This blog is no longer maintained, but it contains posts dating back to when I was first trying to get published, so I'm keeping it here in the hopes that it might help other aspiring writers.
Writing as Work–and Love
Jun 21, 2010
I have a friend who is, I think, a good writer. I haven’t actually read anything she’s written because she’s a bit shy about sharing it, but she’s a fantastic editor, a terribly creative person, and she reads about ten times as much as I do, and so I’d put money on the assumption that she’s probably not half bad. She always says, though, that she’s not sure she’s interested in seeking publication, for fear that writing would become work, and therefore not as much fun.
I must admit I’ve had this fear once or twice (okay, so that’s an understatement). I love music, and when I was in grade school I couldn’t wait to join orchestra and play the viola. A year into it I was like “Ugh, this sucks,” and switched to the flute. A couple years after that I switched to the oboe. And a couple of years after that I quit entirely, because frankly, practicing enough to actually be halfway decent (and I’m too competitive not to do that) made me hate the instrument. In college I picked up the guitar, taught myself, and just play for myself, not for anyone else, and certainly not for a music teacher or band. And six years or so later, I still love it.
So when I embarked on the whole 500-1000 words/day promise to myself, I worried that at some point along the way I’d grow to hate writing, if I was forcing myself to do it. What eventually convinced me that I had to try it, though, was that I knew I could never be a professional author if I couldn’t make writing my job and still love it enough to do it every day. On the one hand, if I tried it and killed my love of writing, I would have killed my dream of becoming a successful novelist, and that particular failure is one of my greatest fears. And if I never tried it, I’d at least always have that dream, the potential to get serious one day. On the other hand, though, if I never buckled down, even if doing it meant realizing it wasn’t for me, I’d never actually realize the dream either.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, especially now that my daily minimum has gone from 500 words a day to somewhere around 2500 words a day (although the technical minimum is still 500 words a day, I have to write a lot more than that on average to finish the book by my July 5th deadline). It’s quite definitely work now, forcing myself to sit down and write when I could be walking to the beach, going downtown to see the sights of Melbourne, hanging out with my friends here that I see so rarely when I’m living in the U.S.
So, just a little over three months from the day I started this 500 words/day commitment, has my love of writing changed?
Yes. Hands down. I don’t think it’s possible for it not to have changed. But at the risk of sounding like a total liar, I think my love of writing has actually grown stronger. It’s a different kind of love, though. It’s a much more complicated love. I think my love of writing used to be the daydreamy, crushy love you get in high school, or you get on characters in books or TV, where you sigh and fantasize about the day you’ll become an author (or marry Mr. Darcy as the case may be), and your ups and downs are all about whether your crush smiled at you or not (or if your mom/best friend/internet people liked your latest chapter). Now, if I’m allowed to sound completely pretentious, I think my love of writing is like the love of a long-term couple. Yeah, you fight now and then (and some days you have to cry and sweat just to get to 500 words), but mostly you work hard at the relationship, every day, and it becomes stronger for it. It’s not a fantasy, and it’s not always awesome, and in fact sometimes it’s downright horrendous. But it’s there, every day, and as long as you keep working on it, it’ll always be there.
So yeah, doing it every day has definitely changed my relationship with writing. But it’s been a change for the better. And now I know I can do it, which is better than the tenuous soap bubble of a high school crush any day.
Okay, no more metaphors for me. What about you guys? I know a couple of you have been doing daily writing goals too–has it changed the way you write, or feel about writing? And even if you haven’t, I’d love to hear about any forays into making writing a job, or the fear that keeps you from it, or the choices, good or bad, that you’ve made in relation to professional writing.
Commitment–and an excerpt.
Jun 17, 2010
I’m nearing the end of my book–I’m currently at approximately 75,000 words, and I forsee maybe another 30,000 words to go. It’s not quite close enough to make a mad, sprinting dash for the finish line, but that’s not really what I want to do anyway. Although I always was a sprinter rather than a distance runner, in this case I think consistency and a steady pace are going to be what sees me through.
That said, I’m close enough to set myself a deadline. So that’s what I’m doing, here in public so everyone can see, and therefore can hold me accountable if I don’t manage it.
So: By my birthday, July 5th, I’ll have this first draft completed. That’s a promise. Please judge me and hate me and all-of-my-irrational-fears-of-failure me if I don’t hold up my end.
To pass the time until then (even though it is no longer Teaser Tuesday) I’ll post another excerpt. I had so much fun with the last one, but it was such a brief, superficial moment in the book. It was really the first serious danger Lark encounters outside the Wall, and its purpose is mostly to show her just what she’s let herself in for, and that nothing–absolutely NOTHING–can be trusted in this new world.
