C. S. Rickard

Archive for the ‘writing’ Category

I’ve been working on my novel for several years now. Most of that time was half-hearted effort as my job, house and kids took up so much of my time. As I mentioned in this post, for the first time I can remember, I now have time to myself. I wasted quite a bit of last year trying to figure out what to do with myself (don’t laugh, it’s not as easy as you’d think). However, towards the end of the year I started getting the hang of it. Most of my free weekends I now spend on my novel. I’ve had the time to actually look at and evaluate my writing process and I’ve discovered a few things.

I have tunnel vision when I write. What I mean is that I get so focused on the action of the scene from the characters POV, I have a difficult time backing out of that POV to create the visuals. For example, when I’m in my character’s head and moving through a scene, I only see what they see. I write what the character is doing or saying, showing as much as I can remember to do, but the scenery remains barren.

Once I finish writing a scene, I then need to go back and go through it all again. This time, I don’t write from the main character’s viewpoint. Instead, I step back and describe the details of what’s surrounding her. I’ve repeatedly tried to write both simultaneously and I simply can’t do it. I know what’s there, but it doesn’t come out in words when I’m in ‘character mode.’ At least not yet. Perhaps, with practice, I’ll be able to switch back and forth, but for now, I sink so deep in the character, that it simply isn’t possible for me to go back and forth between the two.

Another thing I’ve discovered is that I’m pretty good with dialogue. It’s definitely my strength. Speech is something that I’ve always had an ear for, as they say. I took French in high school and college and that language always came natural to me, if that makes any sense. I don’t get the chance to speak it very often and have forgotten most of the grammar and vocabulary, but when I do converse with a native speaker, they almost always think I’m a native speaker or compliment me on my accent. Of course, if I have to say more than a few words, then it’s obvious I’m not French! My point, however, is that I’ve always been able to listen to a native speaker of another language and duplicate very closely what they said. I’ve done this with many languages. I think whatever it is that let’s me here small changes in intonation or accent is what allows me to write good dialogue.

It’s nice to know there’s at least one thing I don’t have to work too hard at when I write!

There are also more than a few areas in which I’m weak. The big one is senses. I do okay when describing visual scenes, but I struggle when incorporating the other senses. Usually it’s because I forget to do it. Regardless, this is one area that I’ve noticed the tunnel vision I described above, doesn’t happen to that degree here. I do tend to focus just on the scenery and images, but when I remember to expand beyond sight I can write the other senses in that same frame of mind. It’s just a matter of forcing my brain to make it a normal function of writing instead of an afterthought.

With these new insights, I’ve decided to try a different approach to writing this year. At least until I can determine whether or not it works better for me. As I mentioned on Twitter yesterday, I completely re-wrote chapter two, about 17 pages, in a day. All of that writing was in what I’ll call character mode. Tonight I’ll go back through it and fill in the scenery and background images. I think taking a two pronged approach will work much better for me. It allows me to get the scene written without fighting myself every few paragraphs to write descriptions. Yesterday was the most I’ve ever written in a day, and I did staying completely in character mode. I felt better about it. The story unfolded easily. I actually had a few more details creep in that I hadn’t thought about as I let my character take the reins of what she wanted to do.

If this works out like I hope it does, it shouldn’t take 2 years to finish the book, which is what I’m estimating based on my old process. I’m certainly not going to rush it. I want the book to be the best that I can make it, but if I can do that and finish early…oh yeah!

Holt uncensored had an interesting post about publishing spending and mid-list and debut authors. They used Seth Harwood as an example of what the ‘next generation of authors’ may look like, out of necessity.

While I don’t see myself mimicing Seth’s path to publishing, several of the things he did to get published I view as beneficial and necessary to debut authors. I also agree that given the trend at the publishing houses, it will be incumbant upon the author to essentially market themselves. Of course, that means dipping into personal funds to help get the word out.

You have to spend money to make money.

