This Writing Life: Springing a Leak, Author-Style

Happy one year in the house!

By Lisa Alber

A year ago, exactly, to this day, May 19th, 2015, I closed on my very first house, my own little sanctuary away from the world. Cheers! To one year!

Alas, this little house of mine, it had a dry rot problem, which is common in the Pacific Northwest, so I shelled out major moulah to get it fixed. Fine. Fixed. Yay!

A year later, my house sprang a leak. I hoped and prayed that the contractor's guy had fixed the problem last month, but, no, he had not <insert your expletive here>.

The funny thing is that I think my house channeled my inner writing demons, because I've been having the worst problem with the ending of my work-in-progress. I know the ending--I've always known whodunit and whydunit, so why can't I get to "The End"? I keep writing scenes that aren't getting me there.

Over the weekend, as the rain poured down, and as raindrops tap-tap-tap-ed into a bucket, I had an epiphany: My plot had sprung a leak somewhere. That's why I couldn't finish--

and, to continue this awkward leakage metaphor, I couldn't help but think of a garden hose, and how you don't get no water pressure out the end of the thing if it's leaking somewhere along the way to the end.

Despite my anxiety about finishing by deadline (at one point I started to whimper, which I sometimes do under extreme stress), I decided to slow down for a day or two. It was no use trying to force a bad end to the story. It just wasn't feeling right. Instead, I called the contractor, waited around for him (isn't that always the way?), and realized that I felt relief along with the anxiety.

When it comes to the writing, I've learned to trust my gut, and my gut said, Oh yeah, baby, now you're thinking about it the right way--which is to say, thinking outside my own box, the box I'd written myself into by the end that wouldn't end itself.

I was still freaking out--deadlines will do that--but as I watched my cute contractor walk up the stairs ahead of me and do his thing with plastic and hammer and nails and a long piece of wood (now, now, no double entendre meant by that!), I decided it was no use freaking out. My contractor wasn't. He was doing the next logical task. He didn't appear phased by the leak, and as he said, Yes, leaks happen, but they're fixable. Sometimes you just gotta dig a little deeper than the first obvious, easy fix.

So it goes with my novel. I talked myself off the ledge of total hysteria that my story required a complete tear down. No, no, no-ditty no no. Was the contractor going to have to tear down the house? Of course not.

And wouldn't you know it, as soon as I let it be okay to think about revisions before officially finishing the first draft, some new and interesting plot ideas came to me -- changes that I can already tell will allow me to get to the end.

How well do you trust your gut in life? Has it ever failed you?

Lisa Alber is the author of the County Clare mysteries. Her debut novel, Kilmoon, has been called "utterly poetic" and "a stirring debut." Her second in the County Clare mysteries, WHISPERS IN THE MIST will be available in August 2016 from Midnight Ink Books. Ever distractible, you may find her staring out windows, fooling around online, or drinking red wine with her friends. Ireland, books, animals, photography, and blogging round out her distractions. You can find Lisa on Facebook, Twitter, and her website.

Perils of the Writing Life, or, the Dreaded Technology Loop

By Lisa Alber

Today (Wednesday as I write this) I had one of those weird writing days in which I got no writing accomplished. So let's talk about this--distractions. Especially social media distractions. Am I totally off the wall when I say that social media can suck the souls out of us?

Yes? No? Maybe?

All I know is that when it comes to doing the author thing, social media is mandatory. We need to be extroverts -- at least on social media if not in real life. And I don't mind this, in a way. I kind of like communing with people through Facebook and Twitter.

The problem is when I go nutty with it. Today was one of those days. Here's the context: I'm a contributor in a book project called EIGHT MYSTERY WRITERS YOU SHOULD BE READING NOW, which includes a sneak peek (yay!) of WHISPERS IN THE MIST coming out in August. It's a great project, and I'm honored I was asked to participate.

This week promotion for Eight Mystery Writers exploded. We've got two guest blog posts up on premiere mystery blogs (Jungle Reds and Femmes Fatales), a Facebook party with giveaways and special guest Hank Phillippi Ryan, free days on Amazon this weekend to promote the heck out of, a new Facebook book page, a #mysterious8 Twitter hashtag we're bandying about.

There's just a lot of coordinating and social media posting and word-spreading to do everywhere. Here's one example of coordination. Isn't it cute? I'm no graphic designer but I pat myself on the back for whipping up this banner for the Facebook book and event pages.

Nifty--but that's more time away from the writing. Plus, let's not go into the three blog posts (including this post) that just happened to come due--bam, bam, bam--this week.