This scene comes from a somewhat more character-driven part of the book. Lark has joined company with a young man named Oren, so far the only person she’s encountered who hasn’t been twisted into a monster by the magical vacuum and storms ravaging the wilderness. He’s unused to company and terse to the point of rudeness, but he knows how to find food and water, how stay ahead of the monsters, and when to seek shelter.
Lark has been struggling with fairly significant agoraphobia ever since setting foot outside the Wall. She grew up never having seen the sky, and now finds it overwhelming. Though she’s made significant progress over the past two weeks since her escape, the wilderness still has a few tricks up its sleeve.
We were maybe half an hour out from the start of the forest when the rain began.
Hi, I’m XYZ. Can I be your love interest?
Jun 10, 2010
Time for me to throw myself on your mercies, dear readers, and ask for some help. Let me lay out the issue.
Characters, for me, often live inside my head. Many writers will say this, to the point where I think non-writers will roll their eyes a bit (though quietly and in private where the writers can’t see and kill them for it). But it’s just an easy way to say that we spend so much time thinking about them that our characters become fully-formed, fleshed out people with their own decisions, and it’s hard to sometimes get the characters to do what you need them to do because the motivations you’ve already decided upon for them just won’t push them in that direction.
Of course, for me, it’s only main characters that live in my head. The lesser characters don’t really need to be known that well.
In THE IRON WOOD, my current WIP, we’re just coming to get to know a new character. Is he a monster? A spy for the Facility? A nice, misunderstood boy in dire need of a bath and a hairbrush? A potential love interest? WHO CAN SAY? (Actually, I can, but that’s beside the point.) And yes, I’m only introducing the potential love interest 60,000 words into the story. I am aware of this. This is an issue for the rewrite, folks. Stay focused.
The point is that I’m really struggling to write him. Part of it is that Lark, my main character, has been alone for almost the entire novel, and I’m used to her solitude and how she handles it. Part of it is that I am seeing this new character the way Lark does, because she is the predominant voice in my head–and she sees him as confusing, inscrutable, and possibly quite frightening. And part of it is the issue of buildup–he’s been behind the scenes throughout the whole book, with tiny touches here and there, and now he needs to be finally revealed as a fully-formed character, but it really is the first time I’ve met him, too.
So here’s my question: how do you guys get to know a stubbornly shy character who refuses to introduce himself? Do you fill out character sheets? Write vignettes about his childhood? Pretend to interview him? Have conversations out loud, pretending to be him? I’ve tried all of this in the past (yep, even the conversation thing–I’m a writer, I have no shame) and none of it seems to be appropriate in this situation, though I may just be being stubborn myself.
I’d love to hear any input or suggestions! Don’t be shy, I’m ready to try absolutely anything. And even if all you have to offer is commiseration, well, I could use some of that right about now too.
I’m writing this upside down.
Jun 07, 2010
Time to end the radio silence, hooray! This is just a post catching up on what I’ve been doing the past week. As some of you may know, I’ve been traveling lately, from the Friday before last on. For a while I was in Santa Barbara with savannahjfoley and bee245 to see sjmaas get married, and I was having way too much fun to post here. The ceremony was beautiful, Santa Barbara was beautiful, and, of course, sjmaas was beyond beautiful.
Then, on Tuesday, I headed for LAX and then on to Melbourne, Australia, which is where I’ll be hanging my hat for the next year. lilykaufman and her long-suffering husband met me at the airport and ushered me home to the sweetest little room they’ve made up for me, and now I’m finally unpacked and all set up. The PC is still in pieces, but I have my netbook and my big keyboard plugged into it, which is all I need to do a ton of writing.
As savannahjfoley and bee245 can vouch, I managed to keep up my writing even in the midst of festivities in Santa Barbara, despite travel, etc. I left for Australia on a Tuesday (U.S. time) and arrived in Australia on Thursday (Oz time) and actually wrote on the plane, during this weird middle time when I had no idea what time or even what day it was, just that I knew I was losing Wednesday at some point so I had better stick 500 words in there at some point.
