So you sit down to write a blog post. That was several hours ago. Since then you've checked your email several times and Facebook an embarrassing number of times and played a dozen games of solitaire (various types) and this weird matching game for small children called Purble Place which came with Windows and you not only played it, you tried to beat your own personal record, which says something about how you've been spending your time and the something is not complimentary.
You're a writer. You're a published writer. You should be writing, not gunning to find the other baker's tile to match the one you already found which will hugely boost your score.
This is the thing, though: Purble Place is idiotic but the rules are simple and clear and you know them, which, let's be frank, is not the case with writing and even less so with publishing and sometimes you get tired of feeling like you're a shoe salesman at a snake convention. Snakes slithering past, giving you that look. Wow, is that chick lost or clueless or what.
Because you're starting to think maybe the snakes are right. Maybe you've been kidding yourself. Wasting your time. Maybe nobody wants anymore what you have to offer.
Maybe the explanation is just that simple.
And that's how fear begins. Whispering in your ear so that despite all your best intentions (today, I will figure out ten different ways to tackle that problem scene in Chapter 6, today I will brainstorm fifty scenarios for the second book in the series, today I will come up with a smashing idea for a new novel) you end up back at Purble Place hunting for the damned baker. And you decide the solution is to buckle down and work harder but you're setting yourself up, you see, you're walking right into fear's trap. Because naturally the next thing you wonder is:
What if I work as hard as I possibly can...what if I turn myself inside-out from the effort...and it still isn't good enough? What then?
And fear cackles in triumph: Why, then, you're a failure. Game, set, and match, fear grinning at you with the silver trophy in its rotten hands.
So back to Purble Place you go. Accomplishing nothing. On the other hand, nothing is at stake. Oh, you're still failing, don't kid yourself about that. But how much nicer to fail when you know you haven't given it your absolute utmost! This way you can still say, I could've made it. I could've been successful. If I'd had more (check all that apply):
___time
___a better imagination
___a better agent
___a better publisher
___that writing software everyone else has but it's only available for the Mac and who has the money to buy a new Mac? Not me.
___other (please explain in the space below)
See? You might have done fabulously. It's like a little portrait of the you that could have been. You can keep it close, as a comfort, and pull it out at parties and show people. See? you'll say, with a sigh. I would've been marvelous, if only.
If only you hadn't been so afraid. Because time isn't the problem, or your agent, or your lack of writing software. The problem is that you're terrified that you'll go to the well and find nothing but barren rock. No solution to Chapter 6. No second book in the series. No ideas for a new book. You'll have run dry and all you have to offer are the same old Uggs and Mary Janes and the snakes are slithering past and you're done, you're toast. Buh-bye.
The solution? You already know. There's no magic here. You go to the damn well. You dig deep, as deep as you can. You go back and back and back and you keep digging. Yes, you might fail. Better that, than failing for certain from a timid, wretched half-heartedness.
Of course, you might not fail at all. That's the other big risk, of course. Success.
Probably best to be afraid of just one thing at a time.
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 01, 2012
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Why Raising a Puppy is Like Writing a Novel
THEY TAKE OVER YOUR LIFE
Puppy and novel are both massive time-sucking vortices. Their needs expand to fill every waking hour. Your daily routine is bludgeoned to death; your entire life is now THE NOVEL. Or THE PUPPY. If, in a sad attempt to snatch two minutes for yourself, you ignore the puppy, she will pee/vomit on the couch/pull down the bath towels, shred them and eat the carnage. And then vomit on the couch.
Since novels don't do any of those things, you may think you can ignore yours with impunity. hahahahaha You can't. Because:
THE GUILT...THE GUILT...
It doesn't matter where you are. It doesn't matter what you're doing. If you're not working on the novel, then a little voice is yammering in your head: Chapter 7 isn't going to write itself, you know.
"But I HAVE to renew my driver's license/buy groceries/go to work!" you cry.
Not if you really loved me, Novel says. Not if you were REALLY dedicated.
Puppy races around the house with a half-demolished remote control in her mouth. "No! Bad puppy!" you shriek, as you pry crumbling bits of plastic from between her molars. Knowing that if you'd just sucked it up and taken her for a good run this morning, even though yes, it was raining, she would at this moment be tired and napping and not looking at you as if you've just stomped the last bit of joy out of her soul.
Face it. You will never be good enough. Learn to deal. Also learn to put the remotes away. And anything else small enough to fit into Puppy's maw. If something looks too big, put that away too. Puppy likes a challenge.
IT DOESN'T MATTER HOW MANY TIMES YOU'VE DONE THIS BEFORE. YOU STILL END UP HAVING TO FIGURE IT OUT FOR THE FIRST TIME. AGAIN.
Partly, this is because every puppy and every novel come with unique issues that you've never dealt with before. Issues like digging, and multiple points of view. What worked for the last puppy/novel, you finally realize, won't work for this one.
But before this comes the inevitable period of denial. The last one was so easy, you think in despair. How come this one is so hard? What am I doing wrong?
Buck up, little butterfly. You're indulging in Retrospective Canonization, in which the last puppy or novel is viewed through the fond, hazy spectacles of selective amnesia. The last book never tied you up in knots like this; it practically poured itself through your fingers onto the pages! The last puppy never had diarrhea under the dining room table; in fact, the last puppy hardly had bowel movements at all. Ever!
Forgotten are the tears shed over literary corners you kept writing yourself into. Forgotten are the wee hours of the morning when you shielded your eyes from the copyeditor's notes, moaning, I can't rewrite that damn chapter one more time, I can't, why, God, WHY? Forgotten are the decimated vegetable beds, the ruined carpets, the lunatic barking which made the neighbor complain.
Take off the spectacles. Remember it all, both fair and foul. You figured out the last one, didn't you? And it didn't turn out so badly. This one will be just as hard. But you'll get there, and you'll learn some new things along the way.
Bear in mind, though...
THERE IS ALWAYS ONE UNSOLVABLE PROBLEM.
Maybe it's the unlikely coincidence in Chapter 18 that you hate, but without which, the entire rest of the plot falls apart. Maybe it's the cat-chasing. You try everything. Nothing works. So you end up jerry-rigging. You set up something in Chapter 2 so readers believe Chapter 18 might actually happen that way. You wedge baby gates in strategic doorways to keep Puppy from careening around the house after terrified felines.
Perfect? No. But it'll have to do. Because...
YOU'RE NEVER FINISHED. AND YET, AT SOME POINT, YOU ARE.
You never completely finish writing a novel. You never completely finish training a puppy. You simply get to the point where, with whatever time and talent you have, you've done the best you can do.
At that point, with all your hard work, and a little luck, novel or puppy can then appear in public without causing you embarrassment.
Or at least...not that much.
Puppy and novel are both massive time-sucking vortices. Their needs expand to fill every waking hour. Your daily routine is bludgeoned to death; your entire life is now THE NOVEL. Or THE PUPPY. If, in a sad attempt to snatch two minutes for yourself, you ignore the puppy, she will pee/vomit on the couch/pull down the bath towels, shred them and eat the carnage. And then vomit on the couch.
Since novels don't do any of those things, you may think you can ignore yours with impunity. hahahahaha You can't. Because:
THE GUILT...THE GUILT...
It doesn't matter where you are. It doesn't matter what you're doing. If you're not working on the novel, then a little voice is yammering in your head: Chapter 7 isn't going to write itself, you know.
"But I HAVE to renew my driver's license/buy groceries/go to work!" you cry.
Not if you really loved me, Novel says. Not if you were REALLY dedicated.
Puppy races around the house with a half-demolished remote control in her mouth. "No! Bad puppy!" you shriek, as you pry crumbling bits of plastic from between her molars. Knowing that if you'd just sucked it up and taken her for a good run this morning, even though yes, it was raining, she would at this moment be tired and napping and not looking at you as if you've just stomped the last bit of joy out of her soul.
Face it. You will never be good enough. Learn to deal. Also learn to put the remotes away. And anything else small enough to fit into Puppy's maw. If something looks too big, put that away too. Puppy likes a challenge.
IT DOESN'T MATTER HOW MANY TIMES YOU'VE DONE THIS BEFORE. YOU STILL END UP HAVING TO FIGURE IT OUT FOR THE FIRST TIME. AGAIN.
Partly, this is because every puppy and every novel come with unique issues that you've never dealt with before. Issues like digging, and multiple points of view. What worked for the last puppy/novel, you finally realize, won't work for this one.
But before this comes the inevitable period of denial. The last one was so easy, you think in despair. How come this one is so hard? What am I doing wrong?
Buck up, little butterfly. You're indulging in Retrospective Canonization, in which the last puppy or novel is viewed through the fond, hazy spectacles of selective amnesia. The last book never tied you up in knots like this; it practically poured itself through your fingers onto the pages! The last puppy never had diarrhea under the dining room table; in fact, the last puppy hardly had bowel movements at all. Ever!
Forgotten are the tears shed over literary corners you kept writing yourself into. Forgotten are the wee hours of the morning when you shielded your eyes from the copyeditor's notes, moaning, I can't rewrite that damn chapter one more time, I can't, why, God, WHY? Forgotten are the decimated vegetable beds, the ruined carpets, the lunatic barking which made the neighbor complain.
Take off the spectacles. Remember it all, both fair and foul. You figured out the last one, didn't you? And it didn't turn out so badly. This one will be just as hard. But you'll get there, and you'll learn some new things along the way.
Bear in mind, though...
THERE IS ALWAYS ONE UNSOLVABLE PROBLEM.
Maybe it's the unlikely coincidence in Chapter 18 that you hate, but without which, the entire rest of the plot falls apart. Maybe it's the cat-chasing. You try everything. Nothing works. So you end up jerry-rigging. You set up something in Chapter 2 so readers believe Chapter 18 might actually happen that way. You wedge baby gates in strategic doorways to keep Puppy from careening around the house after terrified felines.
Perfect? No. But it'll have to do. Because...
YOU'RE NEVER FINISHED. AND YET, AT SOME POINT, YOU ARE.
You never completely finish writing a novel. You never completely finish training a puppy. You simply get to the point where, with whatever time and talent you have, you've done the best you can do.
