Category Archives: Writing

Good Progress, Good Weather

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I spent last week with my daughter. Fun was had, the changing-for-the-better weather was enjoyed, and I did pretty much no work at all. Well, I did have to write what I’d call a “volunteer piece” for a group, and I do have a couple of Just For Fun projects I’m tinkering with, but it was mostly a vacation.

Now I’m back to the grind. And by “grind” I mean reading the first draft of the novel I finished a couple of weeks ago and taking notes on the manuscript.

Fun fact: OS X’s “Preview” application lets you take notes on PDF files directly. Red ink, crossing things off, highlighting other things–you can even drop “margin notes” anywhere you’d like. That’s some fancy sci-fi, tree-saving technology, that is.

Anyway, I was expecting this reading and note-taking–which is all prep for the second draft–would take a week or two. As it turns out, I think I’ll count myself lucky if I’m done in less than a month.

I’d somehow forgotten how much different reading for revision is than reading for its own sake. I’m lucky if I get ten pages done in an hour, usually it’s closer to five. With the manuscript being 324 pages…let’s just say I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s still fun. So far, anyway. I’ve mentioned before I tend to write close to the bare metal on the first draft, and only really flesh things out on the second pass. So in a way, this is still creative, engaging work. It’s only on the third and subsequent drafts–where I’m playing Move the Comma–that things get tiresome.

That said, don’t let me fool you. The week hasn’t been all work and no play for this dull boy. With the weather doing wonderful things, I’ve been going outside more often and even ended up taking my bicycle out today for a total of five miles of traffic-dodging fresh air.

I tell ya, nothin’ gets the ol’ heart rate up like weaving your way between distracted idiots and their two-ton death machines.

First Draft of [To Be Determined] – A Postmortem

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I finished the first draft of a new novel yesterday. And before you ask, no, I’m not set on a title yet.

In case you might be wondering just what it is I do to get a first draft done, I’ve tried to write as good a description of my “process” as I could manage below. Maybe you’ll recognize some of your own “process.”

The Workbench

In my mind, I have a workbench. When I get an idea, I bring it over to the workbench and see if there’s anything to it. I tinker, get a piece or two together, then I walk away.

Later, I’ll wander over to the bench again and see what’s there. I have lots of projects on it, all at various stages. I’ll pick one up, turn it over, tinker with it, then walk away again. I keep up with this almost-idle tinkering until I notice myself keep going back to the same project, over and over again, and not working on anything else between sessions.

That’s how I know what I want to write.

There are elements of this novel which have been hanging around on my workbench for years, but it was only in the last few months that it really started coming together. I kept rolling the central ideas around in my head and reached a point where it was the only thing I wanted to work on.

False Starts

Imagine a rugged explorer following a map to buried treasure. He finds the “X,” digs up the spot, and unearths an ancient chest. But when he opens the chest, he finds just another map. It’s similar to the one he was following, but just different enough that he has to go back to the beginning in order to discover where his treasure hunt will really lead.

That’s how first drafts are for me.

I’ll go in with an idea, write, and see what I unearth. Sometimes I get what I expected, but most of the time I’m surprised, and find the real story buried under the one I was playing with. Then it’s back to the beginning I go.

The draft I just finished was the result of Attempt #3. I have two other, partial drafts for the same idea, which I wrote and set aside before starting the one I just wrapped up. Each of those false starts is a little more than 20,000 words long.

What? Me Funny?

When I write, I like to push myself in some way. I want to do something I’ve never tried before, or work at something I don’t think I’m good at.

For instance, let’s say you don’t think you’re very good at writing love scenes. Let’s further say that, as you’re working on a story, you notice there’s an opportunity for a romantic subplot which could work really well–if you could pull it off. I say go for it, challenge yourself.

If it doesn’t work, you can always take it out and pretend it never happened. But what if it does work?

In my case, I’ve never written much in the way of comedy. Sure, I’ve written some humorous essays and tossed a funny line or scene into my fiction from time to time, but I’ve never written fiction where humor is omnipresent.