I’m completely psyched to be back in Australia–as some of you know, I lived there before for about eight months a couple of years ago. It’s full of absolutely fantastic people, friends who have greeted me so enthusiastically that it’s like I’ve lived here my whole life. My house is walking distance to the beach, and even though it’s winter now I plan to head down there today with my laptop and sit in the cold and write, because right now, my protagonist is wet and cold, and it seems appropriate. I have fingerless gloves created for just this purpose. There’s a very charming dog indeed, doing his best to cure me of my lifelong cat-lovingness, and of course, bakeries full of caramel slice waiting to remind me of what I’ve been missing. Best of all, I’m back living with some of my best friends in the world, and I’m way excited. My vowels are already starting to slip, and I’m finding myself saying “heeya” instead of “here,” and asking my housemates if they want some brekky.
It’s a little bittersweet too, though. This is the place where I’m going to finish my WIP, once and for all, and start it on queries. I have a loose timetable that I’m following to that end, and somehow it seems much more final and huge when you know it’s going to be within the next year. I’m excited about it, but also quite frightened, too. As anyone who’s submitted anything, be it a short story or a novel, knows, submitting is this terrible and wonderful flutter in your chest and twist in your stomach. I’m just trying not to think about it. Cart before the horse, etc. I have a long way to go before then, so best just to alt+tab back over to chapter fifteen and get back to work.
But maybe down at the beach.
PS: My word count today is only a loose estimate. My actual running tally is on my PC, which is inaccessible at the moment, and I’m way too lazy to go total it up all over again on the netbook.
Shiny new toys!
May 22, 2010
It’s been a while since I posted, mostly because I got hit with the WIP blues, and I’ve been busy working and rewriting. I’ve just gotten to the point where I’ve resurfaced, marginally happier with it and ready to keep going. At some point I’m going to post about how I combat said blues, because the technique might end up being helpful to other folks, but for now, I’ll leave you with this.
Some of you may know about the idea I had recently, that has quickly blossomed into something that is, I am nearly 100% positive, going to be the project I work on once I finish my WIP and get it out there into queries. It’s come and gone, been through one serious “I can’t write it, damn” moment, and survived. It’s still very much in that vulnerable, pre-story mode where looking at it too hard will make it burst like a soap bubble, but I did write a scene from it last week that kept looming and distracting me from THE IRON WOOD.
I’ve been playing with Wordle for a good chunk of the morning, after seeing it on the LTWF blog, and it occurred to me that it’d make a great tool for teasing a story. So, here is a word cloud formed from 1,000 words of my future project. (Click for a larger version.)
It’s pretty fun–or else I’m just really easily amused. If you end up trying it for your own writing, the results might surprise you (they certainly have with TIW). It’s actually a pretty valuable tool for seeing easily if there’s a word you use too much. *cough* pale *cough*
Happy Anniversary to Me
May 15, 2010
Today marks the two-month anniversary of my decision to commit one hundred percent to writing.
It’s been a gradual process, building since I was four years old, though the most recent twists in the road have been concentrated over the recent months. The last year has been full of benchmarks, important moments, days I could point to and say “Hey, that was the day I took a step forward.”
Gathering the courage last spring to apply to the Odyssey Writing Workshop, quitting my full-time job in order to go, moving back home to be able to afford the afore-mentioned job quitting. Devoting myself to short stories to improve my craft, despite it not being my passion. Shelving projects that were fun in favor of projects that made me grow. Submitting a story to a magazine for the first time, and getting that first rejection letter. Getting that tenth rejection letter. Going back to novels after a long period without them, and realizing for certain that it was what I wanted to do. Facing up to the fact that novels to which I had committed time and energy and devotion weren’t examples of my best work, and I had to start from scratch.
All of these things have been part of the process over the past year, but two months ago was the hardest and most significant part of it. That was when I got the idea for my current work in progress, and realized that if I ever wanted to see it in print I was going to have to get my act together and commit to this as a career, not just something to do when I felt like it. So every day since then I’ve written at least 500 words a day–and usually significantly more than that–without fail, without skipping a single day. Some days I have really, really had to fight myself. Some nights I’ve sat my computer long past my bedtime with my forehead on my desk going “Glugurluglugurluglug” because all I want to do is sleep but the 45 words I’d written were not enough.
It seems fitting that I’ve just stepped past the 50,000 word mark in my manuscript, two months later. I’m not writing at lightning speed, not when you compare me to some particularly prolific writers, but it’s a steady pace, and I’ll be done with the first draft in another month or two.
In terms of a lifelong career, two months isn’t very long. But it marks something else for me, which I didn’t know I had: discipline. I was pretty sure I didn’t have it, because I can be a pretty lazy person, and I had that nagging suspicion that it would be the line between me and success. Turns out, though, that discipline’s really a decision, not a quality you either possess or don’t. Two months writing every day without a break is long enough to prove that I have it in spades, and that the only thing standing between me and success is time. Well, okay, and luck, but let’s not focus on that just now. Just now, I’m letting myself celebrate a little bit.
