Winning! It IS the worst thing I’ve ever written. But I did it. Whew.
Winning! It IS the worst thing I’ve ever written. But I did it. Whew.
So….last week, I didn’t write for four days and I had already mentally composed a blog post where I described how while I hadn’t “won” NaNo, it had still been worth it and blah, blah, blah…November is a brutal month for this, particularly when you ARE the person who cooks Thanksgiving dinner for 14 people and puts up the Christmas trees (fun fact: the Christmas decorations are in boxes on my kitchen floor right now and have been there since Friday). I have been following along with Chris Baty’s No Plot? No Problem! which has been useful and fun, but Chris, lemme tell you, I don’t have a “caretaker” in my writing quest. I AM the caretaker. I have five kids and a career where I can’t just write at work, even if I were so inclined to do that morally, because I actually have work that has to be done and I even bring work home I have so much work and blah, blah, blah….NaNoWriMo is just too hard.
So, that was my whiny post until Friday, where I decided that while I wasn’t going to finish NaNo, I’d finish the novel I started. So I sat down to write a more reasonable 1,000 words before starting to put up the Christmas decorations.
But then I saw….I wasn’t THAT far behind. If I wrote a little under 3,000 words per day, I could still “win.” Hmmm….I guess I could decorate for Christmas in early December.
I hate not winning. I’m pretty competitive, even with myself. And while I still maintain that even if you don’t “win” NaNoWriMo, it’s still worth tackling, I, personally, felt it was worth it to see it through to the end.
So, I started tapping away at the keyboard.
Oh, it’s an awful piece of crap, let me tell you. This crap novel will not see the light of day, I swear, but I’m at 41,531 words now (I haven’t written yet today) and I think I’ll finish it.
So, all you Wrimo-ers out there! It might be worth it to keep going! You can do it.
Just a message going out to the NaNo-ers….keep going!!! You can do it!
I’m 1000 words behind today (behind schedule for the month), but I’m going to write those extra 1000 before I can watch Stranger Things!
I have not been posting very often because I am NaNo-ing like a good Wrimo-er. I’m having a blast and learning a lot, which I will share at a later point. Basically, my personal goal is to hit 2,000 words per day, although there have been two days in there where I had to stop before that (but so far, I’ve met the daily NaNo goal of 1,667 words). I have to piecemeal it and it’s definitely not easy to adjust, but if I can do it, anyone can.
If any of you are undertaking NaNoWriMo this November, I just want to say, keep at it! From what I can tell so far, the experience is completely worth it.
So far, I have 11,578 words down and 38,422 to go.
This last summer, I drove to Austin for a work conference. I had a choice of flying or driving and most of my colleagues chose to fly. Not me. For one thing, I did the travel math and figured that by the time I drove to the airport, parked, went through security, waited for the flight, spent 30-45 minutes in the air, landed, got an Uber, etc., I’d actually spend less time in transit if I just hopped in my car and headed out. More importantly, however, once I get out of the special hell that is Houston traffic, road trips are great for writing and boosting creative energy.
Just as with going for long walks, driving is a great way to access the unconscious. Once I escape the city and I exit onto the smaller highways, I turn up the music and my mind takes off, wandering and exploring. This is when, while one part of my mind is engaged with the physics of passing slow trucks and keeping a lookout for cops, memories I haven’t thought of in ages come flooding back. Ideas for stories, blog ideas, characters, Big Questions all come bubbling up in a way that just doesn’t happen otherwise.
When I drive, my mind is open to new experiences, to new energy. Synchronicity occurs. Once, while on a road trip to Florida, the song “Fifty Seven Channels” by Bruce Springsteen came on the radio and a few minutes later, a car passed me with the license plate “57.” I’m not making that up and I spent the next hundred miles (and beyond) pondering why. I still don’t know, but that experience gave just enough magic to bouey my creative energies for another day. Driving allowed me to pay attention to that instance of synchronicity, whereas I may have overlooked it in the every day.
So, if you get stuck creatively, you can hardly do much better than to go for a drive.
Update: “Fifty-Seven Channels (and Nothing On)” is a pretty good tune. The above instance was the first time I’d ever heard it:
This post goes out to the misunderstood.
