3 Things I Need to STOP DOING So I Can Write Already!

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I procrastinate.

There. I said it.

Usually I can pull out of my procrastination haze and complete whatever task I’m avoiding in just under the wire. It’s the fear of consequences that gets me to the finish line on time. If I don’t do my job, I’ll be looking for a new one. If I don’t get the house in order, I’ll have the wrath of the Mrs. to deal with. See where I’m going? Fear is a powerful motivator for me.

I can’t say the same about writing. I have no deadlines other than my own. If I don’t meet them, then I change them. Not done by Friday? What’s another week. Less than a thousand words written today? Five hundred will do, right? Sure I’m left with guilt, but it doesn’t have the same effect as fear. I’m going to continue to work on it. In the mean time, let me clue you in on some of the bad things I should be cutting out:

1. INTERNET

I have to echo The Amys here. This is the number one time-suck to my writing time. It always stars out innocent enough. Check an email. May write one (that counts as writing, right? Didn’t think so.)

Look in on Facebook. Click a link. Then another. Next thing I know, I’m dosed with some cyber goodness such as the like of the Burrito Bison, The Annoying Orange, and Phil in the Whaaat? For those of you who clicked the links, you’re welcome… or sorry, as the case may be.

*For full disclosure, I spent more than a half hour playing on those sites just now, getting their URL. Stupid internet goodness.

2. Cleaning House

Sound odd? Well, when I’m in need of a good excuse not to write, I suddenly find the state of my house unacceptable. Dusting, mopping, dishes and laundry take immediate priority. And for those of you who don’t know me, I hate each and every one of those activities. Yet somehow at times, they seem like a better idea than tackling that difficult plot, character or setting. My wife might string me up, but I must cut out the cleaning.

3. Be Selfish, Not Selfless

This is the hardest one for me. I want to put everyone else before me. I want the best for my family, and I want to be the one to do it for them. My wife and I have a good balance in that regards. It took us several years to get it right, and there might be a hiccup now and again, but we make it work. My problem is crumbling for my kids. How can I resist when my two-year-old pats the ground next to her and says, “Come on Daddy. Sit. Sit.” Answer: I can’t. And do I just ignore when my son brings wild snakes he’s caught into the house? Answer: A resounding NO!

I’m getting better, I limit my time on the internet. I barely touch it on the weekends, and house cleaning is limited to designated days. Eventually I’ll be able to sneak away more for myself. As the kids get older, they’re less entertained by Dad. That’ll hit harder one day, but for now it’s a small light at what feels like a very long tunnel.

What do you need to avoid? Are you successful? Any and all tips are appreciated.

3 Things I Need to Stop Doing and Write Instead

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Every writer has the best intentions. (I’m going to finally write that novel. Yay me!)

A lot of writers have overly ambitious intentions. (I am going to write a bestselling novel this weekend. Just watch me!)

And many writers get in their own way. (I’ll get back to that novel after I finish this level of WoW. *yawn*)

Me included. I don’t play Warcraft, but I do find that a lot of unnecessary things suddenly become very important when I’m starting a new project.

Call it Resistance. Call it fear. Call it laziness. Whatever it is, I need to call it out and get back to work.

Here are the 3 things I need to stop doing and write instead.

1. Internet

Stupid internet. Stupid, wonderful internet. Why must you be so shiny? So often I start a new story, new page, new sentence and then, boom. As soon as I get to that first hesitation where that initial idea runs its course and I have to think up the next thing, I flip open a browser page and see what fascinating bit of distraction there is to entice me. It’s like a nervous tic. A foolish consistency. It’s much easier to see what pictures from Pinterest people are posting on Facebook than write that next sentence.

I need to stop avoiding the hard work and start writing.

2. QueryTracker

QueryTracker is awesome. What an incredible resource for writers. I love it. I’m kind of addicted to it. Especially the “watch” feature. Now that I’m querying agents, I’m checking my watch alerts, researching who reps who and what, adding agents to my lists. And that’s all well and good. But I’m spending too much time reading other people’s updates about agents than writing my new project.

