NaNoWriMo: One Week Down, Three to Go

Well, the first week of NaNoWriMo is behind me. The first couple days, as I successfully wrote my target word count (about 1700), walked my dog, did some freelance work, made it to work on time, continued to plan my wedding, AND made progress on the anthology I’m editing, I thought, “Hey, nothing to this! I’m going to be just fine!”

By the end of the week, I remembered, “Oh yeah — I have to keep up this pace all month long.”

So far, I’ve written at my kitchen table, on my couch, in a random library in South Dakota, at a coffee shop, at the library where I work, and at my fiance’s half-finished house. This week, I plan to expand those locales to an airplane and a hotel room in Florida. I’ve fueled my writing with Powerbars, green tea, coffee, and Starbursts. And although I’m already exhausted, I’m grateful for the reminder NaNo gives me that, when there’s a will, there’s a way. There are so many excuses not to write, but in my performance-obsessed little finisher brain, during NaNo I make writing a priority and I find a way to make it work. No, I can’t keep up this pace all year long. But what I can do is remember how I managed to steal half an hour here, twenty minutes there, to write. And hopefully, I will keep doing that. Because if nothing else, NaNo at least makes me feel like a real writer.

My intention was to be a little more relaxed about NaNo this year, but so far, that ain’t really happening. I went to my first write-in last weekend, and found myself annoyed that most of the participants sat around talking about their novels instead of writing them (so I sequestered myself at the bar and kept driving toward that word count.) But I did have a virtual write-in with the friend who convinced me to do NaNo this year, and I exchanged several emails with another friend who is trying it for the first time. And since then, I’ve wondered if those folks who annoyed me at the coffee shop had something right. For a lot of people, NaNo is about the shared experience more than the word count. I’ve never been a social writer, but one thing I want to learn this November is to let go just a little bit. I’ve successfully been able to let go of the desire for perfection that keeps many people’s word counts low, I’ve successfully been able to embrace the mantra of “quantity not quality.” But next, I want to find a way to hold this “driven-ness” that overtakes me during NaNo a little more lightly, so that I might, once in a while, choose sitting around to chat over my word count. And so, at the end of it all, I can feel both accomplished and sane. A girl can dream!

Book Release Party: Eye of the Wolf

Last week, I had the privilege of traveling to Duluth for Marie Zhuikov’s book release party. As she gave a presentation about the plight of the wolves on Isle Royale and how her book figured into that, I found myself flashing back to moments spent reading the manuscript on my parents’ couch in the middle of the night, making comments by the light of a small lamp; or curled up on the couch of my best friends in the twin cities, cozy indoors with wolves while a Minnesota winter loomed just outside the windows. I’m not sure of all the places life will take me as I read the published version of Eye of the Wolf, but I can’t wait to find out!

Marie is the first writer in my five-member speculative fiction writers group to publish a full-length book, and her success feels like a success for all of us — not just because we worked on the manuscript (and got a nifty mention in the acknowledgments!), but also because we know that Marie is “just like us” — a professional, dedicated, creative writer, yes, but also a woman who holds a full-time job (with freelance work on the side), is raising kids, walks her dog, and loves sweet potato fries. She’s a real person and not an elusive “author,” just as we all strive to be. With Marie’s success, it feels ever more attainable.

Marie’s book might be classified as a “paranormal romance,” but any genre label feels too small for it. Taking place in 1985 and based on Marie’s own experiences as a waitress on Isle Royale and her extensive research into wolf behavior (and the wolves on Isle Royale in particular), the book examines what might happen if the wolves on the island took the matter of their dwindling numbers into their own hands. They need to mate with new wolves to improve their gene pool, but the island setting doesn’t allow them to encounter new wolves. So the alpha male and female decide that they must “join” with two humans who will then help the wolves reach the mainland, their one hope for survival. What follows is a non-traditional werewolf story with such beautiful descriptions of setting that you might be booking a trip to Isle Royale for your next vacation. And when you do, you know the perfect reading material to bring with you.

