Bright & Dark

A few days ago, a friend asked me how I produce so much fiction. I almost told her that I’m not one to admire right now in that department; I’m under a lot of stress and have very little energy for writing. I’m still producing, but very slowly by my own reckoning. I didn’t say that to her, though, because everything is relative. If someone isn’t producing anything at all at the moment, my 15 pages a week may seem like pie in the sky.

In the last month and a half since I returned home from the Mystery Intensive, I’ve had the same close family member in the hospital three times with as yet no permanent resolution in sight, I’ve thrown my back out once in a medium-bad sort of way and then two weeks later again in a very-bad way, and I’ve had assorted other large stressors on top of those things. Not to mention that in the middle of all that, the Doggie Ranger up and pulled a muscle in his right hind leg and for two weeks couldn’t perform his favorite activity — jumping — to save his life. And, yes, that includes getting into the car to go to the vet for x-rays, which means that Mom With the Bad Back had to do some lifting she shouldn’t have.

In the past, all of this might have stopped me from writing period, full stop. This time around, I’ve made it a point to have a short-term goal and then meet it, even if it would normally take me 4 days and instead took twice that. I have managed to write 3 chapters to go with 2 of the different novel proposals I wrote at the workshop. One of them has been mailed and the other is with my first reader and will be mailed next week. I’ve started a short story that I plan to finish this weekend, and which should be in the mail next week as well. Then I’ll move on to the next set of chapters for one of the other novel proposals. Then another short story. And so on.

One of the other things I’ve made a point of doing is to seize time where I find it. The other day I found 20 unaccounted-for minutes in the morning before work. 20 minutes is one page of writing — the first page of the above-mentioned short story. I’ve had an hour here or there, and in one case, three whole hours, but I’m not setting requirements for how much time I “must have” to sit down and write. Any time in which I have the energy to write is enough “must have” for me.

In the supporting category — in other words, not actually writing new words — I’ve made sure to keep everything in the mail. If it comes back, it goes out again the same day or, if that’s not possible, the next. No stories piling up either on the dining table or in my inbox to stare at me accusingly. In fact, there will be no staring of any kind, buster. Only mailing.

I’ve kept reading, too, filling the well with fabulous stories written by other people. Oh, sure, there’s been plenty of comfort-food type movie and/or TV watching; sometimes that’s really all the energy I have. Monday was one of those days. I curled up on the sofa with a big bowl of popcorn and an icepack (injured back and all that) and watched all three Pirates of the Carribean movies in a row. And then Tuesday I cracked open Justin Cronin’s The Passage, which I am loving (and which is really, really hard to put down; kudos to Mr. Cronin).

In addition to fiction, there’s been Very Helpful and Informative Other Writing. First on the recommendation list are Dean Wesley Smith’s blog, especially his Killing the Sacred Cows of Fiction posts, and of late his free fiction of the week — a new short story every week. Good stuff. And also first (because in this world, there are two firsts), Kristine Kathryn Rusch’s blog, especially her Freelancer’s Survival Guide posts.

And, last but not least (and maybe not even last, since I’m sure I’m forgetting something), I’ve been posting to my weekly goal list. It’s the kind of list that is encouraging rather than discouraging of my attitude and accomplishment rate, and at this stage of 1 month + of life rolls, I need all the encouragement I can get, and am happy to pass a bunch along to others as well.

So: achievable short-term goals, seize time where I find it, keep everything in the mail, read, and encourage/be encouraged. In these ways, slow and steady in times of crisis can stay in the race.

Back and finally settled some after having been on the Oregon coast for a week and a half in February. These trips have always been invaluable, and this one was no exception.

First up, novel workshop. I’ve been to these before, but this time there was a new method, moving from traditional Clarion workshop round-robin critique rules to more targeted comments about the marketability of the novels and spiffing up the proposal packages so that they really shone. It rocked. I found the whole experience eye-opening and very useful. And such a treat to read so many really great books.

I took The Heart of the World to this workshop. So well-received. And then mailed to editors, one of whom requested the full manuscript so far. Good stuff.

Next up, a couple of days off, which I mostly spent reading the first round of stories sent in for the second workshop and walking on the beach. Great reading, strenuous walking on that loop down to the beach and around to the inlet near Mo’s, then back up through the neighborhood via the Hill of Hell. Sunshine even graced us some.

And then the anthology workshop with Dean and Denise Little. This one, too, went as usual above and beyond my expectations as far as learning and networking. I wrote my first ever noir for the overnight short story at this workshop. What a blast! And I got to read and learn from the excellent overnight batch of stories and all of Denise’s and Dean’s comments.

Both my first and second story are out to markets.

Add to all this mix a shopping trip to North by Northwest Books and my first trip to Mo’s (no chowder for me unfortunately because of the glutens, but it smelled heavenly; and Mo’s surprised me with a bang-up bowl of chili) and lots of time with so many other professional writers and editors, and you have a recipe for amazingness.

So. Reading back over what I’ve just written, it strikes me that there is no real way to describe what I get out of these workshops and what it’s like to experience them. Because I’ve written about the logistics and mechanics, and that doesn’t include the way it feels to be among people who write professionally, who love it, who love story, who love learning. Or how it feels to completely immerse myself in writing and writing culture for at least a week. Or how it feels to bump up my craft and business knowledge in a way that fuels my work once I return home. You just have to have been there.

I’m betting you have a similar experience that’s hard to explain to someone who hasn’t been there. Feel free to substitute words and phrases.

I take “vacation time” from work to do all this, usually a couple of times a year. Everyone, including me, knows that it’s not a real vacation. Not in a million years. I work my butt off. I get very little rest. It doesn’t matter, though. What does matter? Doing what I love. That feeds me in a different way than sunning on the beach or curling up in front a peat fire on a rainy Irish night. Without all those different kinds of nourishment, I feel like a starving woman.

Do what you love. Find a way. That’s my prescription.

On Sunday afternoon, after a last push of 20,500 words, I finished the first draft of The Heart of the World with those happiest of finishing words: The End.

I was astounded that the experiment I undertook at the start held all the way through — focusing only on one scene at a time, focusing on the emotion in the scene. 120,000 words is a *lot* of scenes. A lot of emotion. I made a concerted effort to keep my critical brain out of my writing office during all of this, too, giving full reign to my creative brain and allowing my subconscious to be the boss.

The result was as I’d been told it would be but hardly believed. My bossy subconscious planted all the right clues at the right times without my having ever been aware of them.

Those threads of clues shone like gold all the way through without my ever having attempted to engineer them. Until I began to actually write the end sections of the book, I had no conscious idea as to how on earth I’d resolve the story. I mean, I had conscious general ideas, but I wasn’t married to them. The funny thing was, even my general ideas didn’t hold a candle to the ones my subconscious came up with. Twists and turns and where-the-hell-did-that-come-from. Those oh-so-important story points feel much more powerful and meaningful because of all that.

The book is now in my first reader’s hands. Then it’ll be workshopped on the coast in February and out into the world it will fly. The next story is on the horizon, and I plan to continue the experiment until it becomes not just an experiment but as natural as breathing.

Meanwhile, I give you some slam-bang motivation posts from the writer who started me down this particular road. This is number one. Read it and the next. And the next one after that. Great stuff.

Happy New Year!

If you’re not reading Dean Wesley Smith’s posts on motivation in writing, you should be.

Check out Dean Wesley Smith’s blog for another chapter in his series on Killing the Sacred Cows of Publishing. This one is on rewriting. Good stuff!