You know who you are. You live with people who love you very much, but who do not necessarily understand why you’d want to get out of bed early in the morning (and thus wake them up) to creep over to the kitchen table and…what? Why?
Or you realize they are occupied one Saturday afternoon watching YouTube videos, or studying for exams, or playing with the backyard kitties, so you seize the moment to grab your laptop and write for a bit. As soon a you settle in and begin tapping away, ear plugs in, world out, however, your people find some reason to need you. They can’t locate the sauté pan. They need help revising a paper. They can’t find one of the cats. Please help.
And you have to help because you want to help. Because you love them more than writing–as you should–and to explain to them that “this is my writing time,” doesn’t always sink in. Because they simply don’t understand.
So what do you do?
Well, I am probably not the best person to ask, given the scenarios above, which happen daily, but in the past, I have written some ideas I had on how to find time to write when you have a day job, That post, however, didn’t really address what to do when the little time you do carve out competes with others’ desires for how you spend that time.
As I prepare for NaNoWriMo, my biggest challenge will be that big question from family and (most) friends as to “why the hell would you want to do that?” The implied question is also, “Why should I take second fiddle to your hobby, even for a few hours a day?”
When I wrote my dissertation (much of which I wrote in a fairly short time-frame, buried in notes, writing music blasting into my ears, pen inked up my hands and arms, my bird sitting on my shoulder like a pirate’s parrot, me chattering to myself), I had an easy answer. After all, no one debates why you’d want to complete your dissertation–I mean, duh. But a novel? Writing just to write? For what purpose?
And the answer to that question is: Because I want to.
How do you like them apples?
There are certain things in life you have to do because you simply want to do them and in general–as long as you aren’t harming others–that is enough of a reason. There doesn’t need to be another.
You get to be you.
Writers, you do not need to explain yourselves or your desire to write (for NaNoWriMo or anything else). After all, I don’t challenge people’s desires to watch videos of cats knocking coffee cups off high surfaces. And if a person wants to spend an afternoon watching Grey’s Anatomy? By all means–we have choices in life. And fantasy football? I don’t get it, but I certainly can understand why this is enjoyable, and even a psychological need for some people. I get that we all like different things and, frankly, need different things, just as I can understand why someone might want to climb a mountain or venture under the sea, just because it calls them. Isn’t that part of being alive?
The same is true with our writing. And if you’re like me, you’ve been writing since you could spell, so writing has become part of who we are, how we engage with the world, how we make sense of things. And yes, it is part of how we have fun, which is a completely valid reason to write–as valid as any other.
You need no explanation other than, “Because I want to,” but if that doesn’t work, I also have a few more ideas:
But at the end of the day, remind yourself that you don’t need to explain yourself. You want to write because it makes you happy. It’s just how you are. And that’s good enough.
I expressed excitement in my last post over having time to plan for NaNoWriMo, but that planning will not include outlining, deeply developing characters, or anything of that nature. While no approach–being a “Planner” or a “Pantser”–is the “right” approach and every writer is different, I don’t have to ponder long to know I’m a Pantser.
I know I’m a Pantser because I am a Pantser when it comes to writing short stories. Most of the time when I begin, I have a character and possibly a situation, and mayyyybe a vague idea of what direction the story might take (and generally, I end up being wrong about the direction), but that’s pretty much it. Sometimes, I start with nothing at all. One of the best feelings in the world is when I’m finished writing, I feel as if I’ve woken up from a really interesting dream, or feel as if I’ve just been reading really good book. I love the slow realization that I wrote that story–it didn’t even seem as if I were writing, but rather reading and watching the events unfold. For me, the un-known element plays a large part of the fun of writing. That’s the playtime element that makes me want to keep writing, the fun, the reason for getting up early in the morning.
If I plan out my stories ahead of time too much–if I flesh out my characters too much, if I know what will happen each step of the way–then my mind balks at this and suddenly the task of writing ceases to be play and becomes more like writing a dissertation, a research article, or a narrative for a program review. All writing is not fun, in other words, but the writing I do early in the morning for personal fulfillment and enjoyment ought to be.
I started writing originally as a very small child. I don’t know exactly how old I was, but not too long after mastering the basic skills of reading and writing, it occurred to me that I, too, could write and that meant I could make up my own stories and write them down. I could write things that didn’t exist in the world yet. And for me, most of those things are settled so deep in my unconscious that planning them out too much robs them of their magic.