I need to stop obsessing and start writing.

3. Worry

I worry. There. I said it. All kinds of thoughts fill my head when I’m writing and when I’m not. Am I a hack? Will I get an agent? Will the agent who requested the full like my novel? Is this the new project I should be working on, or the other one? Am I getting the tone/voice/setting/mood/sentence structure of this chapter right? What if I don’t find an agent? Should I self-publish? What if I’m just a hack and not good at this? What if the world is ending and I’m wasting my time writing this book? Ugh. It’s an endless battle.

The thing about writing, though, is it brings me such joy. And if I can ignore the worry wart in my brain and write, I’m transported out of that mindset altogether. Writing is a great remedy.

I need to stop worrying and start writing.

What do you need to stop doing so you can start writing?

Setting Fires

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Confession: I’ve been setting fires.

I’ve been sending out query letters. Writing new chapters. Plotting new novels and scheming up new stories. I’ve been ramping up my coding skills and mapping out new media projects.  I’ve been adding artwork to my gallery at Society6, and creating new content for my freelance design work site. I’ve been sketching and painting and sculpting and dreaming.

All of them, little fires.

Now I’m fanning the flames, wishing them all to gain traction and run wild.

The Wizard Made Me Do It

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I’m going to do something a bit different for my book review. I’m going to tell you about a book that I’m not done reading. (Truthfully, if you’ve read my other blog, you know that’s a load of hogwash. I do it all the time.) It’s captured my attention and I don’t think I could’ve waited until another From the Stacks week to tell you about it.

Wizards: Magical Tales from the Masters of Modern Fantasy is an anthology edited by Jack Dann and features a hoard authors, including Neil Gaiman, Garth Nix, Gene Wolfe, Orson Scott Card, Elizabeth HandEoin Colfer, and Tad Williams just to name a few. Quite obviously this anthology revolves around one of fantasy’s favorite patriarch, the wizard. Although, as some of the stories point out, not every wizard has to be male.

I’ve heard of at least half of the names in this collection, guaranteeing my purchase. And with the exception of the first story by Neil Gaiman, all are original works. The Neil Gaiman story, “The Witch’s headstone” is actually a chapter from his novel, The Graveyard Book. No complaints here. It’s an award-winning story and stands alone beautifully.

But the main reason I’m bringing this collection to your attention is for the authors I’m not familiar with. Granted they might be known to you or someone else, but to me they were new. Authors like Jane Yolen, who wrote a story about a Jewish wizard, and Patricia A. McKillip, with the story of teen wizard on her most important day, her Naming Day. Before I read them in this book, I’ve never heard of them. Now I’m going to actively look for something else by them.

It can be difficult to find new authors to read and Identify with their stories. Word of mouth is good, but not always reliable. Anthologies are a great way to find new author while enjoying the ones you already like. I personally would like to recommend Wizards, but any anthology with an author you like in it could be just as rewarding.

Cold Seeps (Part 1)

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This week we’re doing  a round robin story — a story written in three parts by the three of us. This story is inspired by the news of James Cameron’s adventure into the Mariana Trench. Below is part one. Part two will be posted on Wednesday, and part three on Friday. Hope you enjoy!

Cold Seeps

At the control panel,Trevor stared headlong into the last half-hour of his shift. Day shift, night shift, who knew anymore. 35,000 feet below, it was only midnight all the time. He flipped the port-side sensors to long-range and yawned. Maybe a few hours in the UV tank would wake up his brain.

Stone tapped on the portal door twice, a cold ping ping. “Want anything from the galley?” He jabbed a wooden toothpick between his teeth and probes. “I’m thinking tuna fish, myself.”

Trevor groaned. “How can you eat that? I eat the tuna and I’m on the john for a week.”

“Nothing, then?”