[The book is still too new to be available online, but you can purchase a copy directly by contacting the publisher, North Star Press: E-Mail: info@northstarpress.com, Phone: (320)558-9062. I'll update this post with links for purchasing the book online when they become available.]

Work in Progress: How Much Do You Share?

I’ve read the writing advice that one should not “talk about” one’s writing project before the first draft is complete. The idea is that, by talking about it, you’ll dispel some of the urgency, you’ll work through in speech what you would’ve worked out on paper, and that your idea will lose a little bit of its magic.

I try not to be one of those writers who is always yapping about my writing projects to anyone who breathes (luckily, I have a writers group at which we can all mutually yap about writing), but I have to admit that when an interested party presents her or himself, I have a hard time resisting diving right into the details. Last weekend, my fiance asked me how my Rumplestiltskin story was coming along. The seed that became the story came from something he said to me on Skype one night, so he has a bit of a vested interest in this particular tale. So I told him what I’d written already, as well as what I foresaw coming soon. I talked about it a lot, but I didn’t give away the ending.

When I got back home, it felt like it had been the right thing to do. His enthusiasm for what I told him about the story rekindled my enthusiasm for it, and my motivation to work on it. Yet, after I sat down to write a few scenes, I wondered if talking about it had taken away a bit of the crackle of mystery and secrecy that might have propelled me forward even more.

Ultimately, I think that anything that gets you back in your seat to write is a good thing, and this conversation did that for me even if it did dispel a bit of the dramatic tension I felt within myself. I can see where the advice not to talk about your work-in-progress comes from–I think we all know a writer or two who loves to talk about the books they “plan” to write, but who never actually gets anything written–but I also don’t think it applies in every situation, all the time (honestly, what kind of advice does?)

What about you? Do you share details about your work in progress? If so, with whom? And if not, why not?

Poem #15, Writers Group, and a Meeting w/ a Publisher

Cats for a Day

Every morning I used to ask my cat,
“Why don’t we switch things up a bit?
This time, you go to work,
and I lay around all day.”

She blinked, chirped, walked away.
I grumbled about how some people
just don’t pull their own weight.

But do you remember the time
we decided to play cats-for-the-day?
More commonly known
as playing hooky.

You had the day off work
and I had a bit of an ache in my arms
and my period –
not enough to keep me home,
except that you looked so cozy
in your bed, goading me:
“You should do it. Call in sick
and hang out with me.”

For seven years we shared small spaces
cheered each other up onto our soap boxes
had conversations in broken Spanish
played guitars and cards at the kitchen table.
Even then, I knew those nights of movies
and reading books aloud
were our glorious moments of stretching out
basking in the sun
just because it was there.
Two kittens dashed across
slippery tile floors
as two women lay on two sides
of the same wall
and reached out their voices
where their hands didn’t touch.
Except for the nights when talking
wasn’t enough and my body shook
and the tears came rushing down my face
as fast as you came rushing into my room.

But then one day, you wore an expensive white dress
and we had a big party
and that meant that it was time for you to share
small spaces with someone else,
curled up with him in bed just like
kittens curled up on the couch.

And so I have no regrets
about the half lie I once told
so that I could spend the day
beside you on a scratchy green couch.
Not an ounce of guilt
for when we finally gave in
to our desire to be
cats for a day.

I think I can officially count myself “caught up” for that one missing poem, since I technically wrote three poems on Saturday night, all of them about my childhood relationship with My Little Ponies (there was a My Little Pony pic that I used as a prompt in my Picto-Journal). Two of them were terrible, and really what just felt like a ‘warm-up’ for the third, which might actually be worth salvaging. But nobody ever said these poem-a-day creations had to be good! (If that were the case, I wouldn’t be able to count the dreadful six-liner I jotted out last night while my boyfriend was in the bathroom, but count it I did!!)