I'm curious, are there any readers or aspiring novelists reading this post? If so, I'm here to say that I and a lot of my writer pals are amazed that we get our books written!

I'm a tad distractible to begin with, so when a promotional period comes around, I'm likely to take to social media like a fiend. Something takes over my brain. My thoughts skitter about on the surface of things: gotta do a Facebook post, oh gotta retweet, oh gotta join the Jungle Red Writers conversation, gotta post the Facebook party announcement EVERYWHERE, gotta promote a blog post ...

I'm convinced that the brain on social media is a different brain that the brain on writing. I'm talking brain patterns, synaptic firings, everything. When I'm writing, I'm deep in my creative process. There's no turbulence. It's the deep ocean compared to the choppy surface of social-media brain.

I end up feeling spazzy and frenetic. Yet, I can't stop. All of a sudden it's noon, and I barely remember the previous four hours. (Check out this funny video from the television show "Portlandia.")

It's as if my brain succumbs to an addictive drug. Even if I manage to wrench myself away from social media, I'm still pretty useless because withdrawal sets in. I find myself popping back in to check on comments, or retweet one of the other Eight Mystery Writers's tweets, or whatever. I keep checking and re-checking. (P.S. The seven other contributors? Fantastic writers all. What a joy to find new authors to read, am I right?)

Please tell me I'm not the only one!

Today, the only way I could fully disengage was to leave the house. As luck would have it, a friend called. I was all over meeting up with him for happy hour. Get me out of here!

I'm not usually this bad, I swear. Today was just one of those days. Tomorrow I'll be better, I promise.

Do you get stuck in technology loops sometimes? What do you do to get out of them? Is it just a matter of becoming better at compartmentalizing and sticking to schedules? Or do you think the brain does succumb to something?

Just Keep Writing!

by Kathleen Ernst

Last November I wrote a post I titled Gratitude about why I feel grateful to be a working writer, despite the inherent challenges.   Most comments were positive, but I did receive one message from an aspiring writer whose basic message was, “Easy for you to say, oh published one.”

I did try to stress that making my way along the writer’s path has not always easy.  Perhaps a few more examples will help:

*In the 11^th grade, I once received a zero on a writing assignment—“because the work was not good enough to earn an F.”

* I wrote at least a dozen novels before one was picked up for publication.  Probably more; I stopped counting at some point.

* The first time I entered a novel in a statewide contest, the judge for my category chose to not acknowledge any entry that year.

Ouch, ouch, ouch.

I’m celebrating the publication of my 25^th book, a children’s mystery called Traitor in the Shipyard, and I’m under contract for two more books. Does that mean I’ve passed some magic mark where everything I write gets published?  Not hardly. I have a handful of manuscripts that I love, that I worked on for years, but have never landed on the right desk at the right time.

My beloved agent of ten years recently returned to the editorial side of the business.  When we talked about our momentous decade together, she summarized what she saw as perhaps my greatest strength: “You just keep writing.”

To that I’d add always trying to improve my work and striving to understand the business end of writing.  Nonetheless, if there is a single strategy that got me where I am, it’s simply that. Despite frustrations, disappointments, and setbacks, I just kept—and keep—writing.

I wish  you aspiring writers all success!

How Ben Franklin Got Me Here

 by Shannon Baker

I credit (blame?) Benjamin Franklin for me ever writing a single word toward publication. More accurately, Steven Covey (the 7 Habits guy) for being inspired by Ben to create the model of organization, The Franklin Day Planner. I know there are myriad organizational and goal-setting tools but this particular system smacked me upside the head about twenty years ago.

Until then, I had this vague I idea I’d like to write a novel someday. It would be a masterpiece and I’d sell a million copies. But I was young and busy and thought that I’d have more time to devote to that pursuit later.

Then I serendipitously ended up in a seminar on the process of the Franklin Day Planner. The idea is that you start with your values. You write all this down and from values, you develop long term goals, medium term, and short term, eventually landing on daily tasks that will lead you to success.

This isn’t new or groundbreaking. But it did get me off the “someday” track and onto the “write something every day” highway. I’m not saying that is a good thing. (Who is the writer whose best advice to aspiring writers is never start?)

Bit by bit, day by day, I approached my goals, made new ones and inched down the long and winding road toward publication, just like Ben said I would.

Along the way, I had a life. It got complicated with children and jobs and all manner of things. Eventually, I ended up going from one duty to another, checking off all those tasks in my day planner but not enjoying much of anything. During a giant transition period, I tilted. I needed simplify.