“Not for me, thanks.”

Stone tapped two more times — ping ping — and his footsteps faded down the hallway. Trevor pulled the report binder from the file shelf and flipped it open to the current page. Clicking the ballpoint open-closed four times, he wrote the day’s date in the left-most column. When the ink formed the last number, he stopped, holding the tip still on the page and making the calculations in his mind. Five months, fourteen days. A long time in the deep. And what to show for it? Pale skin and a serious lack of social interaction. Not that either of those mattered so much. Not as though he had much action above surface. He penned the shift’s counts and readings into each column of the report, noting the most exciting moment at 05:14:37 when a black dragon fish passed the starboard panel, catching Trevor’s eye with its green glow.

Stone returned balancing a carafe of coffee and two tuna fish sandwiches on rye. He fell into the seat at control station two, and spread his dinner (lunch?) out among the keyboards, knobs and switches. “Anything to report?”

Trevor looked at him dead pan and slapped the binder closed.

“You read the new contract?” Stone pulled the wrapping from the first sandwich as though peeling a banana.

Banana. A word picture formed in Trevor’s mind so bright he could almost smell the sweet, tropical flesh. “Haven’t got mine yet.”

“Mph?” Stone swallowed. “Got mine yesterday. You gonna sign back up?”

Trevor shrugged. There were advantages to living below. Peace and quiet. Minimal interaction. He’d learned to meditate and speak French. And he’d written nearly three-quarters of his novel to boot. Amazing what one could accomplish when free of distractions — other than the eight hours out of every twenty-four. But no one had done more than six months below. No one knew the long-term effects. This crew would be the first. The guinea pigs. “Murphy?”

“Ah, yeah.” Stone nodded, pushing food aside to make room for speaking. “He’s re-upped. Said the Mrs. agreed, no hesitation.”

The compensation was hard to turn down.

Trevor sniffed and rubbed his eyes. He’d probably just missed his contract among the other papers and rigmarole from Command. “Yeah. I probably will, too.”

“Racquetball at fourteen hundred?”

“Naw, not today, man. I’m gonna hit the tank. Need some V’s.” He pushed his chair back and stood. Stretched. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“I’m just going to beat your ass again.”

“Probably.” Trevor returned the report binder to the shelf and picked up his mug and backpack. “Have a good –”

The port-side sensor light switched from green to flashing amber and in a tidy, British accent, a female’s voice — the only female voice Trevor had heard in a long time — cooed, “Alert. Unidentified object located off stern. Distance, four nautical miles. Velocity, 64.7 knots. Vital signs, unconfirmed. Series protocol four-point-two recommended.”

Trevor mouthed the words in disbelief as the message repeated.

Four. Point. Two.

To be continued… 

500 Club (4/19)

Hello Thursday!

I have some writing prompts ready and waiting to be tackled. Carve out a few minutes and give them a try.

Here’s all you’ll need to know:

  1. Write 500 words based on one of the two prompts below.
  2. Post it to your blog.
  3. Give us a small taste in the comments below along with a link to the full text.

As always, feel free to change the name and sex of the characters as you see fit. After all, it’s your story.:

1. Finish this opening: Killing the headlights and coasting up the driveway, the crunch of the gravel under the tires was the only indication he had arrived. He checked the passenger seat again. No turning back now.

2. Work a poem into a 500 word story. The poem can be as long or as short as you like, made up or well-known (just remember to give credit where credit is due).

Three things I need to stop doing (so I can start writing)

We all have roadblocks on the way to getting our butts in the chair. Usually this stuff manifests in the form of the 9-5, the kidlets, sleep. But there are more insidious (aka stupid) creativity-stoppers, ones that come from inside of us. Here are my top three most heinous crimes wrought in the name of procrastination.
3. Internetting: from the Hairpin to the Oatmeal, I have a serious problem.  The worst is when I convince myself that this is part of my daily reading, and I am feeding my imagination with story fodder. Lies. There is a ton of great stuff on the internet, but I’ve yet to get a spark from any of it. Seems that only fiction can give me that juice.
2. Gaming: I usually only have one culprit at a time. Right now it’s Dragonvale.