Happy anniversary, me. Good job. Keep it up. Go have some ice cream or something. Just don’t take too long, because you have to come back and sit down and do your writing for today.
What, did you think you were going to get a break?
Writing Break: Kitties!
May 14, 2010
As those of you who know me can attest, I am definitely a cat person. I’ve had cats since I was a baby and pretty much always will. I wouldn’t precisely call myself a crazy cat lady–for one thing I’m not really old enough yet–but I definitely do love them.
While pursuing writing, I work part time and volunteer part time. Luckily for me, I get to do both of those things in the same place–I work for my living at a transcription and word processing company whose owners also happen to be cat enthusiasts, who run the fabulous new feline rescue foundation, Tails High.
It’s currently kitten season, which means we have kittens coming out of our ears. The wonderful thing about kittens is that as fast as they come in, we find homes for them. No one can resist a kitten. But in the midst of kitten season, it’s easy for potential adopters to forget about the sometimes overlooked kitties–older cats.
This is something I’ve only come to realize lately, but I’ve made up for being a latecomer to the idea by being quite devoted to it. There are tons of reasons to adopt an older cat. Some of the top ones, for me, are:
Kittens will always find a home. They’re always in high demand, because they’re cute. But because it’s harder to find homes for older cats, by adopting one of them you’d be doing a wonderful thing. And it’s not just charity–taking the time to get to know the older cats at your local rescue will pay off, because you can find a cat who will be a companion for you, not just a pet. If you’ve been thinking about adopting a cat and your heart is set on kittens, I definitely won’t discourage you. I know that I’ve always adopted kittens in the past, because I didn’t realize what I was missing out on. I also know that the next cat I adopt will very likely be an older cat. But if you’re wondering about whether to get kittens or an older cat, definitely take your time with the decision. There are a ton of reasons to go with older cats — these are just a few!
And if you live in the D.C./Virginia area, definitely check out the Tails High website for the current cats available (I’ve put pictures of a couple of them below!) And if you’re someone who’s been thinking about adopting, fostering, volunteering at your local rescue, whatever, feel free to ask me questions!
And for those of you who are going “Um, where’d the writing blog go?” I’ll be back tomorrow with a post about writing, never fear.
Sorry, I can’t talk to you right now. I’ve just changed into my writin’ pants.
May 11, 2010
We all have weird things that help us or hinder us when we’re writing. A non-writer might say, “Yeah, okay, so you say you need to have six perfectly-sharpened pencils lined up next to a notepad exactly four inches away from your keyboard, but that’s all in your head, right?”
HAH, I say to that. Of course it’s all in our heads. But we’re writers. Everything we do comes right out of our heads, so why should it be surprising that we get so tangled up inside our headspace? Artists are basically the only people who get to be totally neurotic on account of it being their job to be a wacko.
Josephine March had a hat she wore when writing her manuscripts. I have a pair of pants. I have had since I was fourteen. No, they’re not the same pants (as much as I’d love to pretend I could still fit into the pants I wore when I was that age) but they might as well be. Loose, stretchy waistband, baggy legs, worn in to the point of blankie-soft fabric. I actually have to break them in before I can write in them — I can’t wear new pants while writing, no matter how originally comfy they are. Usually it’ll be a pair of pajama or yoga pants that get worn in to the point of becoming writin’ pants. This process often takes years.
Now, I wouldn’t say I have to be wearing them to write. I don’t think I have to have anything to write. I can sit in an empty room, naked, with no pens or keyboards in sight and still write (although it’d probably be hard for anyone else to read what’s etched into the walls with my fingernails). But my writin’ pants definitely do help. I also love to have a soda (Diet Dr. Pepper by choice) on hand as a reward when I hit a certain word count, and I absolutely love it when it’s raining. I open my window, no matter the temperature, and listen to the rain. There’s a euphoric excitement about that sound and that smell that just makes the words pour out of me.
I always sit a certain way: one leg folded under me, the other with my knee drawn up to my chest. Curled up this way, often wrapped in a blanket or bathrobe with just my hands peeping out to touch the keyboard, is how I spend vast portions of my life.
I can’t have snacks on hand, because I love to watch TV while I eat, and if there’s a snack around I’ll have the urge to stop writing to eat and watch something while I do. I also can’t have music playing. I wish I could. I make playlists that go with certain stories and novels of mine, but I can’t listen while I write or I get distracted by the story in the music. I need silence. I listen to my playlists in the car or in the shower, where I do a lot of my daydreaming and idea-fashioning. I listen to them before writing sessions, to put myself in the mood.