I met with my writers group tonight via webcam, which was an exciting change full of the suspense of wondering what-in-the-world-the-person-on-the-other-end-might-be-saying. Dropped connections, distorted voices, and frozen videos abound, but it was still really lovely to hear the voices and see the faces of my writing posse. They’ve promised to scope out better Internet possibilities. Technology could be so wonderful if only it would work!

I’ve been saving the best bit for last: I have a phone meeting on Friday with a publisher who is interested in an anthology of young, Catholic voices. I fielded his “fan-mail” to one of the Young Adult Catholics blog writers last week and decided to respond with a bit of a pitch. We had interest from a Catholic publisher over a year ago in doing a similar project, but his team decided our voices were just too dissident for their press. The press I’ll be talking with on Friday is much more comfortable with dissidence–and that’s the kind of press I like!

If You Love Poetry (or even if you don’t)

Tomorrow, July 31, is the last chance to submit poetry to WEbook’s Poetry Vote. Even if you don’t submit poetry, WEbook is worth checking out for the writers’ community it provides. When I put a few of my poems up, I didn’t expect to get much feedback on them, since I didn’t have time to really develop my relationship with the community there. Plus, the community is HUGE, and I suspected my poems would get lost amidst so much writing. But I received several comments, suggesting that this community really does what it says it does — connects writers with one another to improve everyone’s writing. Now that things are slowing down a bit, I plan to return the favor by leaving feedback on a few pieces.

If you DON’T love poetry, there’s a place for you, too. WEbook is teaming up with Level 4 Press for an upcoming anthology called “I hate poetry.” Even if you aren’t a WEbook member, you can submit your writing directly to Level 4.

Amateur Writers — Who, us?

Every morning, I read publications for writers before I come here. This morning, I read an article in The Writer about writer’s block that advised writers not to share unfinished work with their writers group, proclaiming that sharing such work would simply lead to “the blind leading the blind.”

Whoa. On behalf of my writers group and writers groups everywhere, I felt affronted. Now, the author of the article happens to be a professional story analyst–someone who gets paid to critique authors’ work. Methinks she had a tad bit of personal interest in writers not finding good writing groups. I also get paid to critique other people’s work, but I wouldn’t wish lack of a writers’ group on anyone. In fact, after my move, I’m going to make my best efforts to return here once a month so I can continue working with my group. Here’s why:

Although the writers in my group may not be professional editors, they are readers who are experienced in my genre. Not only that, but they bring something to the table most casual readers don’t: an understanding of what goes on “behind the scenes” when writing. That means that they don’t passively read; they read with an eye to how you crafted the story, and how they could envision it differently. And no matter what anyone tells you, agents, editors, and “story analysts” are really just glorified readers. If you want to improve your writing, having readers is the first step.

Unfortunately, most fledgling authors don’t have a ton of readers. This can make it all-too-easy to get mired in self-doubt or self-aggrandizement. It can also reduce any sense of accountability.  A writers’ group expects you to have written something new before the next meeting. It gives you feedback when you feel totally stuck. It can give you the motivation to go on, knowing that somebody out there wants to see what happens next. It can also give you a new way to envision your story, making you more likely to rewrite or refocus and less likely to abandon your work.

If someone were simply to listen in on our writers’ group to try to glean some pearls of writing wisdom, they’d likely leave frustrated and confused. One moment, we’re telling a writer that she’s said too much, telling the readers “what we already know.” The next minute, we’re pressing her to include MORE details or to make the connection between events more explicit. There isn’t a single writing rule that applies all the time (i.e.: always give lots of details; always be subtle; always be explicit). It’s all about context — and the only way to truly get the context is to be a reader.