At that point, with all your hard work, and a little luck, novel or puppy can then appear in public without causing you embarrassment.
Or at least...not that much.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Writing Buddies Blog Carnival: The Shredder Edition
And then there's Seamus O'Leary. To Seamus, being a writer's cat is a full-on competitive contact sport. Seamus has only three legs, yet he is undeterred in his pursuit of gymnastic excellence.
This is Seamus. These are his moves.The Lap-Sit
Easily mastered even by kittens, the Lap-Sit is the foundation on which many of the more complex maneuvers are based. This move lulls the unsuspecting writer into a false sense of trusting companionship. From here, cat can easily segue into:The Big Sleep
Cat leans toward desk until writer's view of keyboard is obstructed. This should successfully disrupt the work of the novice writer; however, experienced writers on a roll are unlikely to notice. In this case, the move is extended until full lateral contact with keyboard is attained, thus blocking writer's access to the space bar and all mid-keyboard letters. Bonus points if cat actually falls asleep in this position.The Wrist-Breaker
Essential components of the successful Wrist-Breaker include: 1) forepaws and chest draped over writer's forearm, such that most of the cat's weight is concentrated in the writer's wrist; 2) an irritated stare at writer every time writer uses the mouse and joggles the cat; and 3) ignoring writer's complaints that if the cat would just go loll somewhere else, he wouldn't get joggled in the first place.Bonus points if cat baps other cat in the head. Championship status if escalation of bapping results in other cat moving to a quieter location. If writer loses concentration and/or temper sufficiently to dump cat off lap onto floor, cat loses round and must immediately begin again.
The Time-Bomb
**PROFESSIONAL CAT ON A CLOSED COURSE. DO NOT ATTEMPT.**
This highly advanced maneuver requires not only agility but a pronounced degree of shamelessness. As there is no way to accomplish this move without attracting the writer's notice, the goal is to astonish writer such that she is willing to see if cat is actually going to go there. Phrases such as, "What the hell do you think you're doing" and "You can't possibly think this is going to work" will assure the committed cat that he is on the track to success.
"Time-bomb" refers to the possibly explosive response of the support-cat, as well as the likely reaction of the writer if one or both cats slip and utilize claws in a desperate effort to regain balance.
Due to extreme difficulty rating, successful completion automatically confers supreme championship status.
This highly advanced maneuver requires not only agility but a pronounced degree of shamelessness. As there is no way to accomplish this move without attracting the writer's notice, the goal is to astonish writer such that she is willing to see if cat is actually going to go there. Phrases such as, "What the hell do you think you're doing" and "You can't possibly think this is going to work" will assure the committed cat that he is on the track to success.
"Time-bomb" refers to the possibly explosive response of the support-cat, as well as the likely reaction of the writer if one or both cats slip and utilize claws in a desperate effort to regain balance.
Due to extreme difficulty rating, successful completion automatically confers supreme championship status.
The Wrath-Slayer
Deceptively simple, the Wrath-Slayer is an essential move in any writer-cat's repertoire. Highly recommended anytime a previous move ends in disaster (for example: coffee spilled on keyboard; bloodshed. See under The Time Bomb.) When properly executed, the Wrath-Slayer confronts writer with cat's undeniable cuteness, thus ensuring that cat will not be permanently barred from writer's presence.
The Wrath-Slayer may also be utilized after a successful maneuver; before a difficult move is attempted; or anytime cat is in need of writer's adoration as well as restful sleep.
Although the Wrath-Slayer is essentially free-form, it is critical that cat position himself such that every time his writer glances down, she sees cat's innocently adorable sleepy-face. A view of the back of cat's head, for example, is far less effective. It should go without saying that this is not the time to flaunt one's backside.
A DVD with step-by-step instructions to these and other moves, plus tips and tricks from the master himself, Seamus O'Leary, will be available for the 2011 holiday season. In the meantime, to those writers' cats weary of endless boring days full of nothing but the clack of keyboard keys, remember: her office is your arena. Go forth, and excel.
Many thanks to Melissa for putting together the Writing Buddies Blog Carnival! For peeks at other, undoubtedly nicer writing buddies, click over to Melissa's blog, Writing with Style.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Aftermath
It's an odd feeling, finishing the writing of a book.
For thirteen months I was immersed in the world of my new novel. I wrote with a constant sense of urgency, even though the only deadlines I faced were my own. I was having a blast writing it, yet at the same time, I wanted it to be done and out in the world like, yesterday.
Over the past year, when people have asked, "How's the book?" or "What are you working on now?" I've mostly answered, "Fine," or given my vague two-sentence description and left it at that. I've learned the hard way that the more I talk about a novel-in-progress, the less drive I have to actually write it. It's as if I have a well of creative energy to draw on, but that well is finite; I can spend it talking, or I can spend it writing. So I played it close to the vest. Instead, I poured everything I had onto the page.
And now it's done. Thirteen months, two major drafts (plus a lightning-fast "clean-up" draft), 100,000 words. The very last thing: attaching the cover page. I never type the cover page until the manuscript is ready to go. I don't know why. But it's become a little ritual, the official symbol of completion. Then I sent the manuscript winging through email to my agent.
Done.
Since then, I've felt rudderless. The sense of urgency I've lived with for over a year is suddenly gone. With any luck, it'll be back; if the novel gets picked up by a publisher, then there will be rounds of revisions, copyedits and first-pass pages, all with deadlines I'll be scrambling to meet. But for now, it's out of my hands. I have that sort of disoriented, blinking-in-the-sunshine feeling I always get when a book is finished. Now what do I do?
The answer, of course, is "plenty." Blogging to catch up on, not to mention all the lovely social media which I've neglected for months. Cleaning up the enormous stacks of manuscript pages and books in my office. Guest blogs and interviews (more on those later!) Updates to my website. Training and playing with the new puppy. Starting the next book. Oh, and now that this novel is done...
...I finally get to tell you what it's about.
While on an education abroad trip in Italy, 17-year-old Dessa discovers that the world is about to be destroyed. Infinitely worse, the only person capable of saving it is her ex-best friend, Skylar. Skylar is careless, selfish, and unless saving all humankind comes with its own reality show, she has zero interest in being its chosen heroine. Somebody has to make sure some actual world-saving gets done, so—aided by a rugby player from New Zealand with a bum knee, a 13-year-old with a talent for sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong, and a quest guide who may or may not be a raving lunatic—Dessa reluctantly becomes the sidekick to a girl she’s barely spoken to since they were seven years old.
But her problems are just beginning. How does a motley group of teens with an uncooperative heroine convince a parallel Earth that its discovery of limitless energy—which is about to turn that world into a paradise—is responsible for their own world’s destruction? As if that little issue isn't stressful enough, Dessa also has to figure out how to deal with a rogue pug, an annoying yet completely irresistible ex-boyfriend, and revelations about her childhood that threaten to upend everything she thought she knew about Skylar, their shared past…and Dessa herself.
For thirteen months I was immersed in the world of my new novel. I wrote with a constant sense of urgency, even though the only deadlines I faced were my own. I was having a blast writing it, yet at the same time, I wanted it to be done and out in the world like, yesterday.
Over the past year, when people have asked, "How's the book?" or "What are you working on now?" I've mostly answered, "Fine," or given my vague two-sentence description and left it at that. I've learned the hard way that the more I talk about a novel-in-progress, the less drive I have to actually write it. It's as if I have a well of creative energy to draw on, but that well is finite; I can spend it talking, or I can spend it writing. So I played it close to the vest. Instead, I poured everything I had onto the page.
And now it's done. Thirteen months, two major drafts (plus a lightning-fast "clean-up" draft), 100,000 words. The very last thing: attaching the cover page. I never type the cover page until the manuscript is ready to go. I don't know why. But it's become a little ritual, the official symbol of completion. Then I sent the manuscript winging through email to my agent.
Done.
Since then, I've felt rudderless. The sense of urgency I've lived with for over a year is suddenly gone. With any luck, it'll be back; if the novel gets picked up by a publisher, then there will be rounds of revisions, copyedits and first-pass pages, all with deadlines I'll be scrambling to meet. But for now, it's out of my hands. I have that sort of disoriented, blinking-in-the-sunshine feeling I always get when a book is finished. Now what do I do?
The answer, of course, is "plenty." Blogging to catch up on, not to mention all the lovely social media which I've neglected for months. Cleaning up the enormous stacks of manuscript pages and books in my office. Guest blogs and interviews (more on those later!) Updates to my website. Training and playing with the new puppy. Starting the next book. Oh, and now that this novel is done...
...I finally get to tell you what it's about.
While on an education abroad trip in Italy, 17-year-old Dessa discovers that the world is about to be destroyed. Infinitely worse, the only person capable of saving it is her ex-best friend, Skylar. Skylar is careless, selfish, and unless saving all humankind comes with its own reality show, she has zero interest in being its chosen heroine. Somebody has to make sure some actual world-saving gets done, so—aided by a rugby player from New Zealand with a bum knee, a 13-year-old with a talent for sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong, and a quest guide who may or may not be a raving lunatic—Dessa reluctantly becomes the sidekick to a girl she’s barely spoken to since they were seven years old.
But her problems are just beginning. How does a motley group of teens with an uncooperative heroine convince a parallel Earth that its discovery of limitless energy—which is about to turn that world into a paradise—is responsible for their own world’s destruction? As if that little issue isn't stressful enough, Dessa also has to figure out how to deal with a rogue pug, an annoying yet completely irresistible ex-boyfriend, and revelations about her childhood that threaten to upend everything she thought she knew about Skylar, their shared past…and Dessa herself.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Pilgrim's Progress
When I finished the first draft of my new novel back in September, I issued myself a challenge: Finish the second draft in 2 months.As any of you who still follow this blog can attest--and as anyone who knows me in real life can certainly attest--the past 8 weeks have been spent either at the day job or writing that second draft. I have not blogged. I have barely emailed. Facebook has forgotten who I am, my Twitter account is adrift. Don't even start with me about letters. Go Fug Yourself has not been perused for fashion disasters, the cats of ICanHasCheezburger gambol in vain for my attention. New Yorker magazines pile up unread; yea, even unto the cartoons they are ignored. As far as the house goes...well, thankfully, none of us are allergic to dust. It's cozy here under my rock, is what I'm saying. And yet...