When I sign a contract (yes — the power of positive thought), I am not anticipating much in the way of an advance. Whatever I do receive will go completely to marketing the book. I still have 2-3 years before I’ll have my manuscript to the point where I’m ready to query an agent, but in the meantime, I’m reading and studying everything I can on marketing books.

I don’t like going into things ignorant. I also don’t like waiting till the last minute to understand something. While I enjoy my spontaneous weekend jaunts occasionally, I’ll admit that I’m a planner. Writing is my dream job. I intend to do everything within my ability to make it a real job.

The other week I posted about finding inspiration for writing. This week, I stumbled across an article that touches on a similar theme. The Millions posted an article called Working the Double Shift.

Here are a few excerpts that I particularly liked in the article:

“[An] element to the way we all think about the conflict between a day job and writing full-time is that even us writers sometimes fall into the fallacy of thinking of writing as a romantic hobby. A hobby isn’t a job, it’s not work – it’s “recreation.” This is why when we say, “I’m going to quit my job and write full-time,” it sounds so romantic and idyllic. It carries images of getting out of bed late, drinking large mugs of tea or coffee, sitting at a desk in your pj’s, staring at the trees through the window, and playing with your muse… But if we match the language to the reality, the phrase would actually read this way:

“I’m going to quit working and work full-time.”

That doesn’t sound romantic at all does it? And, if you talk to full-time, un-famous writers they’ll confirm just how unromantic writing full-time is.”

I completely understand this statement. However, I think the author misplaces this experience solely on writers. The fact is that this can be experienced by most people who work from home, regardless of their profession.

I’ve been telecommuting for over 13 years now. I stumbled into it before it was considered an option for employees. (One of the perks of having a unique set of skills that your employer really doesn’t want to lose!) Every time I tell someone I telecommute one of two things happens. Either they look at me as if it isn’t a real job and probably some kind of part-time hobby thing. Or their eyes glint with wistful affection at the possibility of it happening to them. In both cases they are mistaken. My job is work. My work-day runs from 8-5, longer if I have the rare project that requires over-time.

When I first started telecommuting, working very long hours was easy and seductive. We all know that there’s always something else that needs to be done at the office. When your office is in your house, you can hear the silent whispers issuing from the darkened room at the end of the hallway. Pleas to finish a certain project. Cajoling about how much better you’ll feel when it’s done. After all, everything you need to complete it is right there. All you have to do is walk into the room.

Don’t do it!

I learned a great deal about myself and self-discipline early on. I also discovered that many people do not have the self-discipline to work from home. You need to determine what hours you intend to work and commit to them. There is no slipping off to the couch to watch television or do something else. No sneaking back in the office after dinner to finish ‘just one more thing.’

However, I will disagree with the earlier statements of the quote. I routinely start my day either in shorts and socks or sweats and slippers, depending upon the weather. I rarely wear shoes while working. I don’t do anything except boot up my computer until I have a mug of hot tea in hand. I also tend to keep the hot tea flowing till about noon. (LOVE my hot tea!) And when thinking over a current problem with a project, I always stare out my office window until I figure it out. Once solved, I turn back to the computer and work away.

I find the process of writing very similar.

“At a dinner some months ago, I found myself discussing the problem of earning a living with a couple of other writers. One of them—a mystery writer who writes full time—said something that surprised me: when he wrote his fiction, he said, he felt that he was drawing on experiences that he’d had before he’d quit his day job thirty-five years earlier.

There was a note of wistfulness in his voice that struck me. My sense was that his life as a writer was somewhat isolated. It was interesting to think of work as something that might help one’s writing, rather than as an uncomfortable but unavoidable impediment to it. What secret purposes might our day jobs serve, aside from the obvious advantages of being able to put dinner on the table?“

Again, I can totally relate to this. Telecommuting worked well for me for several reasons. First, my husband at the time had just accepted a job offer in Florida, so remaining in DC wasn’t an option for me. Second, I have three kids and wanted the flexibility of being at home for them after school. That was actually very important to me. When my kids were younger, I had no choice but to use day-care because I simply couldn’t commit my full effort to either them or my job when I tried to keep them home with me. I decided that when they hit school age, they wouldn’t be in day care any longer. And they weren’t. It also allowed me some flexibility to help them with homework after school and make sure they didn’t pig out on junk food before dinner.