I’m a total weirdo when it comes to writing. This is really just the tip of the iceberg. I love that about myself. Everyone likes to be unique and different, so long as they’re not TOO different; the nice thing about being a writer is that all writers are total weirdos. I might be an oddball but at least I’m in good company.
Do you guys have weird habits to get your creative juices flowing? I know you do. Let’s hear ‘em.
(P.S. Lurkers, this means you. You know who you are. Either you’re a friend and you don’t comment because you can just IM me later, or you’re a stranger who found your way here via the blog of a friend of mine, and you don’t comment because you don’t know me. Well, suck it up. I want to hear from you, and I don’t bite! And hey, if you drop a line, then you won’t be a stranger anymore.)
Correspondence from the Front: WIP Excerpt
May 04, 2010
Hey folks! In honor of Teaser Tuesday, I’ve decided to post a scene from my current work in progress, which has the working title THE IRON WOOD. I’ve chosen a scene out of the middle of the book, but it’s an action-y sort of scene that hopefully doesn’t require too much context.
All you need to know is that Lark, our heroine, has untapped and previously unknown magical abilities and is on the run from the scientific Facility that wants to turn her into a magical battery for the rest of her life. She’s discovered that in the wilderness lie pockets of highly concentrated magic, which serve to camouflage her from the Facility’s machines: half-magic, half-clockwork creations called pixies. When she steps inside the magical, violet-tinted pocket to escape, she discovers a forest unlike anything she’s ever seen. Lulled by its beauty and the sense that for the first time in weeks she’s at least temporarily safe, she falls asleep…
When I woke, night was falling outside the barrier…
Apr 26, 2010
I just got back from a trip to New York City, in which I got to hang out with my friend Ellen and crash on her couch, which was, as always, far more awesome than it sounds like it should be. I love staying with her. I beg her every time to go to Alice’s Teacup, a fantastic tea house in the city, and she obliges like the long-suffering, scone-loving good friend she is. I was there to see sjmaas for her bridal shower, and actually managed to surprise her, which was one of the most fun things I’ve done in a LONG time. It was an extremely busy weekend, and also involved some staying out significantly past my bedtime, and I am now way exhausted. I met some fabulous people, though, who I can’t wait to catch up with again in a month.
The thing I’m proud of, however, is that despite all this (and having only a tiny little keyboard with which I was totally unfamiliar) I managed to keep up my daily writing minimum of 500 words.
For the past couple of years I’ve been kind of screwing around, and not producing words at any kind of consistent rate. It took that much time, a lot of self-hatred and doubt, some serious soul- searching, and then a couple great kicks in the pants by sjmaas and Corry to make me realize that I had to get serious if I wanted to make this my job.
I’d always avoided word count goals, and did so in a totally pretentious way that I wasn’t aware of at the time. I considered myself to be beautifully erratic and artistic, unchained by the daily grind, above all that mundane stuff. I didn’t just write, I got Inspired. I had a muse. She graced me with her presence, was a fragile and inconstant thing, and could not be summoned.
That’s just total bullshit, seriously.
Of course I didn’t actually think of it that way, I just told myself that I don’t work like that, and that everyone’s different. That much is true. But I decided to give a daily word count goal a try after said kicks in the pants, and with some help from lilykaufman settled on my current system. She knows me so well that she knew what would work for me before I did.
My daily goal is 1,000 words. If I write at least 1,000 words I can feel really good about myself. But, because my subconscious is totally capable of wriggling out of anything, I have to give myself some wiggle room. Some days I just don’t buy in, I just don’t feel like it. I’m sick, I’m traveling, I had a rough day, a bug flew in my eye, I put my pants on backwards.
So I have a daily minimum, as well. I have to write at least 500 words every day, no excuses. If I ended up in the hospital I’d have to get someone to bring me a notepad. The beauty of it is that anyone can write 500 words. You can do that in ten minutes if you really wanted to. There’s no guarantee it’ll be good words, but you can get them out. If after 500 words I’m still not feeling it, I stop and try again the next day. But the great part is that usually, if I sit down and force myself to start, I get way into it by the time the 500 word mark rolls around, and I’ll hit somewhere between 1,500 and 2,500 words in that sitting.
I think most writers are interested in the methods of other writers–I know I am. I tended to think we were all the same when I was a kid, so I love seeing how other writers do things just completely differently from the way I do them. What do you do?