...I'm not done.
If writing this novel has a theme, it's me giving myself crap deadlines. Not that two months isn't a reasonable amount of time for a second draft. I picked two months because a) I finished the second draft of Ten Cents a Dance in that amount of time, and b) two months would make it exactly one year since I started the novel. What can I say? I like a nice round number.
What I didn't count on, this time around, was how much brand-new writing would be involved. All revision drafts include some new stuff. But thanks to an epiphany late in the first draft, the front end of the current novel needed some seriously heavy-duty overhauls. New scenes, new chapters. A whole new character. Not that I'm complaining, heaven forfend. On the contrary, I'm loving it. Loving the process, loving the results. Every writing day, I sit down at the computer with mug of white hot chocolate and am just stinkin' grateful that I get to do this.
So what's the new deadline, you ask? Ah, I won't say. I do have one. I'll let you know when I get there. One foot in front of the other, avoid the Slough of Despond, and I'll see you at the finish line. Oh, and here too, in the meantime. Cool stuff to tell you.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Where the Magic Happens
Hm. Bit quiet around here lately. *dusts off chair* In the 4-1/2 years of this blog, it's rare that I've gone a whole month without a post. Lots of reasons why, which I'll tell you about soon. But I'm jumping back in today because this Wednesday, fellow writer Melissa Marsh will be blogging about the places writers do their work, with links to everyone's posts on their own personal writing havens. As a devotee of HGTV (what can I say? I can't resist poking my nose in stranger's houses) I'm curious to see how other writers arrange their work space.
Which means, of course, that you get to peek in mine.
Virginia Woolf wrote about a room of one's own. I feel most fortunate--I have not just a room, but a whole house to write in. We've lived here my entire writing career, and in that time I've wandered quite a bit.
I started out in the logical place: my office.
The office is home to two overcrowded bookcases, cat beds, dog beds, cases of printer paper, stacks of books that don't fit in the bookcases, stacks of novel chapters with comments from my writing group, office supplies (my 3-hole punch and paper cutter are dear to my heart), stacks of research materials for whatever novel I'm currently working on, a footlocker stuffed to bursting with research materials from previous novels, an old scratched up dresser containing our paltry selection of house linens, a sloping ceiling, cat hair, dog hair, and a desk with computer and peripherals. It has only one window facing north, which in Portland means that it's dark in here most of the time. (I've spent years dreaming of a skylight. Someday...) This office is where I wrote the many drafts of my first novel, Tallulah Falls, plus a chunk of my second novel. And then...
...we purchased a new laptop. A laptop that was actually functional. And suddenly, the entire house was my oyster.
I wrote most of the second book, Ten Cents a Dance, on the futon couch in our living room with my feet up on the coffee table. I liked the open space and the light pouring through the windows.
My animals liked the fact that they were no longer on measly pet beds on the floor, but now up on the couch with me. Before:
After:
As far as they were concerned, this was definitely an improvement in the daily routine.
The abandoned third book was also mostly written here. When I set it aside, and moved on to the next third book, a change in venue seemed in order. (Plus, that couch was starting to hurt my back.) So I migrated upstairs.
My sweetie gave me this rocking chair, complete with cozy afghan, for Christmas one year. I've done copyediting here, and for years, whenever I got stuck and couldn't figure my way out of a writing dilemma, this was my go-to spot. I would leave the laptop behind, grab my notebook and a pen, and head up here for a brainstorming session. The chair is magic; the chair always works.
These days, this corner of our bedroom is my writing space. With the afghan pulled up over my lap and a mug of hot white chocolate on the windowsill, I'm in writing bliss. The animals aren't sad over my defection from the couch, because they simply moved onto the bed. (Less crowded for me, which is a relief. Typing with a cat draped across your wrists is a serious challenge.)
If I need a change, I'll pop back to one of my old haunts. Occasionally I'll set up shop at the kitchen table. But the rocking chair is where my third novel sprouted and continues to bloom. (Speaking of which--and thank you for asking!--I'm well into those 2nd draft revisions. More on that later.)
So this is where I work. If you'd like to take a gander at other writers' spaces (I know I do!), don't forget to head over to Melissa's this Wednesday, October 20th!
Which means, of course, that you get to peek in mine.
Virginia Woolf wrote about a room of one's own. I feel most fortunate--I have not just a room, but a whole house to write in. We've lived here my entire writing career, and in that time I've wandered quite a bit.
I started out in the logical place: my office.
The office is home to two overcrowded bookcases, cat beds, dog beds, cases of printer paper, stacks of books that don't fit in the bookcases, stacks of novel chapters with comments from my writing group, office supplies (my 3-hole punch and paper cutter are dear to my heart), stacks of research materials for whatever novel I'm currently working on, a footlocker stuffed to bursting with research materials from previous novels, an old scratched up dresser containing our paltry selection of house linens, a sloping ceiling, cat hair, dog hair, and a desk with computer and peripherals. It has only one window facing north, which in Portland means that it's dark in here most of the time. (I've spent years dreaming of a skylight. Someday...) This office is where I wrote the many drafts of my first novel, Tallulah Falls, plus a chunk of my second novel. And then...
...we purchased a new laptop. A laptop that was actually functional. And suddenly, the entire house was my oyster.
I wrote most of the second book, Ten Cents a Dance, on the futon couch in our living room with my feet up on the coffee table. I liked the open space and the light pouring through the windows.
My animals liked the fact that they were no longer on measly pet beds on the floor, but now up on the couch with me. Before:
After:
As far as they were concerned, this was definitely an improvement in the daily routine.
The abandoned third book was also mostly written here. When I set it aside, and moved on to the next third book, a change in venue seemed in order. (Plus, that couch was starting to hurt my back.) So I migrated upstairs.
My sweetie gave me this rocking chair, complete with cozy afghan, for Christmas one year. I've done copyediting here, and for years, whenever I got stuck and couldn't figure my way out of a writing dilemma, this was my go-to spot. I would leave the laptop behind, grab my notebook and a pen, and head up here for a brainstorming session. The chair is magic; the chair always works.
These days, this corner of our bedroom is my writing space. With the afghan pulled up over my lap and a mug of hot white chocolate on the windowsill, I'm in writing bliss. The animals aren't sad over my defection from the couch, because they simply moved onto the bed. (Less crowded for me, which is a relief. Typing with a cat draped across your wrists is a serious challenge.)
If I need a change, I'll pop back to one of my old haunts. Occasionally I'll set up shop at the kitchen table. But the rocking chair is where my third novel sprouted and continues to bloom. (Speaking of which--and thank you for asking!--I'm well into those 2nd draft revisions. More on that later.)
So this is where I work. If you'd like to take a gander at other writers' spaces (I know I do!), don't forget to head over to Melissa's this Wednesday, October 20th!
Monday, September 13, 2010
DONE!
Last week, I typed these two little words--
--and completed the first draft of my novel-in-progress.
Big deal? YES. Because I've been in first draft hell for 3 years, more or less. (When it comes to these sorts of things, a slightly fuzzy memory is essential to one's self-esteem.)
I spent the bigger chunk of that time wrestling with a historical novel I just couldn't make work. I still love the story idea. I still think it could be a good book someday. But in its current form, it's missing something deep and vital, some unknown thing that would set my heart pounding. My gut knew this almost from the beginning; but for a long, long time, I refused to listen. Even after I did start paying attention to that uneasy feeling, I spent months more agonizing over what it meant, while still hammering away at that first draft. Meanwhile, I rained my doubts and fears onto my writing group (bless you, good and stalwart people, for putting up with my weekly fits of anxiety), my sweetheart, my friends, and my wise and very patient agent, who has always believed in me and whose cool, calming advice was like the paper bag to my hyperventilation.
I finally decided to put that novel aside, unfinished. Part of me felt like an absolute failure. But my gut--which had been telling me all along that the book wasn't right--was jumping up and down, squealing, "Start the next novel now! Start the next novel now!" The thing was, I'd come up with an idea as different from the historical as could be...and whatever the historical lacked in the heart-pounding department, this idea made up for. In spades.
So: the same day I made the decision, I cleared every trace of the abandoned historical from my office. Eighteen or so library books went back to the library. I filled an entire footlocker to bulging with all the other research material I'd collected: dozens more books, plus WWII-era magazines, pamphlets, letters, and other eBay finds--one of which I'd spent 2 years searching for, and had finally acquired less than a month previously.
I clearly heard the universe laughing at that one.
The next day, I threw myself into the new book with a firm resolution: to have a first draft complete within 6 months. Now, I've never written a first draft that fast. But I have friends who can and do (heck, I have friends who can write a first draft in 6 weeks), and I reasoned that if they can do it, so can I. I would be a writing machine.
And I was. But guess what: it still took me 10 months.
Lots of writing lessons learned, these past few years. Among them:
ALWAYS listen to your gut.
Everyone writes at their own pace. What works for other writers may not work for you.
On the other hand: outlining actually CAN be useful. Sort of. (Oh heck, let's just make that its own blog post, shall we?)
So now what? Going to Disneyland, right?
*sigh* I wish. The first draft is the literary equivalent of the half-baked cake. A distressing amount is comprehensible only to me, at this point, because I know what I meant, but it's sort of not actually on the page. Yet.
That's the job of revisions. And so, after a brief gulp of fresh air...
...back into the story I go.
Second draft deadline: 2 months. Can she do it? Stay tuned...
THE END
--and completed the first draft of my novel-in-progress.
Big deal? YES. Because I've been in first draft hell for 3 years, more or less. (When it comes to these sorts of things, a slightly fuzzy memory is essential to one's self-esteem.)
I spent the bigger chunk of that time wrestling with a historical novel I just couldn't make work. I still love the story idea. I still think it could be a good book someday. But in its current form, it's missing something deep and vital, some unknown thing that would set my heart pounding. My gut knew this almost from the beginning; but for a long, long time, I refused to listen. Even after I did start paying attention to that uneasy feeling, I spent months more agonizing over what it meant, while still hammering away at that first draft. Meanwhile, I rained my doubts and fears onto my writing group (bless you, good and stalwart people, for putting up with my weekly fits of anxiety), my sweetheart, my friends, and my wise and very patient agent, who has always believed in me and whose cool, calming advice was like the paper bag to my hyperventilation.