When I got to know the characters in this book, and saw they had some real, comedic potential, I decided let them have at it instead of trying to rein them in.

I think it worked out pretty well, or at least well enough to give me hope. We’ll see what happens once the second draft is done.

It’s a Process

Everything I know about writing a first draft was best summed up by Yogi Berra years ago: “It ain’t over ’til it’s over.”

I fiddle with an idea, put it aside, pick it up, rework it, start writing, set it aside, start again from the beginning…It’s a work in progress and I’m never convinced I’ll pull it off until I’ve written the final sentence. And even then, I know there’s a second draft, waiting just around the corner, ready to knock everything apart.

I’ve written somewhere around 500,000 words since I started taking my writing seriously a year and a half ago, and less than half of them managed to escape into the wild. The rest? They’re sitting in files on my hard drive, like Oregon-Trail-esque headstones marking my journey–including a novel I “finished” last year, and a 67,000-word false start on another.

Getting a first draft done is less about being able to write than it’s about being able to throw away what I’ve already written. That’s what works for me, anyway. What works for you?

My Version of the Writer’s Life

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I’ve had several conversation recently which all followed the same basic template.

Other Person: “Oh, you’re a writer?”

Me: “Ostensibly.”

Other Person: “Cool. I could never do something like that. I need more structure.”

Me: Puzzled Silence

For some reason, this small cluster of people–whom I don’t believe know each other–is under the impression that being a writer consists of sleeping until noon, writing a few pages, then going to parties filled with beautiful people and open bars.

Is that true? If that’s what writers do then I seriously missed the memo. I’m also kind of pissed that absolutely none of my fellow writers told me I’ve been doing it wrong.

My life, on a good day, looks more like this:

6:00 AM – 7:00 AM

Wake up, try to get my coffee into the right orifice, and check my email.

7:00 AM – 8:00 AM

Catch up on my various feeds, get a second pot of coffee brewing, and fire up Scrivener.

8:00 AM – 12:00 PM

Crank out at least 2,000 words no matter the cost, yell at the phone every time it rings, cry a little whenever I start to worry I’m wasting my one and only youth sitting in front of a monitor writing something no one would ever want to read anyway.

12:00 PM – 1:00 PM

Try to knock a few things off my to-do list, realize I’ve already burned out every braincell I had getting the writing done, wonder how much wider my ass can get sitting in a chair for so many hours a day.

1:00 PM – 9:00 PM

Stumble about my house like a zombie, realize I’m becoming totally isolated from my fellow humans, wonder how I’m going to get [insert character name here] into [insert place name here] to do [insert activity here] without [insert character name here] noticing in the next chapter.

9:00 PM

Go to bed, feeling only slightly ashamed that I’m doing so a full hour before my parents, even though I’m only in my mid-thirties.

Of course, an actual day is never a perfect impression of the schedule. I have appointments, meetings, errands to run, walks to take, and racquetball to play. Still, the above does a pretty good job of describing my “normal” routine, and it’s a far cry from the unstructured writer’s life I’ve recently heard about.

So, have you been holding out on me or what? What does your daily routine look like?

More importantly, where’s the open bar?

Wherein I Talk About Art

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The topic of art and what it is has been cropping up in my life lately. I’ve had no less than three conversations about it or related subjects in the last two weeks. Conversations like these tend to follow a pattern:

Me: “I really enjoy [insert name of book, song, or performance piece here].”

Other Person: “What? How can you like that!?! It’s completely devoid of merit!”

Me: “Get off my lawn.”

If you’ve read any of my book reviews, you’ll know that the first–and often only–question I ask about a novel is: “Was I entertained?” If the answer is “yes,” then the book gets a good review. Sure, I might be able to pick nits about the author’s use of the English language, and I might have something critical to say about this or that character, but that’s all minor stuff.

Did I have fun reading it? That’s what matters.

The same general principle holds for any art form. I like the music I like, the paintings and sculptures I enjoy, and the photographs which fascinate me. I usually don’t spend a lot of time dissecting why I like a particular piece or whether there’s any “artistic merit” to it.

