Back in the Saddle

My laptop died recently...

It was a real tragedy.

The loss of my old laptop decimated my work output. Yes, I could hook it up to my big, honkin' TV, but the angle was all weird and cricked my neck, the desk was too low and the chair was too high. It was uncomfortable and hard to really sink into the work. Sure, sure, I occasionally managed to pull off the odd brain-melting 3600 word day, but that was usually more akin to a non-drinker suddenly going out on a raging bender, rather than someone who's spending a regular evening having drinks with friends--I paid for it the next day.

I've never considered myself one of those types of "writers", the type that can't get anything done unless they have the absolute perfect writing area set-up with the perfect music and the perfect temperature in the perfect spot with the perfect level of noise. I've always considered that kind of stuff nonsense, nothing but ready made excuses for the non-writing writer set. I believe this because I hold to the idea that if you really want to be a writer, then you will write. I realize it can be tough to make the time sometimes, but... that's the rub, right? If you want to write, you will find the time to right. Granted, I have always been lucky enough to be able to work just about anywhere, at least, as long as I had reasonable access to my WIP, and I guess I can still say I can work just about anywhere really, but sitting on that too-soft ottomon with my head tilted too far back? It was a mile too far for me. I couldn't do it. My writing time suffered.

But then my new laptop finally arrived...

Yeah... We happy...

Except for Windows 8. What a crapfest, amirite? 

Other than that, it's good to be back and--after a bit of wrangling and wrestling with Windows 8--all set up. But here now, I am faced with a new question: How do I get started up again? Interrupting your schedule and/or routine or having your schedule and/or routine interrupted is a tough thing for a writer. Too much time away from The Work makes it harder and harder to sit down again and get back to things. It's hard to re-capture that rhythm and really dig in again in a really productive way.

So what do you do? What will Ido?

1. Schedule
You have to make time. Make time to settle in. Make time to stare at the screen. You need to force yourself to get back in front of the keyboard, so schedule some time to do it. Plan on it and stick to it. Make sure it happens. Sounds simple, right? Well, in that case, stop making excuses, sit down, shut up, and get back to work.

2. Backtrack
I find it easier to get to work on a normal day, if I spend a little time when I first sit back down going back over the latest stuff from the last writing session. It's kind of like warming up the engines, y'know? Like ramping the power levels back up into the green. It's hard to dive in cold, so instead, take some time, read through a bit of your most recent stuff and maybe fix what will most likely be a plethora of somehow now appallingly apparent mistakes. But it all looked so good the night before...

3. Take off the brakes
The flipside to taking some time each day to backtrack over your most recently completed stuff is that you can't spend too much time there. You don't want to get stuck in that mud, spinning your wheels, covering and recovering the same ground over and over again. Do that and suddenly you're that kid in the Critique Class bringing the same 100 pages to be reviewed that you brought ten years ago. Push, Sisyphus, push! At a certain point, you have to stop looking back and start looking ahead. You have to dive back in and just get started writing. Once you push your giant boulder to the top of that hill, take off the breaks and just go for it. You can always come back later. Keep that in mind: Just start writing. You can always come back later.

4. Consider
But before you do all that other stuff, take a moment or two, or a day, maybe just a little time while washing the dishes, whatever... Take some time and think about your story. Where's it going? Where do you want it to go? Where did it start? Is that the right place? And... if you were going to change something, what would it be? A scene? A character? A chapter? The beginning? The middle? The end? The whole thing? Could you delete it all and start over? Do you dare?

We'll see...

Get to writing,

Jon

Done by summer's end...?

I started my second attempt at a novel back in January.

Well, that's not totally true. I wrote the first chapter of what would become my second attempt at novel a year or so ago.

Wait... no.

Farther back, I guess I first tried to make it a short story, maybe two years ago, but it was too big and clunky and just wouldn't fit. It burst at the short story's seams. It wouldn't fit and yet still say all the things I wanted it to say.

Which was, to say the least, a bit frustrating and problematic... at least, at first.

So I took the short story and I churned out a first chapter, just to try it out and see if it could walk around a bit. I tested it out, first among the venerable bastards of the Scribblerati and then in David Oppegaard's nascent Loft class.

It seemed to do all right. It could walk. In fact, it did better than all right. It didn't just walk, it ran. I'm pretty sure I've talked about this project on here before. At the very least I talked about what the book was generally concerned with, right?

Right.

So anyway, in January--new year, starting out fresh and all that--I sat down and started working on it in earnest. Tentatively working-titled as Monsters, I wanted to finish it by summer's end. It wasn't easy. Well, ok, sometimes it was easy. Sometimes the prose flowed like a mighty river. Sometimes the hum of the screen was so loud while I was staring at a blank page, it just about drove me insane. But now, 13 chapters in and on the other side of a short but wicked bout of writer's block, now 68,000 odd words along, I figure there's only four chapters and just under a month left.