I finally decided to put that novel aside, unfinished. Part of me felt like an absolute failure. But my gut--which had been telling me all along that the book wasn't right--was jumping up and down, squealing, "Start the next novel now! Start the next novel now!" The thing was, I'd come up with an idea as different from the historical as could be...and whatever the historical lacked in the heart-pounding department, this idea made up for. In spades.
So: the same day I made the decision, I cleared every trace of the abandoned historical from my office. Eighteen or so library books went back to the library. I filled an entire footlocker to bulging with all the other research material I'd collected: dozens more books, plus WWII-era magazines, pamphlets, letters, and other eBay finds--one of which I'd spent 2 years searching for, and had finally acquired less than a month previously.
I clearly heard the universe laughing at that one.
The next day, I threw myself into the new book with a firm resolution: to have a first draft complete within 6 months. Now, I've never written a first draft that fast. But I have friends who can and do (heck, I have friends who can write a first draft in 6 weeks), and I reasoned that if they can do it, so can I. I would be a writing machine.
And I was. But guess what: it still took me 10 months.
Lots of writing lessons learned, these past few years. Among them:
ALWAYS listen to your gut.
Everyone writes at their own pace. What works for other writers may not work for you.
On the other hand: outlining actually CAN be useful. Sort of. (Oh heck, let's just make that its own blog post, shall we?)
So now what? Going to Disneyland, right?
*sigh* I wish. The first draft is the literary equivalent of the half-baked cake. A distressing amount is comprehensible only to me, at this point, because I know what I meant, but it's sort of not actually on the page. Yet.
That's the job of revisions. And so, after a brief gulp of fresh air...
...back into the story I go.
Second draft deadline: 2 months. Can she do it? Stay tuned...
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Crime and Punishment = So Not YA
The most rewarding part of any presentation I give is the give-and-take with the audience, especially the Q&A afterward. Most of the questions are light-hearted and fun ("How long did it take you to write the book?" "Did you always know you wanted to be a writer?"). Often, the questioner will share an insight or personal experience. Sometimes, a question will make me stop and think, and dig deep for an answer.
And every once in a while, I get thrown for a loop.
Earlier this year, I was invited to give my Hepkitten presentation to an adult book club which had read my YA novel, Ten Cents a Dance. During the Q&A, a woman who wanted to be a YA author asked me why I'd ended the book the way I did. I wasn't sure what she meant, so I asked for clarification. She said that here I had a main character who had made bad decisions, disobeyed her mother, gotten herself into some pretty sketchy situations...and in the end, she comes through it all and goes on with her life! Where were the consequences for her actions?
But there were consequences, I replied. Because of her choices, the character severely damaged her relationship with her mother, which she now has to try to rebuild. She lost the trust of her sister. She lost her best friend. She realized that she threw away the last bit of her childhood, and that she can never, ever get it back. She can make amends, but she can never go back to the person she used to be.
Yes, the woman said, I realize all that. But why didn't you punish her more?
Punish her more? You mean like, because of what she did, her life is ruined forever?
Yes, the woman said. Like that. Don't you think that would be a better message for teens?
NO , I DON'T THINK THAT WOULD BE A BETTER MESSAGE was the first thought that jumped to mind. Before I popped off with the easy answer, though, I asked myself: Why not?
I paused and gathered my thoughts, and I realized: It's because I believe in hope. Not just in life--I knew that about myself already--but in my writing. For my characters. And for my readers.
We all make bad decisions growing up. Some of us, worse than others. I believe that, if we're lucky, we can come through those choices--and their consequences--and be better for them. Wiser. I believe that we can redeem ourselves. That's why I ended that novel the way I did.
I don't think my answer satisfied the woman; I'm pretty sure she'd still vote for punishment and ruined lives. Still, though, I'm glad she asked the question, because it got me thinking about this in a way I hadn't before. It made me realize that pretty much all YA fiction--even the books that deal in the darkest, grimmest subjects, the books that get banned because adults think that teens shouldn't be allowed to read about hard issues--ends on a note of hope. Of growth. Of new and hard-earned wisdom.
Isn't that what coming of age is?
And every once in a while, I get thrown for a loop.
Earlier this year, I was invited to give my Hepkitten presentation to an adult book club which had read my YA novel, Ten Cents a Dance. During the Q&A, a woman who wanted to be a YA author asked me why I'd ended the book the way I did. I wasn't sure what she meant, so I asked for clarification. She said that here I had a main character who had made bad decisions, disobeyed her mother, gotten herself into some pretty sketchy situations...and in the end, she comes through it all and goes on with her life! Where were the consequences for her actions?
But there were consequences, I replied. Because of her choices, the character severely damaged her relationship with her mother, which she now has to try to rebuild. She lost the trust of her sister. She lost her best friend. She realized that she threw away the last bit of her childhood, and that she can never, ever get it back. She can make amends, but she can never go back to the person she used to be.
Yes, the woman said, I realize all that. But why didn't you punish her more?
Punish her more? You mean like, because of what she did, her life is ruined forever?
Yes, the woman said. Like that. Don't you think that would be a better message for teens?
NO , I DON'T THINK THAT WOULD BE A BETTER MESSAGE was the first thought that jumped to mind. Before I popped off with the easy answer, though, I asked myself: Why not?
I paused and gathered my thoughts, and I realized: It's because I believe in hope. Not just in life--I knew that about myself already--but in my writing. For my characters. And for my readers.
We all make bad decisions growing up. Some of us, worse than others. I believe that, if we're lucky, we can come through those choices--and their consequences--and be better for them. Wiser. I believe that we can redeem ourselves. That's why I ended that novel the way I did.
I don't think my answer satisfied the woman; I'm pretty sure she'd still vote for punishment and ruined lives. Still, though, I'm glad she asked the question, because it got me thinking about this in a way I hadn't before. It made me realize that pretty much all YA fiction--even the books that deal in the darkest, grimmest subjects, the books that get banned because adults think that teens shouldn't be allowed to read about hard issues--ends on a note of hope. Of growth. Of new and hard-earned wisdom.
Isn't that what coming of age is?
Thursday, July 08, 2010
First Draft Hell
There comes a time in every first draft--well, every one of my first drafts--when little voices begin jabbering in my head. Shrill, almost hysterical voices, saying things like:
This book is terrible.
Nobody will want to read it.
Your idea stinks.
Your execution of the idea stinks.
Your characters have all the life and spark of reanimated zombies.
Your plot is spinning out of control.
Your plot is running aground.
Your prose contains not one original phrase.
You're not writing fast enough.
You're not writing deeply enough.
You suck.
The funny thing is, the voices aren't there in the beginning. No, they wait. They bide their time, and when I'm closing in on the end of the first draft, when I only have another quarter of the book or so to write, that's when they pipe up with their terrible little naysaying songs.
I've been through this enough times now that I've realized a few things.
The first thing is that the voices come from fear. They don't show up in the beginning, because in the beginning everything is wonderful. The novel bursts with endless possibility! Every story arc is deep and profound! Every character is charming and unforgettable! Every plot twist is shocking and original! In my head, because none of it has actually been written yet.
By the time I'm in 250 pages or so, that illusion of perfection has died a messy, messy death. The real thing--with all its flaws--is staring me in the face. Plot holes big enough to swallow a small planet! Character motivations that make no sense at all! Story arcs that are going nowhere! I've jotted down note after note about what needs fixing, come revision time. Enough notes to fill pages.
The reason the voices kick in now is because what they're really saying is, Maybe it can't be fixed.
The second thing I've learned is the answer to the voices. It's very simple. The answer is:
YES, IT CAN.
When I hit a snag--like I did yesterday--I have to remember to take a breath. Don't panic. Realize that the snag is my cue to dig deeper into motivation, into character, into the possibilities of the scene. Yes, the swoony honeymoon beginning is wonderful. But this, the wrestling to the end, when all seems unwinnable...this, I know, is when the real magic happens. But only if we earn it. Only if we keep faith with our visions, and with ourselves as writers.
Only if we keep going.
P.S. For a really good comparison of the inner critic vs. the inner editor, and what to do with both of them, I recommend this by YA author Malinda Lo.
This book is terrible.
Nobody will want to read it.
Your idea stinks.
Your execution of the idea stinks.
Your characters have all the life and spark of reanimated zombies.
Your plot is spinning out of control.
Your plot is running aground.
Your prose contains not one original phrase.
You're not writing fast enough.
You're not writing deeply enough.
You suck.
The funny thing is, the voices aren't there in the beginning. No, they wait. They bide their time, and when I'm closing in on the end of the first draft, when I only have another quarter of the book or so to write, that's when they pipe up with their terrible little naysaying songs.
I've been through this enough times now that I've realized a few things.
The first thing is that the voices come from fear. They don't show up in the beginning, because in the beginning everything is wonderful. The novel bursts with endless possibility! Every story arc is deep and profound! Every character is charming and unforgettable! Every plot twist is shocking and original! In my head, because none of it has actually been written yet.
By the time I'm in 250 pages or so, that illusion of perfection has died a messy, messy death. The real thing--with all its flaws--is staring me in the face. Plot holes big enough to swallow a small planet! Character motivations that make no sense at all! Story arcs that are going nowhere! I've jotted down note after note about what needs fixing, come revision time. Enough notes to fill pages.
The reason the voices kick in now is because what they're really saying is, Maybe it can't be fixed.
The second thing I've learned is the answer to the voices. It's very simple. The answer is:
YES, IT CAN.
When I hit a snag--like I did yesterday--I have to remember to take a breath. Don't panic. Realize that the snag is my cue to dig deeper into motivation, into character, into the possibilities of the scene. Yes, the swoony honeymoon beginning is wonderful. But this, the wrestling to the end, when all seems unwinnable...this, I know, is when the real magic happens. But only if we earn it. Only if we keep faith with our visions, and with ourselves as writers.
