Speaking of massive, mind and finger-numbing revisions

I'm not actually DONE with the current WIP called MURDERING THE DEAD or as it's also been known, MURDER IN THE HOUSE OF EMBALMING or KING TUT or THE MUMMY TENT for lack of any truly provocative title.

This first big round of revisions means I got through some MAJOR character and plot changes and the cutting and editing of practically EVERY SINGLE LINE.

I still have a boat-load of NOTE TO SELF XXX's sprinkled throughout the manuscript that still need attention.

And then it needs another critique by someone to discuss a few more points and catch all the new errors which I know is going to mean a couple more minor scenes added somewhere, just don't know quite where or how yet.

AND THEN a final polish.

Ain't revisions fun? Not!

For those who are keeping track . . . I started drafting this novel August 12, 2006 wherein I wrote the first three pages. I began research and plot development about 4-5 years ago.

Writing a 400 page historical novel is a COLOSSAL undertaking of nerve, guts and bravado, and, I'm pretty sure, sheer craziness.

Like I just needed a reminder . . . hee, hee.

But DANG, it's gonna be good.

But, But, But, I have a new book to write meanwhile under contract with Scholastic. From scratch. When I get home from Louisiana. And those lovely editorial revisions on The Healing Spell . . .

Teaser Tuesday

I bring you a slice of MURDERING THE DEAD (working title) of my ancient Egypt suspense thriller. At least that's what I've recently started calling it because "Suspense Thriller" just sounds SO cool. It might also have something to do with the fact that I'm trying to add more conflict and suspense - and, um *thrill*.

Note: I've been doing a major revision on this book, practically a new second draft, and it's taken me a month to rework 120 pages. 240 pages to go . . . gulp. I can do a first draft faster than this!

This new corpse's chest was a mess. It was going to take some skill to fix the crushed ribs and remove the organs where blood had pooled in a dark stain under the skin. The hyenas had probably come down in search of food, which was common at harvest time. The hyenas were probably rabid, too. One of the other bodies waiting in line for Imarus’ embalming knife had died of rabies, another from lung disease, a fourth knifed in a bar-room brawl. Heart attacks, chariot accidents, swamp fevers—Imarus saw it all.

He stared at the sun-browned skin, the long hair a sweaty tangle of black strands. Strangely, a fistful of grass and seeds were still clenched in his fist. Imarus' gut clenched as he loosened the man’s grip. Tiny white flax and crumbles of drying mud fell into Imarus’ palm. The dead man’s fingers involuntarily curled again, and Imarus sucked in his breath, his heart stuttering in his chest. A tiny symbol of the Aten god was tattooed on the lower palm of the man's hand.

He jerked the ragged cloth off the face. Imarus hadn’t recognized the weeping elderly man who had brought the body, but he knew this face. This dead man was Kuni. Kuni.

A flood of memories from the late-night meetings in his father’s shadow-lit study washed over him. Kuni had attended every secret meeting, one of the younger men sitting in the rear, listening but not saying much. He couldn't be more than a few years older than Imarus. Even though a poor farmer, Kuni had been a valuable link between the Aten underground organization and the farmers they were recruiting for the future.

This could be me, Imarus thought, feeling a shiver crawl down his spine.

Friday What???

1. It's already Friday and tomorrow is a birthday I've been dreading my whole life. 'Nuf said. But a dozen gorgeous roses just got delivered! Although I better have my heart-shaped box of chocolates at the ready to drown my sorrows . . . no worries, my darling hubby never forgets.

2. HIGH CONCEPT BOOKS AND PLOTS - What is it, How do you get it, Write it, Sell it? Go here for some good discussion and explanations: Waxman Agent's Recipe for Success Post

3. Stacy Whitman just posted this: What a line-up of authors - and it's Freakin' FREE!!! I'm sending my son who is going to school there to listen to all the panels and take notes for me. I'll tell him its homework and he can't come home for spring break without it. I'm such a mean Mom.

4. I SPENT THE ENTIRE WEEK REVISING ONE STINKIN' CHAPTER OF MY EGYPT NOVEL!!!

This is not fun. I feel like I forgot how to write.

There are 34 more chapers to go.

I'm sweating.

At this rate I'll be done next Halloween.

But I'm supposed to write a screenplay and another book this year!!!

And go on a research trip in April.

And, And, And . . .

Egypt Novel: Murdering the Dead

This past Fall was so crazy that it took me 4 months (!) to do a first-pass clean-up of my ancient Egyptian novel, MURDERING THE DEAD. I drafted the book in the winter and spring of 2007! 18 months ago! It sat, waiting patiently for me while I revised THE HEALING SPELL, SECRET RITES OF THE GODDESS, IN A PARIS MINUTE, and wrote two screenplay treatments while conducting my nearly two year, nation-wide search for an agent. So it's not like I wasn't a teency bit busy, but still. I was so anxious to actually read the thing and see what I had.

After I painstakingly got through the massive 380 page thing, I sent it off in batches to my first critiquer, the fabulous Carolee Dean.

A few days later, when she got to the halfway point of the manuscript, Carolee emailed and said:

"I'm thoroughly enjoying your book! I think it is your best one yet. It's so intriguing and beautifully written."

What?!? Really?!?

I'd been dreading anyone reading it because I just knew that they would say it totally sucked - That it was BORING, SLOW, AND CONTRIVED.

But my BEST ONE YET? I'm psyched.

Here's a snippet of my main character, 17 year old Imarus, who is an apprentice mummifier:

Imarus tied a piece of leather through the hole punched into the wooden tag, then knotted the leather around the dead man's big toe. Kuni. 21 years old. Farmer.

Imarus performed a quick inspection of the corpse. For a simple farming man, the embalming contract would be quick and inexpensive. No carved alabaster canopic jars and only three linen layers of wrapping instead of the usual eight or ten, but that was preferable to leaving the man to dry out in the desert in a hand-dug hole.

Kuni’s chest had been badly trampled by his oxen. The hyenas that had launched the attack had probably come down in search of food. They often did at harvest time. The wild animals were probably rabid, too. One of the other corpses waiting in line for Imarus’ embalming knife had died of rabies. Another from lung disease, a fourth from a bar-room brawl; knifed in the seedy part of town where wine flowed more freely than the Nile’s banks during Isis' tears of Inundation. Heart attacks, chariot accidents, swamp fevers. Imarus saw it all.

He stared at the sun-browned face of Kuni, the young man’s dark hair a damp tangle of sweat. A fistful of grass and seeds was still clenched in his fist. Imarus felt a tug in his gut as he loosened the man’s grip. Tiny white flax seeds and crumbles of drying mud fell into Imarus’ palm. The dead man’s fingers involuntarily curled again.

The farmer’s chest was a mess. It was going to take some skill to fix the crushed ribs and remove the organs in the chest cavity where blood had pooled in a dark stain under the skin. Kuni had been a handsome man, sinewy muscles etched from hard work, only a few years older than Imarus himself. A life gone too soon. This could be me, Imarus thought, feeling a sudden shiver. The moment between life and death was so fleeting it was frightening. Imarus’ thoughts suddenly turned morbid. When would he die—and how?