Ugh, Dragonvale. (Sims + Pokemon) x Gambling, but with DRAGONS. Gotta obsessively breed ‘em all!
1. Daydreaming: Seems innocent, perhaps even necessary, right? It’s not. It’s indulgent nonsense. Either I’m wasting time thinking about that awesome action scene that doesn’t happen until 2/3 through the next book, or I’m imagining serial adventures chock full of juicy melodrama featuring my star-crossed lovers — in the first case it’s a scene I should be writing toward, not farting around mooning over, in the second, it’s usually something I know has no place in the story. Outtakes. Extras. Like fanfic. Like I am mentally writing fanfic for my own unpublished work. Wat. Is. That. (I hope to God I am not the only person who does this, because on the scale of embarrassing admissions, that one goes up to 11).
So now that I have fully outed my worst stupidities, I’ma gonna go WRITE. Hope you do the same.

How I learned to write fiction by studying poetry

I came to fiction through poetry. I didn’t dare write fiction. Who did I think I was, to do something as audacious as write a story? Some nerve, kid. But poetry, here I could express myself, and did. And yet, writing poetry taught me how to write fiction. Here’s my True Life Story.

PART ONE: HOW I MET A REAL LIVE POETESS

I went to a state university aiming to get into a vet med program, and it only took one semester of hopelessly bombing my chem and math lectures to irrevocably crush that idea. So, to the horror of my parents, I changed my major to English. Unfortunately, I was an English major at a school specializing in Agriculture, Engineering, and Veterinary Medicine. I loved my literature classes, but most of my writing classes were not particularly enlightening. It didn’t bother me too much, as, despite having secretly started my first novel, I still didn’t think I could ever be a writer.

All that changed when I met the poetess and professor Diane Wakoski.

I had her for a class on 20th Century American Poetry. And oh, she was tough. A rapier, that woman, slim silver steel. Most of my classmates, who’d signed up in the hopes of Basketweaving 101, were not infatuated.

I was.

I wanted to take everything she taught. As it turned out, the only other thing she taught was a class on writing poetry. I auditioned, got in (probably more on puppyish enthusiasm than anything else) and, after three years of ‘writing classes’, I had my first real introduction to serious critique. I often did well, but also got my first real shred, and sat biting back tears of embarrassment and chagrin as a poem I intended to be an ode to Ursula K. LeGuin was mercilessly flayed to bits.

As well it should’ve been. It stunk.

Though, I was not the only one to flub: one aspiring poet made the same mistakes over and over, never changing his approach. And he took the savaging of his poems personally, every time. Soon he vanished altogether. When we learned he had dropped, the relief in the room was palpable. Although he probably thought us all monsters, no one had enjoyed watching him suffer.

From this I learned: you are not your work. Accept critique and improve your writing, or surrender to ego and abandon your craft.

PART TWO: ON THE TURN

But Professor Wakoski taught me more than how to take a critique like a big girl, which admittedly is not the sole province of the poet. She also taught me about trope. The word trope is from the Greek tropos, or turn. And the turn, as I was taught, is where the heart of poetry hides; that moment of revelation when a poem rears up and kicks you in the heart.

How do we create trope? Through the judicious use of figurative language, such as:

Now, over the years I have often been told by well-meaning writing instructors that I simply cannot use metaphor or simile in my fantasy fiction, because the reader will be confused… because if she sang like a nightingale, did she actually turn into a nightingale?

To which I say, heartily, BULLSHIT.

Readers aren’t dumb, and if you clearly establish the rules in your fictional world, delineating what’s possible and what’s not, you can do anything you want with language. This ridiculous attitude that fantasists and science fiction writers cannot use figurative language lowers the quality of writing in speculative fiction, and it needs to stop already.