Now, there is something to be said for not letting your writers group dictate your life (or your story). I think the bit of (misguided) advice about not showing your work to “amateurs” may be rooted in a belief that “amateurs” will give bad advice and steer you wrong. But as a writer, it’s YOUR job to work through the feedback and decide what will steer you right, what will steer you wrong. Sure, you might get feedback with which you disagree (consider it carefully anyway), and you might decide to ignore it. That’s both your perogative, and your duty: you must stay true to the story you’re telling. Ultimately, you’re NOT selling your story to your writers group, and therefore, you have no obligation to make the changes they suggest. You can disregard the advice that isn’t helpful — just as I’ve blithely disregarded this crazy bit of advice about not sharing work with a writers group.

6 Tips on Giving a Good Critique

My writers group meets this Friday, so I’ve spent most of my writing time this week doing critiques. This has me reflecting on what makes a good critique. Below are some of the things I’ve come up with both from being a critiquer and a critique-ee*, with the disclaimer that I don’t always achieve these ideals when I give a critique.

1. Remember that you’re there to help. As one of the first readers of a manuscript, your role  is invaluable. Everything matters — if something made you laugh, let the author know. If something confused the heck out of you, let her know that, too. As nice as it is to hear, “This is perfect, don’t change a thing!”, that’s only helpful if the manuscript really is perfect (and I’ve never read a perfect piece of writing, including published stuff).
2. Be specific. Comments like, “Funny,” or “Sad” jotted beside certain parts of the work are specific enough if the writer can see what you refer to, and they’re helpful in letting him know whether his writing is having the desired effect. But when pointing out something that’s not working, being specific can save a writer a lot of frustration. “I don’t like this,” scribbled beside a paragraph isn’t nearly as helpful as, “I get a little lost in this section because there’s so much information crammed into each sentence.”
3. Establish a hierarchy of concerns. Most writers won’t get every comma or capitalization right on their first draft, but don’t get too fixated on this if it’s the pacing of the action or the character development in the story that needs work. Remember that a lot of a writers’ first drafts will be rewritten, and some of those commas you’ve painstakingly inserted will be deleted and become irrelevant.  Think big picture first, then zero in on “little picture” stuff if the big picture’s lookin’ good. (Of course, you can always be like me, who tries to think big picture but compulsively inserts commas into sentences that will probably be deleted, anyway. It’s like a sickness. I can’t help it.)
4. Use humor. My favorite part of my group’s monthly meetings is the laughter. Humor doesn’t have to poke fun at someone’s writing or be derogatory; all it takes is one critiquer’s misinterpretation of a sentence to have us wiping our eyes with laughter. Humor helps us see all the strange possibilities that exist in every arrangement of words, and  it helps us redirect our sentences toward a clarity that hopefully won’t leave our future readers scratching their heads or smirking at inappropriate times.
5. Remember to point out what you like. Sometimes, as critiquers we get so focused on being “critical” that we forget that our job is to point out what works, too. I’m guilty of letting pages of beautifully writing go by without comment because I’m too enraptured to pick up my pen. But without making a comment about that, the writer doesn’t know whether his pages were perfect or whether I just stopped paying attention.
6. Be kind. No matter how early the draft you’re looking at, a critique should never be needlessly harsh. I’ve learned a lot from my fellow critiquers on this one, as I used to be a pretty harsh critiquer. But remember that a writer is trusting you with something from her mind and her heart, and that producing what you hold before you was hard, gut-wrenching work. Ultimately, your writers group needs to be built on trust, and you create that trust by handling one another’s work with care and respect.

A few that didn’t make the list: read the material you’re critiquing more than once (I never have time to do this, but it’s SO helpful if you do), don’t try to edit everyone’s writing to sound like yours (let your writing be yours, and theirs be theirs), write an “overall impressions” paragraph at the end of a critique, and, of course use fun-colored pens!

* This sounds like a new species of cricket.