Only if we keep going.
P.S. For a really good comparison of the inner critic vs. the inner editor, and what to do with both of them, I recommend this by YA author Malinda Lo.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
F-Bombs Away!
Blogger mi over at i know, write?!? has posted a great piece discussing the issue of cursing in YA fiction. On the one hand, it's realistic for our characters; a lot of teens do curse, after all. On the other hand, do we want teens thinking that by writing about it, we condone swearing...or drugs, or sex, or whatever undesirable behavior our characters engage in?mi's post got me thinking. I started writing a comment, but I soon realized it was going to be such a long comment, it might be better as its own blog.
When it comes to writing, I'm a realism gal. I don't like sugar-coating things or glossing over them. I believe if we're going to write, we ought to write as truthfully as we can. I guess that comes across in my own work; reviews have called my novels authentic, gritty, even hard-boiled. (I hope that last one was a compliment; when it comes to reviews, oddly enough, sometimes it's hard to tell.)
But as much as I love realism, it doesn't reign supreme. What does? Story. The story is king; the story trumps all.
When I was writing my first novel, I knew my main character, Tallulah, was rebellious and short-tempered and just generally difficult. I wrote her voice the way I heard it in my head, and the F-bombs dropped at an alarming rate. Later, people who read the manuscript told me it was like getting smacked in the face every other page. When I went back and read the manuscript, to my surprise, it was like getting smacked in the face. It was hard to see past the cussing to the character underneath.
In fact, I realized, I didn't have much of a character underneath. That's when I learned that realism isn't the same thing as transcription. I was using the swearing to convey that Tallulah was a tough girl. But instead it made her seem more like an unpleasant caricature than a flesh-and-blood person. And it wasn't helping the story; in fact, it bogged the story down.
So I dropped the profanities. (Most of them, anyway. At one point, Tallulah gets struck in the chest by a horse; having had the same experience myself, I can vouch that this is one instance that absolutely justifies swearing...just as soon as you manage to suck the breath back into your lungs.) But getting rid of the swearing, I discovered, left me with enormous character holes to fill. I had to go back and figure out how to get across Tallulah's tough-chick attitude with inflections and tones, body language and action. More importantly for the character, and the story: I had to figure out what she was really feeling...and why.
Once I did that, Tallulah took on dimensions and shape. She became real. And as she took on more depth and complexity, so did her story. I realized I'd been using the swearing as a shortcut, as if to say, "See? See how rebellious she is?" But I hadn't actually shown it.
Some years later, I was listening to an interview of a punk rock band. (Don't remember who, unfortunately--I'm terrible with names.) Anyway, the two guys who wrote the songs talked about how one night they were brainstorming lyrics, and one of them wrote, "F*** this s***," and they were both like, "Yeah, dude! F*** this s***!" and then one of them turned to the other and said, "So like, what s*** are we talking about, specifically?" And they realized they had no idea. So they thought about it, and they began writing about what they felt was wrong in the world, and why, and how it made them feel, and how it might change. That, they said, was the turning point, when the band took off. I can't for the life of me remember who those guys are, but I've never forgotten that story, because it's absolutely true: if you say "F*** that s***," you ought to at least be clear on what s*** it is you'd like to get f*****.
All this rambling isn't to say that there's no place for swearing in YA fiction. I believe there is, depending on the character, depending on the story. In fact, there's some in my current WiP. (Gasp!) Bottom line, the way I see it--Story is All. If it adds to the story, through rich characterization or meaningful conflict or other fabulous story-building s***, have at it. If it detracts--or if it's serving as a placeholder for something the author hasn't figured out yet--take the axe to it and dig deeper. Same goes for everything our characters say and do. If it doesn't serve the story, it's gone.
One other thing about cussing (and other disreputable goings-on) in YA. If there's swearing in adult books, nobody cares. If there's swearing in YA novels, lots of people care. People like librarians, teachers, and parents. (Just take a gander at this list of books banned in 2009. The first thing I noticed: Damn, that's a long list. The second thing: "profanity" or "vulgar language" is one of the most-cited reasons for banning.) So, could it be an issue? Like all else in publishing: Maybe. Depends. (Another thing to notice about that banned-books list: How many award-winners and literary classics are on it. Being banned isn't like being shunned when you're Amish. Lots of people will still come out to play with you.) Agents and editors can, and probably will, weigh in with their advice. Still, in the end, it's up to the author to decide how best to tell his or her story.
Story is All. Story is King. Long live Story.
(Thank you, mi, for writing such a thought-provoking post!)
Monday, February 22, 2010
The Art of Critique: Baby, Give It to Me Straight
In the fall of 1997, I got a flyer in the mail. Nothing fancy; just a single yellow sheet announcing that Portland novelist Karen Karbo was starting a weekly fiction writing workshop. If interested, please contact.
It was one of those lovely moments in life that happens when you've committed to a drastic course of action, subsequently decided you're insane, and then the exact thing you need to see it through falls smack into your lap.
See, two months earlier I'd quit my full-time job so that I could finish my first novel. I felt exactly as if I'd jumped out of a plane without a parachute. Okay, not in the I'm going to splat to my death in less than a minute kind of way, but in the gut-gnawing, have-I-just-ruined-my-life insomniac kind of way. (Same terror--just slower.) I didn't know how to write a novel. All I had were eighty manuscript pages and a vague idea of what might happen on page eighty-one.
Then the flyer arrived. On the first evening, I was one of ten writers sitting around Karen's dining room table. Over the next few years I did complete my novel, and get it published, due in no small part to what I learned there.
Karen's wasn't the first workshop or critique group I'd been in. But it's been by far the best, which is why, twelve years after that first class, I still take my place at her table. If you're looking to join or start a critique group yourself, here are a few things that you might want to consider:
Critique is specific. No wishy-washy "I really liked it" or "It didn't work for me" without reasons to back it up. Pinpointing why a piece works--or doesn't--can be surprisingly hard to do. And the higher the skill level of the writer, the harder it gets. A really good writer can hide fatal flaws under dazzling wordplay...which means it often takes a lot of thought and effort to put your finger on what exactly isn't working. But the payoff isn't just for the writer; the better your critique, the more you yourself are learning about the craft.
Critique isn't just pointing out the flaws. It's also important to acknowledge what the writer is doing well. Writers need to recognize their strengths, as well as their weaknesses. Plus, we all need to hear that our pages aren't pure crap.
Critique what's on the page. Don't impose your vision on someone else's work. In one early critique group (long before Karen's) a fellow "critter" told me that the premise of my book was all wrong and that instead, my two female characters should set aside their differences and form a friendship that would be a testament to female bonding in a society that doesn't value women's relationships. (Gee, projecting much?) Which not only missed the entire point of my book, it bore no relation to anything I'd already written.
I've also been in workshops in which the instructor's critique mostly centered around getting students to write in the same style as the instructor. A good workshop leader isn't interested in creating copycats. Instead, like Karen, she recognizes each student's individual style and works to help her students develop their own unique voices.
Work with people at your ability level or slightly higher. If you're far and away the best writer in the room, it's easy to start thinking you're God's gift to literature and that you know all there is to know about writing. You'd be wrong.
I'm not the best writer in my group; in twelve years, I never have been. These people are wicked talented, which means I'm always striving to up my game. In the same vein...
...Try to find people with similar goals and work ethic. This doesn't mean everyone in the group should be gunning to get published. But if it's important to you to keep learning and getting better at your craft, you'll save yourself frustration if you're not the only one.
Likewise, members need to pull their weight. That doesn't necessarily mean bringing in new chapters every week (although of course that's great.) Members of Karen's class have gone through long periods--months, even--with not a single page. But they still show up, week after week, and give honest, thoughtful, and insightful critique. Does that count? You bet it does. Good critique is damn hard work. In fact, the least welcome member of any crit group is the one who shows up only when she has pages. Critique is a two-way street: if you want to get, you have to give.
Keep the focus on the writing. In some groups, critiquing gradually takes a back seat to snacking and discussing each other's personal lives. When a critique group turns into social hour, its demise soon follows.
And finally, if you want to have a quality, longstanding writing workshop or critique group, there is one thing you must never, ever overlook:
Give yourselves a catchy name. Us? We're the Writers of Renown.
Damn skippy, as Karen would say.
Next time: Receiving critique (aka, You've Shredded My Precious Like Soggy Kleenex And I Think I Might Hate You Forever.) In the meantime, you writers out there: what's your dream critique group like?
It was one of those lovely moments in life that happens when you've committed to a drastic course of action, subsequently decided you're insane, and then the exact thing you need to see it through falls smack into your lap.
See, two months earlier I'd quit my full-time job so that I could finish my first novel. I felt exactly as if I'd jumped out of a plane without a parachute. Okay, not in the I'm going to splat to my death in less than a minute kind of way, but in the gut-gnawing, have-I-just-ruined-my-life insomniac kind of way. (Same terror--just slower.) I didn't know how to write a novel. All I had were eighty manuscript pages and a vague idea of what might happen on page eighty-one.
Then the flyer arrived. On the first evening, I was one of ten writers sitting around Karen's dining room table. Over the next few years I did complete my novel, and get it published, due in no small part to what I learned there.
Karen's wasn't the first workshop or critique group I'd been in. But it's been by far the best, which is why, twelve years after that first class, I still take my place at her table. If you're looking to join or start a critique group yourself, here are a few things that you might want to consider:
Critique is specific. No wishy-washy "I really liked it" or "It didn't work for me" without reasons to back it up. Pinpointing why a piece works--or doesn't--can be surprisingly hard to do. And the higher the skill level of the writer, the harder it gets. A really good writer can hide fatal flaws under dazzling wordplay...which means it often takes a lot of thought and effort to put your finger on what exactly isn't working. But the payoff isn't just for the writer; the better your critique, the more you yourself are learning about the craft.
Critique isn't just pointing out the flaws. It's also important to acknowledge what the writer is doing well. Writers need to recognize their strengths, as well as their weaknesses. Plus, we all need to hear that our pages aren't pure crap.