Away went the day planner, along with a husband and other useless things.

A little at a time I’ve added stuff back. Suddenly, I find myself in the midst of multi-tasking hell. I really love everything I’m steeped in at the moment but, honestly, the water’s getting pretty hot. .

I’m making lists. And losing them. I have an Outlook calendar at the office but it doesn’t sync to my phone or my home computer. I’m waking up at 3 A.M. in a panic. Who doesn’t do that, though? Right?

Maybe it’s time to get organized. But like a diet, if you do it once, you learn how to cheat and it’s never as effective the second time around, I fear I won’t work the Franklin method well. Plus, there are so many great electronic solutions out there. I just don’t have the time to search them out because of, you know, all that stuff that’s got me hopping.

So this is my chance to have you all do the research for me and report back. What do you use to keep all the chainsaws in the air? What can I use that will work on my Android and my laptop and make me look like the hip, together professional I pretend to be?    

Layers of Creativity

“Invent first, then embellish. The production of something, where nothing was before, is an act of greater energy than the expansion or decoration of the thing produced. Set down diligently your thoughts as they rise in the first words that occur; and when you have matter you will easily give it form.”

Samuel Johnson.

Long ago (25 years) and far away (okay, about three miles away) a logic professor told our class that learning something – anything, really – was always easier than creating something brand new on our own. I’ve never forgotten that. Probably because even then I wanted to be a writer, and his statement was a reminder that creativity can be, well, work. Good work, of course, but not to be taken lightly. Apparently Samuel Johnson agrees.

The Johnson quote above relates to the idea that there are different layers of creativity within most from-scratch projects. Painting a picture, the interior design of a room, planning a landscape bed, or inventing a recipe all require the spark of a beginning idea, the first implementation of that idea, and then subsequent improvements.

It’s certainly true of writing. The spark is hard to define. That “where do you get your ideas” thing that I can only answer with “everywhere” and “the weird acrobatics my brain does with my life experience.” Beyond the spark is what Anne Lamott calls “shitty first drafts.”

I love shitty first drafts. They’re freeing. I can experiment. More magic happens when I’m not trying to write something perfectly. My mind is open to greater possibility. And I really love shitty first drafts because then I get to fix them. Fixing a first draft is [almost] always easier than coming up with one in the first place, and each improvement provides a ping of satisfaction that feels like a wee hit of dopamine.

Fixing is the next layer of creativity. Problem solving. Working out the glitches. Making it smooth and clear and pretty and maybe even a little funny. For a room or a garden it’s adjusting the visual flow, changing texture, balancing beauty and practicality. Or a recipe may require a little more cinnamon or the addition of a savory herb to complement all that cheese (and bacon!).

In any creative endeavor you have to know the basics – grammar and storytelling, how ingredients work together, how colors complement each other or affect mood, what grows in your zone and blooms in each season. That knowledge is available – especially with the Internet – and easy to learn if you’re truly interested. Plus, it will grow with each use, increasing with your passion for whatever creative outlet you love.

I’m embellishing, as Johnson put it, a lot these days. And then? Onto another shitty first draft!

Feeling Uncomfortable

Yesterday while working out on the elliptical machine at the Y, I was reading a woman's magazine to pass the time (instead of panting out the seconds to reach my 30 minute quota!). One article was titled "6 Weeks to a Younger You," so of course, I had to check it out. ;-) It consisted of a recommended set of lifestyle changes to implement each week for six weeks to improve the quality of your life so you look and feel younger, healthier, and happier. You know, the typical woman's magazine article.

In glancing through the nuggets of wisdom that included things I was already doing, like eating more fruits and veggies, exercising regularly, using sunscreen, solving crossword puzzles, and so on, one piece of advice really resonated with me:

Resolve to do one thing each day that makes you feel uncomfortable.

If you followed this advice, you would constantly be nudging yourself out of your comfort zone, trying new things and confronting problems, instead of wallowing in the same old rut that keeps you from growing and learning. Soon, making risky decisions, even little ones, would become a habit. Wow!

Resolve to do one thing each day that makes you feel uncomfortable.

What great advice that is for a fiction writer. The last place you want to be when telling a story is someplace comfortable. Because that means not only are you bored, your reader is bored. Through your characters, you have to experience uncomfortable emotions, solve uncomfortable problems, and confront uncomfortable experiences. Otherwise, your story isn't interesting. So, why not apply what works for your story and your characters to yourself?