This arrangement worked wonderfully for me as someone who had to work full-time but also wanted to be there for her kids as much as possible. However, as with everything in life, there are always down sides. In this case, the biggest draw-back was lack of socialization for me.

While I telecommuted from FL, my company had offices throughout the US: NY, DC, TX, CA, WA, and IL . I also had clients across the US and several countries, but rarely visited any of them. My work was all done remotely from my home office. My colleagues all worked either in company offices or at client sites as I was the only employee who telecommuted. And none of them worked nearby. So, what’s the downside? I didn’t experience the camaraderie of co-workers. There was no going out to lunch together or hitting happy hour after a long meeting. I also had little opportunity to meet people unless they were parents of my kids friends.

I had thrown myself full-time into work and my kids and didn’t make any time for myself, not even to write. I can honestly say that even today, the only person I can think of to call up if I wanted to go do something would be my mom. Yes, I know, beyond pathetic. Yet it’s true. I’m not an extrovert by any stretch of the imagination. I’ve never needed a lot of friends. My best friend lives in CA. I have another college friend up in NY. I know several moms in the the area, but not to the point that I’d call them friends.

I think my particular situation isn’t solely the result of telecommuting for so long, rather a combination of that and my own personality. The consequences are that my experiences from which I draw on for writing can seem distant and veiled because I don’t experience them regularly. This brings me back to the relevance of my post two weeks ago on finding inspiration.

The Millions article raises several points that I think would interest people not accustomed to working in solitary situations. If you are considering writing full-time, I suggest you read the article and do some research on telecommuting. It is a very solitary career choice and one that you need to work at, literally.

Moonrat posted a link to this article on writing by Alexander Chee, based on a class he took with Annie Dillard. The content wasn’t necessarily new to me, however, the way it was written made me think of my own writing on a much deeper level. Below are excerpts from the article I found most relevant:

“In her class, I learned that while I had spoken English all of my life, there was actually very little I knew about it. English was born from low German, a language that was good for categorization, and had filled itself in with words from Latin and Anglo Saxon words, and was now in the process of eating things from Asian languages. Latinates were polysyllabic, and Anglo Saxon words were short, with perhaps two syllables at best. A good writer made use of both to vary sentence rhythms.”

“If you’re doing your job, the reader feels what you felt. You don’t have to tell the reader how to feel. No one likes to be told how to feel about something. And if you doubt that, just go ahead. Try and tell someone how to feel.”

“The passive voice in particular was a crisis. “Was” only told you that something existed—this was not enough. And on this topic, I remember one of her fugues almost exactly:

You want vivid writing. How do we get vivid writing? Verbs, first. Precise verbs. All of the action on the page, everything that happens, happens in the verbs. The passive voice needs gerunds to make anything happen. But too many gerunds together on the page makes for tinnitus: Running, sitting, speaking, laughing, inginginginging. No. Don’t do it. The verbs tell a reader whether something happened once or continually, what is in motion, what is at rest. Gerunds are lazy, you don’t have to make a decision and soon, everything is happening at the same time, pell-mell, chaos. Don’t do that. Also, bad verb choices mean adverbs. More often than not, you don’t need them. Did he run quickly or did he sprint? Did he walk slowly or did he stroll or saunter?”

“Your unique perspective, at this time, in our age, whether it’s on Tunis or the trees outside your window, is what matters. Don’t worry about being original, she said dismissively. Yes, everything’s been written, but also, the thing you want to write, before you wrote it, was impossible to write. Otherwise it would already exist. You writing it makes it possible.”