Critique what's on the page. Don't impose your vision on someone else's work. In one early critique group (long before Karen's) a fellow "critter" told me that the premise of my book was all wrong and that instead, my two female characters should set aside their differences and form a friendship that would be a testament to female bonding in a society that doesn't value women's relationships. (Gee, projecting much?) Which not only missed the entire point of my book, it bore no relation to anything I'd already written.
I've also been in workshops in which the instructor's critique mostly centered around getting students to write in the same style as the instructor. A good workshop leader isn't interested in creating copycats. Instead, like Karen, she recognizes each student's individual style and works to help her students develop their own unique voices.
Work with people at your ability level or slightly higher. If you're far and away the best writer in the room, it's easy to start thinking you're God's gift to literature and that you know all there is to know about writing. You'd be wrong.
I'm not the best writer in my group; in twelve years, I never have been. These people are wicked talented, which means I'm always striving to up my game. In the same vein...
...Try to find people with similar goals and work ethic. This doesn't mean everyone in the group should be gunning to get published. But if it's important to you to keep learning and getting better at your craft, you'll save yourself frustration if you're not the only one.
Likewise, members need to pull their weight. That doesn't necessarily mean bringing in new chapters every week (although of course that's great.) Members of Karen's class have gone through long periods--months, even--with not a single page. But they still show up, week after week, and give honest, thoughtful, and insightful critique. Does that count? You bet it does. Good critique is damn hard work. In fact, the least welcome member of any crit group is the one who shows up only when she has pages. Critique is a two-way street: if you want to get, you have to give.
Keep the focus on the writing. In some groups, critiquing gradually takes a back seat to snacking and discussing each other's personal lives. When a critique group turns into social hour, its demise soon follows.
And finally, if you want to have a quality, longstanding writing workshop or critique group, there is one thing you must never, ever overlook:
Give yourselves a catchy name. Us? We're the Writers of Renown.
Damn skippy, as Karen would say.
Next time: Receiving critique (aka, You've Shredded My Precious Like Soggy Kleenex And I Think I Might Hate You Forever.) In the meantime, you writers out there: what's your dream critique group like?
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Optimize Me, Baby!
You may remember (or not, it was a tad bit ago), me rhapsodizing about a character-naming website called the Baby Name Wizard. Although why they call it the Baby Name Wizard and not the Character Name Wizard, I'm not sure. It might have something to do with wacky people using it to name actual living humans instead of figments of their imaginations. Sounds crazy, I know, but hey--I don't make this stuff up.
A character's name is of course enormously important. For example, if your protagonist is a half-feral, demon-killing maiden of the Sacred Sword of Arnooth, who has sworn bloody vengeance against the spawn of Beezelbub who slew her mother lo these many years past (now, that I made up) you don't name her Pickles. Actually, you don't name anyone Pickles. That's a Rule. Write it down.
I hear you whispering back there. You think the example I just gave is easy. Because obviously the perfect name for a half-feral, demon-killing urban fantasy protagonist is Shzaghatha of the Rampaging El. What novelist worth her salt needs a website for that?
Well fine, smartypants. Name me this: a boy's name that means warrior.
With no more than two syllables.
In Arabic.
Ha! Not so easy now, is it, my pretty?*
And yet--it is. Writers,** say hello to the Baby Name Optimizer. Make your choices among 17 variables--not only ethnicity and number of syllables, but style (trendy, timeless, exotic), popularity (Top 100, less popular, unusual), origin (Biblical, Buddhist Zen, Muslim, Sanskrit, Saints, Shakespearian, among a slew of others). Want a celebrity name? A name that conveys your character is athletic? Dark? Graceful? A name that is associated with animals? A place? A gemstone?
The Optimizer, it is a veritable garden of geeky delight, my friends. A garden! We're talking wild climbing roses and birds of paradise and lilies of the freaking valley here. Not to mention, it's a procrastinator's dream.
And remember: Once you've optimized your character's name, pop over to the Baby Name Wizard and find out how popular it's been in every decade since the 1880s.
Sigh. And they say we can't find heaven here on earth.
Okay, enough geeking out (although really, can one ever truly get enough?) But I gotta get to work. Just as soon as I plug in a request for a four-syllable Teutonic girl's name meaning "peacemaker" that does not end in the letter a.
Axelle. Ah well--four out of five ain't bad.
*I have got to stop watching Wizard of Oz late at night. Oh, BTW, the Arabic boy warrior's name? Shamar. Nice, huh?
**Yes, I suppose you expectant-parent types can use it, too. But don't you dare take Axelle. That name is mine.
A character's name is of course enormously important. For example, if your protagonist is a half-feral, demon-killing maiden of the Sacred Sword of Arnooth, who has sworn bloody vengeance against the spawn of Beezelbub who slew her mother lo these many years past (now, that I made up) you don't name her Pickles. Actually, you don't name anyone Pickles. That's a Rule. Write it down.
I hear you whispering back there. You think the example I just gave is easy. Because obviously the perfect name for a half-feral, demon-killing urban fantasy protagonist is Shzaghatha of the Rampaging El. What novelist worth her salt needs a website for that?
Well fine, smartypants. Name me this: a boy's name that means warrior.
With no more than two syllables.
In Arabic.
Ha! Not so easy now, is it, my pretty?*
And yet--it is. Writers,** say hello to the Baby Name Optimizer. Make your choices among 17 variables--not only ethnicity and number of syllables, but style (trendy, timeless, exotic), popularity (Top 100, less popular, unusual), origin (Biblical, Buddhist Zen, Muslim, Sanskrit, Saints, Shakespearian, among a slew of others). Want a celebrity name? A name that conveys your character is athletic? Dark? Graceful? A name that is associated with animals? A place? A gemstone?
The Optimizer, it is a veritable garden of geeky delight, my friends. A garden! We're talking wild climbing roses and birds of paradise and lilies of the freaking valley here. Not to mention, it's a procrastinator's dream.
And remember: Once you've optimized your character's name, pop over to the Baby Name Wizard and find out how popular it's been in every decade since the 1880s.
Sigh. And they say we can't find heaven here on earth.
Okay, enough geeking out (although really, can one ever truly get enough?) But I gotta get to work. Just as soon as I plug in a request for a four-syllable Teutonic girl's name meaning "peacemaker" that does not end in the letter a.
Axelle. Ah well--four out of five ain't bad.
*I have got to stop watching Wizard of Oz late at night. Oh, BTW, the Arabic boy warrior's name? Shamar. Nice, huh?
**Yes, I suppose you expectant-parent types can use it, too. But don't you dare take Axelle. That name is mine.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Dream Big 2010
All this month, author Lisa Schroeder (I Heart You, You Haunt Me; Far From You) is having a Dream Big celebration over on her blog. Lisa has asked twenty-six fellow authors to write about what it means to Dream Big...so if you need some inspiration this January, don't miss what everyone has to say about their own personal journeys, setbacks, discoveries, and triumphs.Last night, I had the pleasure of hearing Lisa read from her brand-new novel, Chasing Brooklyn. Today, I have the honor of being her guest blogger. Check out what Dream Big means to me.
Monday, January 04, 2010
What ARE Editors Thinking When They Look at Your Manuscript?
I don't often lift content from other blogs, but today is an exception. That's right, I'm gonna start my blogging New Year as a big fat stealer. Why? Because this is good stuff and if you're a writer and you haven't seen this already, I think you should.
(If you're not a writer, you might still be interested. OR you can skip to the bottom and look at this LOLcat instead, which I stole off I Can Has Cheezburger just for you.)
The following pearls are from Kathy Temean, a children's book author and illustrator who also writes a very informative blog on children's publishing. In one of her recent posts, she listed the Top Ten Questions Dutton Editors Ask Themselves When Looking at a Manuscript. Bear in mind, these are for children's books, but most of them pertain to novels for any age:
1. Who is the readership for this book?
2. Does this story surprise me and take me to places I didn’t expect?
3. Is this a main character I care about?
see more Lolcats and funny pictures
(If you're not a writer, you might still be interested. OR you can skip to the bottom and look at this LOLcat instead, which I stole off I Can Has Cheezburger just for you.)
The following pearls are from Kathy Temean, a children's book author and illustrator who also writes a very informative blog on children's publishing. In one of her recent posts, she listed the Top Ten Questions Dutton Editors Ask Themselves When Looking at a Manuscript. Bear in mind, these are for children's books, but most of them pertain to novels for any age:
1. Who is the readership for this book?
2. Does this story surprise me and take me to places I didn’t expect?
3. Is this a main character I care about?
4. Am I personally moved by this story or situation?
5. I this a theme/emotion/concern that a lot of kids will be able to relate to?
6. Has this been done a million times before?
7. Will I want to read this manuscript ten (or more) times?
8. Is the voice/character authentic and real?
9. For picture books: Would this story be visually interesting for 32 pages? Could I easily envision the illustrations for this?
10. For novels: Does the action of the story move at a good pace and hold our interest? Does tension build as the story moves forward?
*For a book to earn a permanent spot on my shelves, it has to be one I have read/will want to read at least twice. There might be three or four out of the whole bunch I've read as many as ten times. But when an editor acquires a book, he or she is committing to reading that book again...and again...and again... Which would be a lot easier to do if you really love the stuffing out of the thing.
see more Lolcats and funny pictures
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Conversation with a Half-Finished Novel
Hi, novel? We need to talk.
See, the thing is...I mean, it's like this... Oh, crap. I'm just going to say it.
It's over.
No, no, it's not you. Not at all. You're wonderful. Amazing. You're deep and layered and evocative and...and... Well, you know, I admire you so much. And love you, sure. Of course. It's just...I'm not in love with you.
I have tried. You know I have. I was there for you, wasn't I? Every day for a year and a half--
Oh, here we go again. Complaining that I have a day job. How many times do I have to explain this to you? The laptop, the flash drive, you think they grow on trees? I worked for those. I gave you the best, I busted my butt for you. You can't deny that. I've worked so hard but it's just not...
No, don't cry. Come on. Please. I swear, it's not you. It's me. Really. I'm not good enough for you. You deserve someone better. Someone who can do you justice. You're so intricate, so...so...did I already say layered?