When we play with language, we have the power to create something that resonates, that lasts. All the parts of poetry should have a space in the fiction writer’s toolbox. Metaphor and simile are your friends, they add richness and flavor and yes, poetry, to your writing. Whatever genre you write in, don’t count them out.

After all, whatever we write, we are always striving for the turn, that moment the words rear up and kick your reader in the heart.

 

Further Reading:

Red Bandana by Diane Wakoski
Thanking My Mother For Piano Lessons by Diane Wakoski

If you like these, you can get any one of her collections here. I think Emerald Ice is a good place to start, as it’s sort of a ‘greatest hits’ compilation she curated herself.

Not Much

There’s not much to tell this month. My time has been consumed with buying a new home. I can honestly say I wasn’t prepared for the emotional roller coaster buying a home can cause. Just typing this post is causing some hair to lose its will to hold on to my scalp.

The writing is sparse and rather home-buying related. I’ve seriously slacked and have put my energies elsewhere. I have no doubt that’s adding to the roller coaster.

Soon the ride will be over. Please, please, let it be over soon. At which time I’ll pick the up the slack and write away in my new digs.

Best of luck in your own writing endeavors.

500 Club (4/5)

Can you believe it’s Thursday already? Time for the 500 Club!

Before we get to today’s prompts, here’s a quick recap of the rules.

  1. Choose one of the prompts below.
  2. On your blog, write a 500-word story or scene based on the prompt.
  3. Post a teaser to your story in the comments below with a link to where we can read the rest.

Ready to write?

Here are today’s prompts:

1. Write a suspenseful scene, using tone, setting and dialogue as your building blocks. Avoid being heavy-handed and obvious. Whether or not you resolve the tension at the end of the scene is up to you.

…or…

2. Write a cafe scene. Avoid any and all clichés.

Have fun!

Breaking that tape

I confess: nothing too salacious this month. I’ve been a good girl, I’ve been working my tail off, and the finish line is in sight. I just have to write one new scene, make two minor edits, and do the final readthrough (this will be the THIRD final readthrough, so it should be smooth sailing) and I’ll be ready to start the querying process for my high fantasy novel, The Afflicted. It should, barring unforseen disaster, be ready to go this month.

I’ve got spreadsheets of agent data, and plan to stagger my queries in groups of five or so, so I don’t hit all my most likely matches at once. That way I’ll have time to correct my course if I’m not even scoring nibbles with my initial rounds of querying.

It’s a weird feeling, to know that something I’ve worked on for so many years is almost finished. I mean, I’ve been working onThe Afflicted since 2004. It’s older than my marriage, older than my child. It’s also not the first novel I’ve written, but the first two were not worth trying to salvage. Which is fine by me; there is nothing wrong with practicing an art until you feel you’ve gotten the hang of it. And, having a perfectionist streak, it also means knowing what to let go and what to keep working with.

I’m scared, and excited, and ready for something new. Hopefully fate will be kind as I prepare to take this next step. If it isn’t, I guess I’ll keep writing anyway, as I’m too pigheaded to do anything else.

500 Club (3/29)

Let’s take a break from the Round Robin story to give you a chance stretch your creative muscle too. Use these prompts to go crazy. Break outside of your normal writing style. It’s only 500 words. How hard can that be? Give it a try. Even Bat Boy can do it.

Here’s all you’ll need to know:

  1. Write 500 words based on one of the two prompts below.
  2. Post it to your blog.
  3. Give us a small taste in the comments below along with a link to the full text.

As always, feel free to change the name and sex of the characters as you see fit. After all, it’s your story.:

1. Finish this opening: Bill had no problem showing his home. The rooms were clean, the appliances new, and the walls completely repaired. He doubted seriously anyone would notice the…

2. Pick a headline from any news source you like, the wackier the better. Off-beat tabloids are the best for these. Now, without reading the story, create your own.