems, rearranging a few sentences, etc. Now I’m going to start editing for content, and then theoretically I should make new copies and have new people read them. If I can find anyone. But how long do I have to do this? Exactly how much am I going to be spending at Kinkos?

It doesn’t help that part of me has moved on, away from this book. I’ve been kicking around ideas for my next project, and I’m torn between starting the sequel to this project and starting something new, maybe an urban fantasy. On the one hand, I’d really like to start fresh, create new characters and work in a different genre. On the other hand, my character in “Identity Crisis” just had a baby, so I feel like I should be writing about baby-having while it’s all fresh in my mind.

What do you think, blog readers? Start a sequel, or start over?

Not because I’m done blogging, mind you. In fact, I’m going to be writing more than ever, but I’m splitting it into three unique blogs: “Maternally Challenged,” which is about parenting, an entertainment blog called “Bemused Amusement,” and finally a blog about writing called “Ballpoint Keyboard.” You can choose to read/subscribe to all three, or just one or two, but a new post will appear in at least one every single day. And there’s still a main page that displays all three. Neat, huh?

So, if you have this blog bookmarked, or if you subscribe to the RSS feed, YOU MUST RESUBSCRIBE TO THE NEW BLOG(S). Just go to Melissaolson.net and click on Blog at the top. Then you can decide what you want to be reading. As always, I welcome comments, and as always, please feel free to subscribe. And check back daily!

Melissa out.