I thought back on occasions in the past few years when I've made a decision to do something that felt uncomfortable in my writing life, and how much personal learning or progress resulted. For instance:

When writing my rough draft manuscripts, I now publicly post my word count goals and progress. I used to do it on the Pikes Peak Writers yahoogroup or a Sisters in Crime Guppies goal-setting subgroup or other small forum, but now it's on my Facebook page, for all of my thousands of friends to see. Why do that? It makes me accountable and forces me to put my (ever increasing) butt in the chair and pound out the words instead of finding some housecleaning or gardening to do instead.

Once I stood up to read at a Pikes Peak Writers gathering, even though I hate to do readings and know I suck at them. I asked for honest feedback on my presentation skills (or lack thereof), and then I read not just a piece of fiction, but a poem, one of the very few that I've written in my adult life. Eek! My hands were shaking and I was sweating, but I plowed through it. The feedback from my fellow writers on how to improve my delivery was extremely helpful, especially from those who had done multiple poetry readings before. But what was even more gratifying was the praise I received on the poem itself. That gave me the courage to try writing some more.

I said "yes" to a request from a high school to make a presentation about how to write a short story. You may say, well that's not so bad, but this high school was in the most deprived and dangerous section of the city. All of my writing friends, once they found out where I was going, said there was no way they'd visit that school even in the middle of the day. Frequent reports of knife fights, drug selling, etc. in and around that school appeared on the police blotter. Then, I found out that I would be talking to not just one English class, as I had originally thought, but to a whole auditorium filled with students from five classes. And my contact said, "Don't worry, the teachers will stay and take care of any behavior problems for you." Yikes!

That was another sweaty palms experience. But it turned out fine. Yes, a few students slept through the talk, and the teachers quietly reprimanded a few other students during the talk, but I made my presentation highly interactive and asked a lot of questions. I even was able to get some students participating and talking. Later, a few young writers stayed to ask me about potential markets for their stories, and the teachers' gratitude was enormous. What an ego boost! I've since gone on to make many other presentations to high-school or middle-school-aged teens and have thoroughly enjoyed every one.

Other uncomfortable things I've done in my writing life have included saying "no" to volunteer jobs so I had the time I needed to write, telling a critique partner that their plot twist or character just wasn't working for me, including a character name in a charity auction even though I was a relatively unknown author (I was sweating again while waiting for someone, anyone, to enter that first bid), and more.

What about you? Have you done something lately that makes you feel uncomfortable? What happened? How did you feel afterward? Did you learn something or grow in some way from it? Please share! And,

Resolve to do one thing each day that makes you feel uncomfortable.

Ah, the Writing Life

Cricket McRae

I’m writing this from the passenger seat of a Subaru Outback, speeding down I-25. We’re heading for three seventy-degree days and two thirty-seven-degree nights in the Rocky Mountains. A bed and breakfast, lake view, hiking, reading, and probably nine holes of golf.

Before I was published, I had a fantasy about the writing life. Oh, I knew it was a job, and that you had to put in the hours and effort. I knew sometimes writing is hard – after all, I was writing. I just wasn’t published yet.

But when I became a full-time writer, things were going to be different. For one thing, I’d travel a lot. You can write anywhere, so why not do it someplace fun? Plus, one of the things I like least about travel is the actual, you know, travel. Time spent in airports and on airplanes, on shuttle buses or waiting for the train. But as a writer, that time becomes downright useful. We could spend a month in Mexico or New England and keep Colorado as a home base.

And then there was the conversion van idea. Smaller than an RV, but self-sufficient. We could wander the country, exploring back roads and meeting new people. I could write just as I am right now, in the passenger seat. Or sitting at a picnic table under California redwood trees, under an umbrella with my toes in the sand.

None of that happened, of course.

Like many other writers, most of my travel involves research, or a conference or convention. Promotion takes a lot of time and organization, so it’s not just a question of hanging out with my muse and churning out the words. And we have rental properties, which we manage ourselves, so leaving for a month at a time is out of the question.

So we go on little jaunts like this, and I write in the car. I’ll put in some time on the keyboard sitting on the veranda and looking up at the lake. In another two weeks I’m heading to Seattle to promote Wined and Died, and my guy will hold down the fort at home. I’ll write on the plane and set my alarm early to get in a few pages before my hosts awaken.

It’s a good life, and I love it. I’m not giving up on the conversion van idea though.

