Looking Back

Listening to: The patrons of the awesome little cafe I frequent, out on the patio, on one of the last nice days of the year!

It's funny to look back, after you're finally done.

I really didn't think Freya (now tentatively titled Grim Light) ever had a chance. When I first started writing it in February, a few elements of the idea were different, but not markedly so. And I really didn't see where it could go. I remember asking TH, in the car one winter night, if he thought it was okay to just write something because I enjoyed it, even if I didn't see a future for it. Writing for writing's sake, essentially. He, of course, thought it was fine. He thinks everything I do is fine (grin). So I worked on it, and then I stopped and picked up something else...and then I picked it up again, and so on.

When I chose to focus on Grim Light (still getting used to that!) after I started my job in June--because I didn't really think working full-time and writing three or four different books all at once seemed like a good idea--I was very uncertain. My writing time was going to be severely reduced, so I wanted to be sure that whatever project I chose wouldn't be a waste of time. I honestly think it was a combination of my love for the book and other people's love for it that made me choose it, despite its inherent uncertainty.

So to finish it was a more fulfilling accomplishment than any other book I've written (this is four, she said sadly and triumphantly). After the initial rush wore off, I looked back to February, and how hopeless it all seemed. Heck, I looked back to this past Sunday, when it also seemed hopeless. And I truly couldn't believe it. Not that it had been hopeless--no, I remembered that feeling all too well--but that I'd done it. That I'd taken this idea that initially looked like a dead-ringer for a dead-end, and managed to find a way out. That I'd ever had enough faith, in those early days, to keep going, instead of abandoning it for one of my more promising ideas. That I hadn't had enough faith, all those times I did abandon it for a while, and had almost missed this chance. It seems like a minor miracle to me.

Sometimes, you have to find hope even when something seems impossible. Sometimes, you have to write just because you love your characters, whether you think they'll reach the end or not. Sometimes, you just have to turn off that voice of uncertainty and write for the sheer joy of it.

Sometimes, you just have to write.

Here We Go Again

Listening to: Guster, "Either Way"

I think the new project that I hinted at the other day is starting to take shape. Of course, I'm not going to go into much detail here (don't want to jinx it--I'm so freaking superstitious), but I told The Husband about it last night and he got very excited. That's kind of my litmus test for ideas--if he likes it, it's good.

I will say that it's somewhat more fantastical than my previous work. Most of what I write is contemporary fantasy, set in our world as we know it, in some subset of our society that has magical qualities/abilities for whatever reason and blah blah blah. This particular idea, though, involves a sort of parallel world that exists simultaneously with ours, and the intersection of those worlds.

I gotta admit, I'm a little nervous about it. I find myself not really committing to it yet--the voice in my head says, Well, we'll* just write a little more and see where it goes, this doesn't have to be our next project....

And then I write a bit more, and then a bit more...and yesterday I found myself brainstorming crazily. I don't know why I'm having such a hard time committing to this--maybe I'm scared, maybe I'm not really in love with the idea yet. I definitely didn't get that wonderful chill up my spine that I usually do when I fall in love with a concept, when I know it's "the one". Am I just getting jaded with the whole write-a-novel-revise-the-novel-repeatedly-try-to-get-it-published-and-fail process?** Or is the idea really not as great as I think?

Or am I just overanalyzing everything because I'm bored to tears right now?

Or is this a good thing--a sign that I'm finally able to stop freaking out every time I start a new project, and I'm developing a more relaxed approach to all of this?

Or am I just overanalyzing everything because--oh wait, we went there already.

I don't have a freaking clue. All I really know, I guess, is that it's humid as $*%& today, I need a shower, and The Office season premiere is on in 8.5 hours.

And I guess that's enough.


*Yes, the voice in my head uses the Royal We. I'm majestic like that.

**If so, it's a bit early for that. I've only been actively pursuing publication for about two years. That's like, a minute and a half in publishing time.

A round of applause...

...for these guys. There's so much crap in the news all the time, people hurting and killing each other for no reason. People being petty and mean and cruel.

What they did might seem like a small act, comparatively, but...if more people would make a stand when they see cruelty, then maybe, just maybe, there would be a little less cruelty.

Without a Net

Listening to: The Dandy Warhols, "Bohemian Like You"

If I squint hard enough, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel with my current project. It's just a pinpoint of light, and I have to really squint, but it's there.

I guess I'm weird in the way I write novels. At the beginning, I usually have a very vivid idea of what I want to accomplish for those first several chapters. Even though I sometimes have to start a novel a few times before I really strike the chords I want, I'm usually on fairly solid ground once I really get going.