What? No! How can you even think that? I mean sure, there have been blog posts, but they're nothing compared to you! I would never--
Okay, now you're just talking crazy. When would I even have had the time? Five days a week, who was I working on? You. What do you think, I had some other file open on some other computer? That in between typing on you, I'd sneak away and dash off two sentences with someone else and then sneak back? Do you hear how crazy that sounds?
Those were games of solitaire! Look, I swear to you, I never once cheated on you. What are you talking about, "other novel"? What other nov--
Oh. That.
OK, look, just calm down, all right? It's not what it looks like, I can explain. See, there was this...
Fine. You want the truth? OK, then. You're right. I am leaving you for another book.
No, it did not start back in Chapter 3! I didn't even know the other novel then!
See, this is what I'm saying. We've always had problems. Right from the start, fighting over every single word. I kept thinking it'd get better, that if I just hung in there we'd hit that groove, we'd start making beautiful music...
As if I need you to tell me that. You're not my first trip to the fair, you know. I know it gets hard. I know there are rough patches. Times we want to quit. But where was the magic? We didn't even get a honeymoon. That exaltation, the joy of beginning, when you feel you can scale mountains and cross deserts, like you can conquer the world... You don't even understand what I'm talking about, do you?
Why yes, if you want to know. The other novel does understand.
I didn't mean for this to happen. It's not like I went out looking for it. The other novel just popped into my head. And we started spending time together, and it just, I don't know. It made me feel so alive. Like I could do anything! I admit it, I fell. I fell hard. I couldn't help it.
Oh, sure, throw that in my face. "Once a cheater, always a cheater." You think once the going gets tough I'm going to dump the new novel, too. Well, I won't.
I won't.
No, I won't.
Fine. Believe whatever you want. But this isn't some whim. I've agonized over this decision for weeks. Months. And I've decided it's for the best. For both of us.
No, wait, let me explain! What I mean is, maybe I'm just not ready for you yet. In a year or two, when I've got this other novel out of my system...I mean, I'm not making any promises or anything...
So hey, we're good, right? Because I hate to do this, but I've got to go. Thanks. For everything. You taught me a lot. I'll never forget you.
Um, yeah...the other novel is waiting.
Okaaaay, well. Awkward. So, um, take care of yourself. It's been great. And we can still be friends, right?
Oh, wait, I almost forgot. I, uh...I'm going to need that flash drive.
See, the thing is...I mean, it's like this... Oh, crap. I'm just going to say it.
It's over.
No, no, it's not you. Not at all. You're wonderful. Amazing. You're deep and layered and evocative and...and... Well, you know, I admire you so much. And love you, sure. Of course. It's just...I'm not in love with you.
I have tried. You know I have. I was there for you, wasn't I? Every day for a year and a half--
Oh, here we go again. Complaining that I have a day job. How many times do I have to explain this to you? The laptop, the flash drive, you think they grow on trees? I worked for those. I gave you the best, I busted my butt for you. You can't deny that. I've worked so hard but it's just not...
No, don't cry. Come on. Please. I swear, it's not you. It's me. Really. I'm not good enough for you. You deserve someone better. Someone who can do you justice. You're so intricate, so...so...did I already say layered?
What? No! How can you even think that? I mean sure, there have been blog posts, but they're nothing compared to you! I would never--
Okay, now you're just talking crazy. When would I even have had the time? Five days a week, who was I working on? You. What do you think, I had some other file open on some other computer? That in between typing on you, I'd sneak away and dash off two sentences with someone else and then sneak back? Do you hear how crazy that sounds?
Those were games of solitaire! Look, I swear to you, I never once cheated on you. What are you talking about, "other novel"? What other nov--
Oh. That.
OK, look, just calm down, all right? It's not what it looks like, I can explain. See, there was this...
Fine. You want the truth? OK, then. You're right. I am leaving you for another book.
No, it did not start back in Chapter 3! I didn't even know the other novel then!
See, this is what I'm saying. We've always had problems. Right from the start, fighting over every single word. I kept thinking it'd get better, that if I just hung in there we'd hit that groove, we'd start making beautiful music...
As if I need you to tell me that. You're not my first trip to the fair, you know. I know it gets hard. I know there are rough patches. Times we want to quit. But where was the magic? We didn't even get a honeymoon. That exaltation, the joy of beginning, when you feel you can scale mountains and cross deserts, like you can conquer the world... You don't even understand what I'm talking about, do you?
Why yes, if you want to know. The other novel does understand.
I didn't mean for this to happen. It's not like I went out looking for it. The other novel just popped into my head. And we started spending time together, and it just, I don't know. It made me feel so alive. Like I could do anything! I admit it, I fell. I fell hard. I couldn't help it.
Oh, sure, throw that in my face. "Once a cheater, always a cheater." You think once the going gets tough I'm going to dump the new novel, too. Well, I won't.
I won't.
No, I won't.
Fine. Believe whatever you want. But this isn't some whim. I've agonized over this decision for weeks. Months. And I've decided it's for the best. For both of us.
No, wait, let me explain! What I mean is, maybe I'm just not ready for you yet. In a year or two, when I've got this other novel out of my system...I mean, I'm not making any promises or anything...
So hey, we're good, right? Because I hate to do this, but I've got to go. Thanks. For everything. You taught me a lot. I'll never forget you.
Um, yeah...the other novel is waiting.
Okaaaay, well. Awkward. So, um, take care of yourself. It's been great. And we can still be friends, right?
Oh, wait, I almost forgot. I, uh...I'm going to need that flash drive.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Geek Fun
Wanna write a novel but the idea of slaving for years over deathless prose leaves you cold?
Baby, welcome to NaNoWriMo.
If you're a writer, you probably know what I'm talking about. If not, then consider yourself hereby informed: NaNoWriMo is shorthand for National Novel Writing Month.
National Novel Writing Month is not, as some people assume from the name, a month set aside for the appreciation of novel writers. (Although that would be nice--can we talk about that? I nominate the month of May, and further stipulate that said appreciation be in the form of cheese popcorn and/or Skittles. But that's just me.)
NaNoWriMo is about writing. Specifically, writing an entire novel (minimum 50,000 words--which is actually a pretty skimpy novel, but I digress) in the month of November.
Is it a contest? No, because there aren't any judges. Are there prizes? No, except for the glory and honor of completing a novel in 30 days. Am I participating? No, for a variety of reasons, mostly because I'm already deep in a novel and that doesn't lend itself to the kind of madcap seat-of-the-pants invention you need to write 1,666.67 words per day, every day. But hey, just because I'm a stick-in-the-mud doesn't mean you have to be. Limber up those fingers, put on the thinking cap (never mind, forget the thinking--there's no time for that!), click here for some inspiration, then let `er rip!
_________________
In other late breaking news, one of the Words of the Day this week (courtesy of A Word A Day, a site so insanely geeky it makes my heart flutter):
acnestis
(AK-nis-tuhs)
Noun: meaning the part of the body one cannot reach to scratch.
Pull that one out of your linguistic hat the next time someone asks you to scratch their back. Instant awe and admiration! Right? Am I right?
Um...hello?
Baby, welcome to NaNoWriMo.
If you're a writer, you probably know what I'm talking about. If not, then consider yourself hereby informed: NaNoWriMo is shorthand for National Novel Writing Month.
National Novel Writing Month is not, as some people assume from the name, a month set aside for the appreciation of novel writers. (Although that would be nice--can we talk about that? I nominate the month of May, and further stipulate that said appreciation be in the form of cheese popcorn and/or Skittles. But that's just me.)
NaNoWriMo is about writing. Specifically, writing an entire novel (minimum 50,000 words--which is actually a pretty skimpy novel, but I digress) in the month of November.
Is it a contest? No, because there aren't any judges. Are there prizes? No, except for the glory and honor of completing a novel in 30 days. Am I participating? No, for a variety of reasons, mostly because I'm already deep in a novel and that doesn't lend itself to the kind of madcap seat-of-the-pants invention you need to write 1,666.67 words per day, every day. But hey, just because I'm a stick-in-the-mud doesn't mean you have to be. Limber up those fingers, put on the thinking cap (never mind, forget the thinking--there's no time for that!), click here for some inspiration, then let `er rip!
_________________
In other late breaking news, one of the Words of the Day this week (courtesy of A Word A Day, a site so insanely geeky it makes my heart flutter):
acnestis
(AK-nis-tuhs)
Noun: meaning the part of the body one cannot reach to scratch.
Pull that one out of your linguistic hat the next time someone asks you to scratch their back. Instant awe and admiration! Right? Am I right?
Um...hello?
Sunday, July 19, 2009
BiC
I’ve been meaning to write the counterpoint blog to Writing and Leisure, and I haven’t gotten around to it because I’ve been, well...writing. Which I guess is the counterpoint right there. That is, while it’s true that writing requires room and time, what’s even more true is that writing requires—first, foremost, and always—BiC.
Butt in Chair.
Once, years ago, I was invited to attend a support group/networking meeting for women in the creative arts. The moderator went around the room and asked each of us to visualize and describe a perfect workday. One aspiring writer described her day in such wondrous detail, I’ve never forgotten it. First, she would wake up to the sound of birds singing and sunshine streaming through her gauzy white curtains. Then, after a delicious breakfast, she’d spend the day sitting under a venerable oak tree, listening to the wind and the bees; following this, a horseback ride through a meadow, capped by gathering wildflowers. She would then cook a fabulous dinner for friends and spend the evening, eating, drinking wine, telling stories, laughing and sharing. Then, at long last, she would...fall into bed.
This, she said, would be just the ticket to put her in the frame of mind necessary to create.
I never went to another meeting. I was a total newbie, but I already knew enough to realize that was two hours I could have been writing.
Frame of mind has nothing to do with it. Having the right computer software, the best computer, the most organized desk, an ergonomic desk chair, a certain allotment of hours has nothing to do with it. Even that most-oft-invoked prerequisite, inspiration, has very little to do with it.
Just about the only thing that has anything to do with writing is actually writing.