“She spoke often of “the job.” If you’re doing your job, the reader feels what you felt. You don’t have to tell the reader how to feel. No one likes to be told how to feel about something. And if you doubt that, just go ahead. Try and tell someone how to feel.

We were to avoid emotional language. The line goes grey when you do that, she said. Don’t tell the reader that someone was happy or sad. When you do that, the reader has nothing to see. She isn’t angry, Annie said. She throws his clothes out the window. Be specific.”

“After the lecture on verbs, we counted the verbs on the page, circled them, tallied the count for each page to the side and averaged them. Can you increase the average number of verbs per page, she asked. I got this exercise from Samuel Johnson, she told us, who believed in a lively page, and used to count his verbs. Now look at them. Have you used the right verbs? Is that the precise verb for that precise thing? Remember that adverbs are a sign that you’ve used the wrong verb. Verbs control when something is happening in the mind of the reader. Think carefully—when did this happen in relation to this? And is that how you’ve described it?”

“You can invent the details that don’t matter, she said. At the edges. You cannot invent the details that matter.”

“Talent isn’t enough, she had told us. Writing is work. Anyone can do this, anyone can learn to do this. It’s not rocket science, it’s habits of mind and habits of work. I started with people much more talented than me, she said, and they’re dead or in jail or not writing. The difference between myself and them is that I’m writing. Talent could give you nothing. Without work, talent is only talent, promise, not product.”

“If I’ve done my job, she said in the last class, you won’t be happy with anything you write for the next 10 years. It’s not because you won’t be writing well, but because I’ve raised your standards for yourself. Don’t compare yourselves to each other. Compare yourself to Colette, or Henry James, or Edith Wharton. Compare yourselves to the classics. Shoot there…Go up to the place in the bookstore where your books will go, she said. Walk right up and find your place on the shelf. Put your finger there, and then go every time.

In class, the idea seemed ridiculous. But at some point after the class ended, I did it. I walked up to the shelf. Chabon, Cheever. I put my finger between them and made a space. Soon, I did it every time I went to a bookstore.Years later, I tell my own students to do it. As Thoreau, someone she admires very much, once wrote, “In the long run, we only ever hit what we aim at.””

I realize I’m probably going to sound a bit strange admitting this, but one thing I love about going some place, even some place as mundane as the grocery store, is the possibility of finding new sensations and thoughts to incorporate into my writing. This past weekend was loaded with them. On Saturday, the trip to Epcot offered some wonderful new observations. The interactions of strangers, the types of people walking in the park, what they did, how they moved, all very fascinating. The beach provided some wonderful sensations like the feel of saltwater in my eyes, sand and salt drying my skin, how tender my feet are when walking on hot sand or rough shells. I’ve experienced these before, but memory fades when you don’t do something very often. It’s nice to not only experience them again, but be aware of the experience. Soak it in. Watch it. Feel it. Revel in it. Then happily tuck it away in your memory for later.

All of these experiences expand my choices in creating and describing actions in my novel. It’s like working all day and getting a bit tired, then chugging a Coke and feeling the instant burst of energy. It’s a breath of life, refreshing and revitalizing, into a store room of vacuum sealed experiences.

The next time you venture out into the world, try not to focus solely on your goal. Instead, take a moment and look around you. Sniff the air. Feel the sun on your skin. Watch the people walking by you. Listen to their conversations, their concerns, their interests, the way they phrase things. You’d be surprised how much this helps you show instead of tell your story.

I joined critters last weekend and I’m rather excited about it. For those who don’t know, critters is an on-line critique group for serious writers. There is no fee to join/participate. You simply commit to critiquing at least one piece per week, with a minimum of 500 words/critique. Each critique you provide gives you credit. You submit your piece to be critiqued and it goes into the queue. If you stop critiquing or don’t meet your minimum number of critiques, your piece gets pushed to the bottom of the queue. I think that sounds fair to me.