Not so, now. Or, in fact, for the past few months. I know where I want to end up, but I only yesterday figured out exactly how to get there. Up until then, it was just a vague blur in my mind after the stuff I knew would happen: "They'll get here, and do this, and then...something something something, blah blah, and then the end." I've tried various plotting methods--post-its, outlines, brainstorming, you name it--but I've never found my route from those methods.

Now, when the writing is like that--I really have no clue what's coming next--I kinda have to force myself to just do it. Because I'm freaking terrified--that I'm going to screw it up, that I'm never going to figure out what to write next, etc. But then when I finally get down to business and make myself do it...well, it's a lot of freaking fun. It's like being on a trapeze without a net--I"m scared as hell, but man, I'm flying! Stuff is happening and characters are doing things that I didn't expect, and some of it's stupid, but some of it's really good and why didn't I think of that before? Of course that character would do that! That's perfect!

Of course, if I avoid my manuscript like the plague, and find lots of other things to do...then I'm not going to get up on that trapeze, am I? And I'm not going to have all that terrifying fun.

So, whenever I find myself at a crossroad, I know the answer is simple (even if I choose to deny it and avoid it for a while):

Just freaking climb that ladder, grab that bar, and go for a swing, already. Jeez.

Forcing It

Listening to: Guster, "Demons"

When I was quite a bit younger, I used to think that inspiration was this hazy, mercurial creature that would strike when and if she felt like it. I thought that ideas were like Newton's apple without the gravity--they didn't have to come down from that tree, and if they did and you weren't sitting around under that tree, thinking about nothing...then it would just be another apple fallen from the tree.

Everyone always said--and by everyone, I mean non-writers in my life, and even a few writers--that you couldn't "force it". To this day, I still hear that whenever I'm suffering through a frustrating scene or desperately trying to tie my plot threads together. "Well, you can't force it!" they all say cheerily, as though I should just sit around waiting, twiddling my thumbs or doing a crossword, until lightning miraculously strikes.

After many years of writing various things--research papers, angst-ridden teenage poetry, countless newspaper articles, short stories and creative non-fiction essays, and finally novels--I call bull. Actually, I called bull a long time ago, but now I'm blogging it. Not only can you force it, but in many cases, you must force it.

The best poems I ever wrote* were scrawled out in five minutes during study hall or late at night in bed, after I'd written twenty awful ones.

The singular best short story I ever wrote was furiously typed out at 7 a.m., when it was due that very day in my 9:30 class.

The very best articles I wrote, the ones that drew the most attention from readers, were written after a long day of research and interviews, when it was 4:15 and I had to pick my little brother up from daycare at 5:00 and if I had to come back to the office, I'd have to deal with the night editor who didn't like me very much.

And finally, the best novel idea I have ever stumbled upon struck me while I furiously brainstormed for a title for the last novel.

Some might say that, in most of the cases cited above, a looming deadline played a big part. Well, yes, but there's something more. In those cases, mostly, I had to force it. I wasn't sitting around, painting my nails and dreaming about...I don't know...cheese. I was working, and my brain was actively involved in the writing process. When I was, goshdarnit, forcing it.

Don't get me wrong--I've written dozens of awful poems, teeming multitudes of dull short stories, and many a dreary article that will put you to sleep faster than Ambien. And those all happened while I was working, when my brain was actively involved in the writing process, too. They just happened to suck. You'll have that.

There's a famous quotation that, when I first read it, completely changed my life. It seemed like a door had been opened in a long, dark hallway, and finally a burst of light appeared to guide me.

You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.
-Jack London

And damned if that isn't true. Although when writers take up that club, it often looks very much like writing or reading or even talking to interesting people. But don't be fooled--we've got our clubs ready, and we're goin' a-hunting. I can assure you that twiddling your thumbs, doing crosswords, painting your nails, or dreaming about cheese...well, while these are all perfectly fine ways to spend time, none of them will result in a freshly-clubbed inspiration that you can proudly drag back to the cave.

So, for God's sake, grab your club, get out there, and force it. Don't sit around waiting for inspiration to knock on your door, certain that your freshly painted nails will entice him or her to enter. Because that knock, much like that of the Publisher's Clearinghouse people, isn't going to come.


*Although that ain't sayin' much.

Running on Empty

I am fresh out of ideas. Nothing to blog about.

If anyone who drops by would like a blog-on-command--tell me what to write about and I'll do it, within reason--feel free. Preferably writing-related, but I'll consider other topics. I'm not really an expert on anything, but I'm sure there must be some opinions and information somewhere around here, if I can just dig them up.