In a lovely bit of synchronicity, as I was thinking about this post I stumbled across this poem by novelist Charles Bukowski.
air and light and time and space
"–you know, I’ve either had a family, a job,
something has always been in the
way
but now
I’ve sold my house, I’ve found this
place, a large studio, you should see the space and
the light.
for the first time in my life I’m going to have
a place and the time to
create."
no baby, if you’re going to create
you’re going to create whether you work
16 hours a day in a coal mine
or
you’re going to create in a small room with 3 children
while you’re on
welfare,
you’re going to create with part of your mind and your body blown
away,
you’re going to create blind
crippled
demented,
you’re going to create with a cat crawling up your
back while
the whole city trembles in earthquake, bombardment,
flood and fire.
baby, air and light and time and space
have nothing to do with it
and don’t create anything
except maybe a longer life to find
new excuses
for.
© Charles Bukowski, Black Sparrow Press
Butt. In. Chair. Fingers on keyboard or pen or pencil or sharpened quill. Go.
Butt in Chair.
Once, years ago, I was invited to attend a support group/networking meeting for women in the creative arts. The moderator went around the room and asked each of us to visualize and describe a perfect workday. One aspiring writer described her day in such wondrous detail, I’ve never forgotten it. First, she would wake up to the sound of birds singing and sunshine streaming through her gauzy white curtains. Then, after a delicious breakfast, she’d spend the day sitting under a venerable oak tree, listening to the wind and the bees; following this, a horseback ride through a meadow, capped by gathering wildflowers. She would then cook a fabulous dinner for friends and spend the evening, eating, drinking wine, telling stories, laughing and sharing. Then, at long last, she would...fall into bed.
This, she said, would be just the ticket to put her in the frame of mind necessary to create.
I never went to another meeting. I was a total newbie, but I already knew enough to realize that was two hours I could have been writing.
Frame of mind has nothing to do with it. Having the right computer software, the best computer, the most organized desk, an ergonomic desk chair, a certain allotment of hours has nothing to do with it. Even that most-oft-invoked prerequisite, inspiration, has very little to do with it.
Just about the only thing that has anything to do with writing is actually writing.
In a lovely bit of synchronicity, as I was thinking about this post I stumbled across this poem by novelist Charles Bukowski.
air and light and time and space
"–you know, I’ve either had a family, a job,
something has always been in the
way
but now
I’ve sold my house, I’ve found this
place, a large studio, you should see the space and
the light.
for the first time in my life I’m going to have
a place and the time to
create."
no baby, if you’re going to create
you’re going to create whether you work
16 hours a day in a coal mine
or
you’re going to create in a small room with 3 children
while you’re on
welfare,
you’re going to create with part of your mind and your body blown
away,
you’re going to create blind
crippled
demented,
you’re going to create with a cat crawling up your
back while
the whole city trembles in earthquake, bombardment,
flood and fire.
baby, air and light and time and space
have nothing to do with it
and don’t create anything
except maybe a longer life to find
new excuses
for.
© Charles Bukowski, Black Sparrow Press
Butt. In. Chair. Fingers on keyboard or pen or pencil or sharpened quill. Go.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Writing and Leisure
June. Roses bloom, strawberries ripen. Graduating seniors swelter in their robes while somebody important urges them to do, to strive, to achieve. Nose to the grindstone, shoulder to the wheel, as graduating seniors have been urged since time immemorial.
Unless they happened to be from Hiram College, Class of 1880. No fiery speech exhorting them to get out there and give it their all. No, what they heard instead was this:
“It has occurred to me,” said their commencement speaker*, “that the best thing you have, that all men envy, is perhaps the thing you care for least. And that is your leisure. The leisure you have to think in, and to be let alone; the leisure you have to throw the plummet with your hands, and sound the depths, and find what is below… I congratulate you on your leisure. I commend you to keep it as your gold, as your wealth…”
The leisure you have to think in. Even then, a scarce commodity. Scarcer now, what with those 15,000 applications for our iPhones. (Hey, I bet it takes hours to sort through all those).
But what does this have to do with writing fiction?
Fiction requires space. Fiction requires time. What non-writers don’t know—and what writers ourselves sometimes forget—is that the writing itself is only part of the process. An even greater part is simply thinking. Imagining. Listening. Seeing. Paying attention to the story in our heads, paying attention to the details of the world. (Oh, not practical details, like when the phone bill is due. Please. No, I mean like how spiderwebs gleam gold in certain slants of sun. Like how a dog’s eyes dilate just before it bites. You know…critical stuff.)
The leisure to throw the plummet with your hands, and sound the depths, and find what is below… Is there any better description of fiction writing than this? Sound the depths, and find what is below…
The novelist John Gardner once described a scene he wrote in which a character is offered a cocktail. The character had two choices: accept the drink, or decline. It was a simple, trivial detail, with no impact on the action of the scene. But Gardner couldn’t decide if she should accept the drink or not, and it paralyzed him. Unsure if he could even finish the book, he left off writing and plunged into physical chores. After three days, suddenly he knew exactly what the character would do…not only about the cocktail, but about everything else, too. He’d figured out the kind of person she really was. But in order to solve the problem—in order to even realize what the problem was—he had to give himself room and time.
Leisure. Kind of a dirty word in our culture. Brings up a mental image of beaches and funny-colored drinks with little umbrellas in them. In our anxiety to produce—so many words a day, so many pages a week, so many books a year—it’s tempting to hammer out any contrivance that will make the plot work, even if it means selling our characters short. It’s tempting to race to The End and call it done, and ignore the deeper threads and connections that beg to be teased out.
Embrace leisure. Keep it as your gold, your wealth. When the story is stuck, when you feel something isn’t quite right, when you hear whispers of something deeper lurking, step back. Give yourself the luxury of room and time, and let the story speak to you.
Your fiction will be all the richer for it.
* James Garfield, then a presidential candidate, soon to be President of the United States…for four months, until he was shot by an assassin. Not a novelist, but a great lover of books. And, apparently, of free time.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Chasing the Dragon
I once worked with a heroin addict (clean for many years, but he taught me that to say "former addict" is incorrect) who told me that the first experience of heroin is the best. Junkies, he said, are always chasing that ephemeral first time, which will never occur again.Writing is like that. The first time I hit the zone--that state in which a scene unfurls seemingly with no effort, in which the characters take on life and act with no regard for the author's preconceived ideas, the state in which (as one author once put it) the writer seems to be taking dictation from God himself--I was hooked. Entirely and forever. That first experience was long before I began writing novels, long before I could reliably write even two pages a week for my writing class. But from that day to this, every time I sit down at the computer, I hope that lightning will strike.
It usually doesn’t. But the promise of it always brings me back. Because unlike heroin, the first time for writers is not the only time. Who knows what the zone really is--self hypnosis? Endorphin rush? Whatever brain chemistry is percolating (biologist geek that I am, I'm certain that some physiologic process is involved) the zone is, for me, one of the strongest lures of writing.
It usually doesn’t. But the promise of it always brings me back. Because unlike heroin, the first time for writers is not the only time. Who knows what the zone really is--self hypnosis? Endorphin rush? Whatever brain chemistry is percolating (biologist geek that I am, I'm certain that some physiologic process is involved) the zone is, for me, one of the strongest lures of writing.
This is how I chase the writing dragon: Unfold the scene, starting with the light. I read that once in an author interview, although I can't remember who--Anita Shreve, maybe. Imagine the light in the scene first, she said. How bright it is, where it’s coming from.
Then the sounds. Scents. The touch of upholstery, the humidity in the air. See the characters, set them moving, set them talking. Set a spark, see if it catches. Get it all down. If the zone starts rockin', hallelujah and roll with it. If not, then slog on. The dragon waits to be caught...
...if not today, then surely tomorrow.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Where in the World is Christine Fletcher?
Honestly, I haven’t been slacking off. OK, yeah, it’s been three weeks since my last blog post—you got me there. So what have I been doing? Well…
On Febrary 22nd, I had the honor of taking part in the Northwest Author Series, a series of presentations by NW authors to aspiring writers. The NAS is the brainchild of Christina Katz, whose book “Get Known Before the Book Deal” is required reading for any writer looking to publish in today's competitive market.
And my topic for NAS? “Essential Skills for Every Fiction Writer.”
I had ninety minutes, so I distilled my list of essential skills down to three bottom-line, make-it-or-break-it abilities that every novelist or short story writer must master: building characters, building conflict, and building the fictive dream. Attendance was good, and the audience was great. As any of my former students can tell you, I get bored if I’m just up there rattling away; I like participation, and I’m not above randomly pointing at people and firing questions. But I didn’t have to with this bunch; every time I posed a scenario, they called out ideas and answers. Fabulous!
Many, many thanks to all who attended, and especially to Christina Katz for inviting me to speak. I had a great time, not only giving the talk but having the chance to chat with folks afterwards. The talk was filmed, and when I get a copy of the video I’ll post an excerpt or two here—keep your eye out for it!
And then I was done and headed home…only to pack the suitcases for a 6:30 AM flight the next morning. My latest Adventures in Book Promotion had only begun, and the next stop?
The City of Big Shoulders itself: CHICAGO.
On Febrary 22nd, I had the honor of taking part in the Northwest Author Series, a series of presentations by NW authors to aspiring writers. The NAS is the brainchild of Christina Katz, whose book “Get Known Before the Book Deal” is required reading for any writer looking to publish in today's competitive market.
And my topic for NAS? “Essential Skills for Every Fiction Writer.”
I had ninety minutes, so I distilled my list of essential skills down to three bottom-line, make-it-or-break-it abilities that every novelist or short story writer must master: building characters, building conflict, and building the fictive dream. Attendance was good, and the audience was great. As any of my former students can tell you, I get bored if I’m just up there rattling away; I like participation, and I’m not above randomly pointing at people and firing questions. But I didn’t have to with this bunch; every time I posed a scenario, they called out ideas and answers. Fabulous!
Many, many thanks to all who attended, and especially to Christina Katz for inviting me to speak. I had a great time, not only giving the talk but having the chance to chat with folks afterwards. The talk was filmed, and when I get a copy of the video I’ll post an excerpt or two here—keep your eye out for it!
And then I was done and headed home…only to pack the suitcases for a 6:30 AM flight the next morning. My latest Adventures in Book Promotion had only begun, and the next stop?
The City of Big Shoulders itself: CHICAGO.
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