You know what qualifies something as “art?” Whether or not you can answer “yes” to these two questions:

  1. Was it unnecessary?
  2. Was it done on purpose?

That’s the only, remotely objective test I’ve ever seen of whether or not something is art.

When you start throwing out subjective pronouncements like “X is good art” and “Y is bad art,” you lose me–because all you’re really doing is saying whether or not you like the piece you’re talking about. Or, worse, what you have to say so your art critic friends don’t kick you out of the club.

Life’s too short to devote breath and brain cells to the question of whether or not your favorite novel is worthy of the trees killed for it’s production. Just read the damn thing and enjoy yourself. And maybe laugh at the people who think every author has to be Oscar Wilde.

Errands Erased my Energy

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‘Tis the greatest day o’ tha year!

No, I won’t write like a pirate for this entire post, but I do enjoy September 19. Be sure to spread the pirate love.

Anyway, it’s the final check-in for this Round of Words in 80 Days. For those of you arriving late to the party, I’ve pretty much done my own version of a wrap-up over the last couple of weeks. Between poorly-chosen goals, poorly-chosen metrics, and a poorly-behaving brain toward the end I can’t say I’m finishing out the round with warm and fuzzy feelings.

Rather than belabor what I’ve already belabored, I figured I’d use this post to share what I learned about my own processes. That is, point out the silver lining in the gray storm cloud that comprised the last round.

Then I had to go grocery shopping and the store decided half the things I wanted to buy were no longer necessary. Also, vegan burgers are things which almost don’t exist. Every “veggie” burger brand I checked contained egg whites. It wasn’t until I met a strange old man in the back of the store, said the super-secret vegan password, and performed the required even-more-secret-than-super handshake that I was led to the one brand which makes actual vegan burgers.

Needless to say–but I’ll say it anyway–I’m tired. I got nothin’. The only wisdom I can share about my first experience with ROW80 are these two bits which I just don’t have the energy to elaborate on:

1. Leave room for yourself when choosing your goals.

2. Don’t use the words “at least.”

Oh screw it, I will elaborate a bit.

Writers, especially those still struggling to “make it,” seem to have a natural tendency toward biting of more than we can chew. Between family, day jobs, appointments, dead batteries, wasp infestations, and typhoid epidemics we struggle to find the time to write. Or the time to promote ourselves. Or whatever it is we think we should be doing right now to further our writing career.

Stop.

You don’t have to stop right now. Nor do you have to stop so often or for so long it’s hard to get started again. But you do need to stop once in a while and find time for your brain to unwind. And I have two reasons for saying that.

The first is the standard parroting of that time-honored phrase “life is short.” It really is. Sooner, rather than later, you’ll reach the point where you have more memories than future experiences. Take time to build some good ones.

The second is a practical reason. Ideas can come at any time, but the best ideas come when they’re least expected. That’s my observation anyway. I go for a walk, say hello to the friendly dog down the street, and find myself accidentally solving a problem with my current WIP. Or coming up with the seed of an idea for the next one.

Don’t try to mimic a machine in a factory and attempt to use every waking moment productively. Because sometimes, a little time taken for yourself might just turn out to be the most productive time of the day.

That leaves us with the second bit of wisdom I picked up. Don’t use the words “at least” when deciding on goals. Make goals a finish line, not par for the course. I’ve seen a lot of goals like “I will read at least one book a week.” I even wandered into this round with them.

Don’t.

The problem with a goal like this is you can never win. I can’t, anyway. With a goal like the above, you can start a book on Sunday, be done by Thursday, and be kicking yourself by Saturday for not reading two. Anything you do above and beyond your goals should feel like a bonus. It should make you feel like you’ve gotten ahead. Like you’re winning.

As soon as you bring in the words “at least,” you’ve taken away that possibility. And if you’re like me, you’ll be kicking yourself for not exceeding your goals.

Anyway, that’s what I’m taking away from this round. I’ll be jumping into the next one having looked before I leap, with a better chosen set of goals.

How’d your round turn out?