For those of you keeping score, that's a chapter a week.

I think I can do it. I do. I think I can do it and here's why. Stepping into the project, I only had one goal: Done by summer's end. But I should clarify, I mean first draft done. It doesn't have to be pretty. It doesn't have to be good. It doesn't even have to be all that coherent. It just has to be done.

First draft done.

By summer's end.

One chapter a week.

Yeesch. I'm pretty sure I can do it.

Hopefully...

But here's the other trick... You ready for this? It doesn't matter if I get done by summer's end. See that? It doesn't matter. It's just an arbitrary goal. It's one I think I'll pull off, or at least, near enough to make no difference, but in the end, whether I make it or not...

No big whoop. The only thing that matters is finishing.

First draft done.

Hooray!



Then, my plan is to set the humped and wretched beast aside for a few weeks, probably the whole of September, and then take it and the responses I have already received from the Scribblerati, sit down, and get started on the second draft.

Which is the reason I'm doing this blog here today. The second draft. This is where I will fix it. This is where I will smooth things out, make them a little more clear, make them fit better, make them better serve the story. This is where I will determine the story, to be honest. I'm sure I will lose characters, I'm sure I will combine some as well. I'll move some to the forefront and some to the background. I will cut scenes and I will add others. The first draft just provides the frame work, the shape, the big block of stone. The second draft is all about the shaping, the chiseling off of the unnecessary bits, of turning that big block of stone into a beautiful statue... or at least, a statue.

And here's the little guiding light. Here is something to see by in that word-crammed darkness, a map to guide my way, to guide your way in your own work. It is filled with things to think about and things to remember. Print it out. Tack it to you wall. Learn it, love it, live it.

It's Pixar's 22 rules of storytelling.

That's a bunch of basic true-isms there, kids. Think what you will of Pixar (although as a hint... The correct way to think of them is that they're awesome. Don't think so? You're wrong.), regardless of how you may feel about them and their films, as a writer, it's important to know that this list is right. It's a good tool. Sure, y'know, maybe don't worry about it so much at first, but later... like I said, in the second draft? Keep it close, because the path through the second draft can be darker and meaner and more discouraging than the last time, so it's good to have a map.

Keep writing,

Good luck,

Jon

Both Feet!

So my husband, Tony, started using the phrase, “Both feet!” (usually bellowed) after he learned it from an elderly southern woman. (Who else?) She had made sweet potato pie, and after he complimented her on its deliciousness, she said, “I put both feet in that pie.” Ah yes, a phrase, in that context, at once disgusting and fantastic.

Tony, a jazz musician, will sometimes yell it after a band mate lays down a particularly perilous and striking improvised solo. I’ve been known to shout it out when I make some crazy, intuitive leap in the kitchen, like putting a dash of Pernot in linguine and clams. (Delicious, by the way.)

“Both feet!” means commitment. Full-on commitment to the moment. If you’re going to do this thing, then take some risks, allow for the possibility of it being great. Don’t waste your time dibble-dabbling your toesies in the water to check the temperature and/or for sharks –plunge right in. Often, artistically, there are great rewards. Sometimes, of course, there are sharks.

Improv comedians, the really great ones, are gonzo with the “Both feet!” mentality. I’ve done a bit of improv in my life, and I was always a ‘glue’ sort of performer. I responded well to others, kept the scene moving, and occasionally got a laugh. I was middle-of-the-road. The great ones are a pleasure to watch. They propel a scene forward with the most unlikely choices, and the utmost commitment – which is the source of the funny. Here’s an example. This isn’t the best Whose Line is it Anyway out there, but it’s typical.

Whose Line

The nice thing about improv comedy is that you’re usually working with at least one other person, who can hopefully catch that crazy curve ball you just threw, even if it was ill-advised.

Not so in writing. You’re on your own, baby. Unless you happen to have a fantastic writing group – or even just a friend or two who give you excellent feedback.

My fellow Scribberati gave me stellar advice on a particular chapter of my WIP, Ursula Evermore and the Case of the Man Who Wasn’t. I made the classic mistake of showing the gun, but not using the gun, metaphorically speaking. “If you’re going to threaten that this crazy, disastrous thing might happen,” said my group, “Then have it happen – otherwise your readers will be disappointed.”  But, I thought, it would be disastrous, and I have no idea how I could possibly get my characters out of such a corner!

Ah, but of course, that’s exactly what makes great, exciting fiction. So I did it. I threw them into that situation, and then spent the next few days pondering just how in the hell they were going to get out of this crazy mess. I figured it out. And of course, the story is far better for it.

Both feet!

So, yeah. I’m trying to remember that lesson throughout my second draft, even in small moments. Sometimes, admittedly, this practice can lead to the aforementioned sharks: crazy plot twists that make no sense, pointless tangents, irrational behavior in your characters. But that’s where we writers have the advantage. Unlike improv comedians, we have a delete button.