Consummatum est.

With today's completion of the first draft of my novel, I now officially receive my membership card in the I've Written a Book Club. Member number: too many digits to reproduce here.

I wonder what the ratio of written books to published books is. (And there is no shortage of published books!) How many hopeful authors, how many queries, how many manuscripts gathering the electronic equivalent of dust in the electronic equivalent of the bottom drawer?

Mine is now among them....

I need to seek conventional wisdom: query agents while redrafting, or after? The former seems like a more efficient use of time, while the latter seems more prudent, to the extent that the book may change substantially between drafts, rendering the query irrelevant and the agent pissed off. (On the other hand, I've been fiddling with the plot on this thing for over a decade, and I really don't think there's that much more in the way of major changes I want to do with it.)

Learning all the time, I'm learning all the time.

"The Salad of Success" continues to be one!

A success, that is. "Salad" has been selected for performance at BUGfest (run by Brisbane Underground) this year! I am thrilled, needless to say. So nice to get external validation of one's work, and so rare.

Its appeal (at least to judges of short-play competitions) flies in the face of the conventional wisdom that only dark, depressing stuff is production-worthy. Me, I can't stand the thought of writing deep, dark works that plumb the sordid depths of the human spirit. I don't enjoy it, and I see no reason why I should join the throngs of people doing it. I'd rather write stuff that makes people think, "I want to do more, I want to have adventures, I want to push myself a little harder."

While there's a place for deep, dark introspection, I don't tend to think it's all that healthy to make it a staple of one's diet. It's too easy to just sit there and mope (ask me how I know), and then what good are you doing anybody?

The auditions -- interesting experience.

The auditions for "The Salad of Success" last night were extraordinarily informal -- more like negotiations. We writers each pitched our plays, and the actors who were there let the directors know what parts they were interested in. I sort of wasn't expecting that exact format, and did not have a copy of the script with me. Luckily, the producers had copies.

It's very much a work in progress. Some of the people who wanted parts in "Salad" are experienced amateur actors; some are complete newbies. The director himself has done some acting, but this is the first show he's directed. I confess the casual nature of all this has me a little unnerved.

Still, I was very flattered, because quite a few actors actually came up to me and asked about the roles in my play, and I got a lot of positive feedback about the script, including from the two co-producers. Which is always nice. I'm hoping it all comes good on the night, but it's good experience even if it doesn't. I guess.

Tonight, we eat the king's venison!

I indulged myself this morning in going to the archery range. When I first started shooting, several years ago, I bought a really, really cheap sight for my bow. Bits of it kept falling off, and the screws that held it in position would loosen with each shot, until suddenly I was shooting passing birds because the pin had slipped down its guide. Phooey, thought I. I will take the sight off, and learn to shoot based on where the arrow is actually pointing. This is called "shooting barebow", and it's considered quite challenging. There's also more romance to it, as far as I'm concerned (and, perhaps, more honor...).

Now, I'm not a particularly good shot even with the sight, primarily because I don't get to the range very often at all. So I wasn't expecting to do all that well. Surprisingly, while I haven't been doing that great, I haven't been doing that badly, either. And some very kind, very experienced archers were there this morning as well, and gave me some great feedback. Suddenly, my barebow shooting was nearly as good as my sight-based shooting. How fun! (I must say, out of all the groups with which I've been associated over the years, and their name is Legion, for they are many, archers are consistently the nicest, as a group. Maybe it's because we all know we're complete dags, doing something as nerdy and daggy as archery.)

I love this simplified archery. It's fun to imagine I'm doing archery in the Days of Yore, like the kids in the Chronicles of Narnia. And who knows? I may get caught up in a time wave (anyone else ever read Parsifal Rides the Time Wave?) and have to use a bow for real. And there won't be any poncy sights in a low-technology medieval-based alternate world, I can tell you that.

In other time-travelling news, my friend Cathy has sent me something she picked up in Britain: a book titled "Time Lord in Training". Yes! With a cardboard sonic screwdriver and psychic-paper wallet you can punch out and put together! Does life get better than this? Thanks, Cath! If the Doctor stops by, I'll send him to bring you over to Thirroul for a cuppa.

This is all very exciting!

Auditions for my play (and the other ones on the program) are on Wednesday night, and the producer has invited the writers to sit in. And I'm one of the writers -- it makes me a tad giggly. I really like writing plays, especially when someone decides they want to produce one.

Interesting technique for solving writing problems....

Houston had to head up to western Sydney tonight for a work-related thing (yes, if you're in the arts business, Saturday nights are business hours). So once Margaret got to bed, I sat here and played around with possibilities for the Horrible Penultimate Chapter.

Houston got home shortly before 2 a.m. He was startled to see me still awake. I looked up from the computer blearily. "I was pretending I was back at Clarion," I said. "And it worked."

Yes. Writing while sleep-deprived is the way to burst through the end-wall of a dead-end chapter. Now it can be told. I place this secret in the public domain, for the benefit of writers everywhere. Aren't I good?

No, really. It's fairly unpleasant.

I keep writing and rewriting chapters 17 and 18, and I haven't even started on 19 (although, frankly, I'm not worried about that one at all; it's the "and they all lived happily ever after" chapter, even though they don't, really, because I have to admit that I need enough ends still loose and waving that I can write a sequel, if indeed I ever sell the first book).

It's a process, as I've mentioned before, akin to rechewing your food, only not as nice.

Was it folly to attempt an 80,000-word opus? Hell's bells, I've been gnawing on this monstrosity for over a decade! If that isn't enough real-time scope to work on a big project, God help me. I suppose it's good training just to try and sustain a narrative, including a couple of subplots, for nearly 20 chapters. (It was going to be 20, not 19, but several plot points ended up collapsing into, well, fewer plot points, and rather than force-feed the narrative to yield some hideous mutant fois gras, I decided to let the story be slightly leaner. Healthier for everyone, I think.)

Goodness, it's not even 11 p.m. yet, but I'm raving like the sleep-deprived. Perhaps I should, in fact, attempt some sleep. (I suppose it was too much to hope that I could sustain my Clarion schedule of four hours of sleep a night. Ah, those were heady days, heady days!)

Help!

My characters are stuck in the last two chapters, and they can't get out!

Simon Pegg rules.

See Hot Fuzz. It's out on video. Don't read the Wikipedia article, because it spoils the whole plot, without a spoiler warning. (Luckily I watched the film first.) Everything Simon Pegg does, he does well, from Shaun of the Dead to his remarkable appearance on the amazingly good Black Books.

We get more British comedy here (in Australia, that is, but also in our house) than is readily available back home in the States, is how I know about Black Books. But at least the two movies did appear in American theatres. (I could take or leave Shaun of the Dead, although I know it's supposed to be heresy to say so, but Hot Fuzz rocks.)

Encouraging and inspiring

In a (rather pathetic excuse for a) break from writing today, I googled the winners of the ABC's Operatunity Oz documentary/reality show, which aired last year. I was absolutely thrilled to see that all three winners are still gigging. They jumped off the cliff, and they flew -- and, what's more, they're still flying.

I was absolutely riveted to the series when it aired: I just couldn't look away from this superhuman quest they were on. And all three seemed like nice people, too. I want to be like them when I grow up.