Long Drives and Writing

So I did have to forgo my writers’ group tonight (they’re meeting and eating as I speak, the agony!), but in its place I got a long drive, which is one of God’s gifts to writers, along with

1) lawn-mowing

2) showering

3) walks in the woods

4) mindless jobs, like shoving brochures into newspapers all night

5) sleepless nights

6) sports you hate (OK, maybe that one’s not quite so universal — but replace it with ‘job you hate,’ ‘class you hate,’ and you’ll get the idea)

I think everything I’ve ever written has been originally conceived during one of those seven activities. Before I could drive, I got most of my ideas riding the school bus. A man in my writers group (that is meeting without me, alas!) says that when he’s got writers’ block, he goes for a walk, and by the time he gets back home, he knows what will happen. I write first thing in the morning, and if I feel convinced my brain is too empty for it, I take a shower. By the time I’m done, I’ve got a starting point.

There’s actually a science to this moving body + empty mind = creativity, but I’m having trouble articulating it here in my parents’ noisy kitchen. I’ll get back to you on it after a shower.

On Writing Groups

I just got a call from my mom informing me that another winter storm will be rolling through their neck of the woods precisely when I was planning to be driving home for the holidays. I wanted to wait till Friday to leave because tomorrow night I have my writers’ group. I could hear the unasked question in my mom’s tone: “Is that meeting really THAT important?” (i.e.: is it worth missing the chance to get home for the holidays? is it worth putting yourself in dangerous driving conditions?)

And the answer is no. But it is important enough that I feel majorly bummed about missing it. Especially since this was the first time in a long time that all five of us had something to submit, and the first time in over two years that I was sharing something new (up until now, it’s just been the same old story that kept going and going and going . . .). And well, I’m in the midst of bidding for a freelance job writing children’s textbooks, and I wanted to use part of my new novel as the writing sample, but I really didn’t want to include it until *someone* besides me had seen it.

Now I’m stuck in the quandary about whether I procrastinate finishing the application process or just include an excerpt prior to feedback. I think the lesson to be learned here is “thou shalt not become dependent on thy writing group.”

But still, bummer. : (

Step One, Intimacy; Step Two, Distance

I’d like to follow up on yesterday’s post about the vulnerability of putting a lot of “yourself” into your writing. I think that the blurred boundary between self and characters during the writing process is incredibly beneficial. Why would you keep returning to these characters again and again if you weren’t personally invested in them? If you think of them as extensions of yourself, or as your “children,” the thought of neglecting them is rather painful, immoral, even. This is all good. It also ties into my advocacy of honest writing. If you’re truly being honest, sharing your work is going to feel a little scary, whether it’s a first draft of a novel or a letter to the editor.

This kind of intimacy and blurred boundaries are less healthy when revising. That’s why part two of my advice is this: when the first draft’s been written, allow yourself distance. Accept the reality that those characters are NOT you, nor are they your children. When someone doesn’t like what you’ve written, or when a writing buddy does an honest critique — good, bad, and ugly — they are not disliking or criticizing you. Just as a child must “grow up” and learn to differentiate herself from her parents, your writing must “grow up” to exist without you.

So rather than get defensive when someone says something seems unbelievable (“What do you mean?!? That’s how it really happened!!”) or when someone points out that a character comes across as whiny (“What?!? I am NOT a whiner!!!”), take a step back. Don’t jump in to defend yourself or your character-extension-of-self. Let the critique settle with you–it will point you to the truths you might have been too close to the situation to see. Just as the “customer is always right,” the “reader is often right.” Sure, you’ll get readers here and there who clearly want something totally different than what you’ve written, and you have to take their feedback with a grain of salt. Yes, as the writer, you have the ultimate say over what you’ll change and what you won’t (I know I’ve certainly dug my heels in on certain points). But if the reader is telling you she doesn’t buy it, listen. And listen well.

At the end of the Mary Sue Litmus Test, there’s a question that asks, “Do you think of your characters more like tools than like friends/children?” This question has stuck with me since I first read it. Yes, think of your characters as friends and children to motivate you to spend SO much time with them. But after the initial draft, remember that they ultimately are tools, to be wielded and refined as you see fit, for that all-important task of telling your story.