Seriously. I'm beggin' ya. Give me something, or I'll be forced to talk about my cat. And post pictures.

The 'tubes have enough cat pictures. Don't make me add more.

On Starting Over...Again.

So I'm starting this novel for the third time. I keep on starting it, getting a few thousand words in, and realizing I want to change something huge--like the POV or something.

Unlike previous novels, which I would always want to "reboot" when I got to the middle or so, I'm not second-guessing myself when I start over. I just keep on writing until it feels right. On this third try, I think it feels right, because I'm finally excited about the story, and my writer-brain is kicking in. You know, the part of your brain that starts creating dialog or devising plot elements when you're watching TV or driving. I love my writer-brain. I missed it so, for the many years it was gone. The past year-and-a-half, during which I found what I truly love to write and my writer-brain returned from its lengthy vacation, has been truly wonderful. I find myself once again looking forward to writing and using it as a reward--e.g., "You can write once you've cleaned the bathroom."

I think that the lack of second-guessing means something. It means I'm progressing as a writer, because I'm willing to take risks and "waste time" until I get the freaking thing right. Rather than vacillating over this choice or that one, I just plow through with fingers crossed, knowing that I can change it all later. Revision has become a huge part of my writing.

This is a weird, rambly post. Sorry for that, my brain is in a weird place right now. And I'm off to clean the bathroom.

From the Title to the Plot...

Okay. So, as I careen towards the finish line on my first editing pass, I've been fretting about the idea for my next book. I can't help it. I just feel like the idea...isn't what I want. It's good (maybe), and I could make it interesting (I think). But I don't want it.

The other subject of frequent fretting has been the title of my current book. I don't think it's very good...and that might have something to do with the fact that IT'S NON-EXISTENT. Yep, that's right. I came up with the idea in April, started writing it in May, finished in November, and have been editing since then...and no title. Crap.

So I'm in the shower yesterday, and I'm thinking about titles. Just running stuff through my head, thinking about the book and what it's about, free-associating a little bit.

And I come up with a title.

But not for the current book.

I think of this title, and a plot immediately springs into my head, nearly fully formed. The title would be perfect for that plot...it's beautiful. It's spectacular. It's...probably already been done.

So I don't let myself get too excited. I finish showering, dry off, and dress. Then I dash off to the laptop, reminding myself that it's such a great idea, someone must have come up with it already. And they must have used my title, too, because the title is so damn perfect. There could be NO OTHER TITLE for this book.

Hop onto Amazon.

Nope. Free and clear.

So there you have it. I did the happy dance as I dried my hair (the cat was not amused). Heck, I've been doing the happy dance for about 24 hours now, because I think I can do it, and I can't wait to start. I still have no title for my current book, but...

Oh well!

I'm off to edit, because the sooner I finish the current, untitled work, the sooner I can start on the next one. I'm not going to rush the editing, because it'll take as long as it needs to take...

But I'm going to get it done. And then, in the new year, I'll start working on the next one. Which I finally have.

Happy dance!

-Kristin

Can't sleep, words will eat me

I'm at That Point in the book. That Point being the part where I'm constantly terrified that I'm going to Royally Screw It Up. I write in spite of, or perhaps because of, this feeling.

It feels like being on a tightrope without a net. Although I know I have a net: revision. I will eventually revise and revise and revise until I'm walking the tightrope without even a glance at the ground, back straight, firm grasp on that pole-thingy tightrope walkers hold. Is this metaphor working? I'm not sure.

I am also reassured by the fact that other writers feel this way, and published ones, at that. And I'm reassured by this quotation from John Irving, which keeps me going even on my darkest days:

If you don't feel that you are possibly on the edge of humiliating yourself, of losing control of the whole thing, then possibly what you are doing isn't very vital. If you don't feel like you are writing somewhat over your head, why do it? If you don't have some doubt of your authority to tell this story, then you are not trying to tell enough.

There it is. It's like a breath of fresh air into my cobweb-filled skull. That, and this Samuel Beckett quotation, which I promised myself I would keep in my head through this entire novel:

Ever tried.
Ever failed.
No matter.
Try again.
Fail again.
Fail better.

I swore to myself, when I first started writing this novel, that I would fail better than I did the last time. Even if it's not the one that gets me published, I will have accomplished a great deal if I can just fail better. And then on the next one, I'll fail even better than that. And I will keep on failing, until I succeed.

That, my friends, is what writing is about. Hell...that's what life is about.

-Kristin