-----------------------

For the month of August my first Home Crafting Mystery, Lye in Wait, is available as a free download for the Kindle and Nook.

The Gift

Cricket McRae

Some of my friends are serious about birthdays. Serious. Not content with a mere, single-day hoorah, they celebrate for at least a week: birthday lunch with one friend, birthday dinners with other friends, an intimate celebration with their man (yes, these are all women – well, there’s one guy, but he still has a man), another get together with parents and siblings and usually a nice chocolate sheet cake in the break room at work.

Not me. In fact, I once forgot my own birthday until UPS delivered a package from someone obviously more on the ball than I was. I’m afraid this also means I’m not always good about other people’s birthdays. But I make an effort because I know it’s important, and everyone deserves to have a fuss made over them.

Last weekend I turned forty-seven. My guy is much like me about birthdays. He gave me a funny card, a practical gift, a single tulip, and took me out for brunch. No fuss, no muss, no bother, just eggs Benedict. He’d already brought home a flourless chocolate cake for Arbor Day, and it was way too soon to repeat the decadence.

(Side note: We celebrate Arbor Day largely because Hallmark doesn’t try to make us. The cake said, “You’ve got me treed.” What a romantic, eh?)

And that was that. Until …

The mailman brought a box to the door in the afternoon. I have a friend who still sends me birthday presents. They are thoughtful, often funny, and distinctly personal. This woman knows me well. After all, we’ve been pals for thirty-three years.

Her gifts were, as usual, spot on and much appreciated. But this year the card took the cake. So to speak.

She wrote me a story.

Two pages, about one teenaged girl teaching another one how to drive a stick shift on the dump road outside of town. About almost getting hit by a truck. About how they made up a song about it.

About a friendship overflowing with laughter that ended up spanning more than three decades.

The little story is so well-written. Poignant sans sentiment and intensely personal to yours truly. It made me cry. Hell, I’m tearing up as I write this now. That this thoughtful gift, utterly free and utterly priceless, came from her when I know she’s swamped with work, family, and a dozen other obligations just floors me.

But there’s more. I’m working up to the deadline for my next book, and that always makes me a little crazy. Okay, a lot crazy. I planned for the stress better this time, as well as the inevitable distractions, visits from friends and family, etc., but let’s face it – I’m still crazy. In this frame of mind, writing loses its luster. After this many go-rounds, I know it’ll come back, but the word that comes to mind when I sit down in front of the keyboard yet again to fuss and rewrite and add scenes and make decisions is slog.

That precious, two-page story turned out to be a gift in another, unexpected way: It reminded me of the power of words, of how much I love them, and that stories are truly important. It shifted my attitude at a time when it sorely needed a shift.

There just isn’t a Thank You big enough.

A Race Against Time

A Race Against Time, or: Extreme Writing
by G.M. Malliet

So, what does a volcano and Italy have to do with writing? This week, everything.

I'm set to vacation for about two weeks in Italy soon, and there never was a greater motivator to get my current manuscript in some kind of readable shape (so I have a hope of recognizing it when I see it again). I've in fact been planning the book around this trip for months, working up to the day on the calendar where I can take a break and start packing. The plan is to resume work, refreshed, and with a new perspective, on my return.

There is a sense of panic inherent in this method of working, and in taking such a large break, but an early, "fake" deadline also works wonders in getting a writer like me off the dime.

They tell me that volcano in Eyjafjallajökull (yes, I had to look that up) might erupt again and ground air traffic, but a little thing like a volcano is not going to stop me now from getting to Italy.

*****

About two weeks ago, I stopped meandering and following every bypath in the manuscript to see where it led. Instead, I began reading through the whole manuscript as fast as I could (which for me is not fast, but still). The point of this is to step back and see as much of the entire story at once as possible. To note the potholes, the incongruities, the laughable inconsistencies and redundancies, but not to get completely bogged down in fixing them right now. To simply make a mark by the places I need to revisit.

When I come back from my trip, I'll go in for the closeup view again. But reading the book now the way a reader will read it--not pausing every ten seconds but plowing straight through--is invaluable, like a movie director pulling back for the wide shot. (Before I'm done, I'll also read through the whole thing again at a medium speed, then again at a snail's pace. Before I'm done, I may feel I never want to read this book again, in fact.)

Almost there now. Nothing is going to stand between me and the reward of Italy I've promised myself as I read and edit, read and edit.

Volcano? What volcano?

Video of volcano: CBS.com
Photo of Tuscany: TripAdvisor.com
Photo of volcano: NationalGeographic.com