This is what happened to me with the last novel I tried to write. I got a pretty solid idea based on these people and this experience and it held a lot of promise, but because I wrote it for a novel-writing class, it met its ultimate demise because we had to outline a bit more than I like to do. We didn’t outline too much (the professor was good–very flexible on allowing us to choose our process), but the small part we did outline was too much for me. Also, the fact that I wrote the chapters as class assignments literally made the novel work and not as much fun as it otherwise would be (I got an A in the class and great comments on the chapters, though). We moved shortly after writing those chapters, then, and the rest of my life launched forward, leaving that novel in its wake.
I don’t want to write that novel now. I have already invented stories about those characters (although I’ve never written one of them down) and as far as what those characters meant to me, I have now answered all the questions I had about them and the themes surrounding that would-be novel, all by merely thinking about them often enough. I have no desire to tell that tale any longer. Would that novel have been completed if I’d done it for NaNoWriMo, with no rules except putting fingers to the keyboard? Maybe. Would it have been written if I weren’t worried about getting an A in a class? Maybe. But who knows.
This is not to say I don’t plan. I have the POV choice made, a main character (not fleshed out, but in existence), a couple of other characters, and the general idea of the structure. In short, I did the same amount of planning that I do for a short story. I think a lot of my planning takes place in my unconscious, though, and to bring it too soon to the conscious frames the ideas too much, solidifies them too much, limits them too much. It’s better to keep them in the amniotic fluid as long as possible, in the dreamworld as much as possible, until I’m ready to open the tap on my keyboard. This probably means I need to edit far more than I would if I were a planner, but maybe not. No problem. I can edit.
Rather, my planning involves figuring out how to write 50,000 words in a month. How many do I need to write each day, then? What if I have to take a day off? (I refactor the numbers). How early will I have to get up? Will family mind if I write in the evening while we’re sitting outside? What will I do when my brother and his family visit? (I refactor the numbers). What’s my game plan here?
I do that kind of planning. Just not the planning when it comes to the fun, the magic, the story.
Get ready, fellow writers, for the literary marathon known as NaNoWriMo. I’m sure you’ve heard of it, where writers of all types attempt to write 50,000 words of a novel in a mere month. I have heard of it for years, but every year, it never quite makes it onto my mental radar until the second week in November, or more likely, as I’m contemplating when to buy a turkey for Thanksgiving. By then, that ship has sailed until the next year when I again don’t think about it until it’s too late.
But not THIS year, my friends! No, this year, NaNoWriMo (National Novel-Writing Month) made it on my radar with almost three weeks to mentally prepare. Go me. I’ll need that three weeks for sure since I am not a novelist. YET.
I write short stories. I relate to short. Little bites. Condensed pieces of what could be a piece of a novel, a single character or two, a couple of places….I can do short stories. That’s not to say I don’t have novel ideas in me. I do. I have ideas bopping all around my mind, but I shove them aside because I’m not a novelist (see the circular reasoning there? The “fixed mindset”?). I take parts of them and make them into short stories–little pieces of them, little manageable nibbles.
But not in November. This November, I’m going to start with the biggest idea that’s been knocking around inside my mind for a year or so and go to town on it. I’m going to write and write a bunch of crap that will be a 50,000 word horrible novel because it’s NaNoWriMo and I think it’ll be good, if only pschologically. After all, if a person can write 50,000 words in one month, then they can probably write 25,000 the next, if they wanted to. After all, we don’t know our limits if we don’t push ourselves. And it’s not like I can’t do it, I tell myself. I’ve written and defended a quantitative dissertation. I’ve gone grocery shopping by myself with five children ages five and under (pro-tip: it takes two carts and bribery). I’m pretty sure I can do this.
I’ll keep you updated.
Every few years, I open the silverware drawer and find only knives, two forks, and one spoon.
“Where are all the spoons?” I ask.
Everyone shrugs and offers their opinions. They got left outside. They got thrown away. Someone took them to work or school for lunch and they never made it home. Lots of theories.
The forks are likewise absent.
Eventually, I break down and order them in bulk and once again, the silverware drawer is overflowing.
But the spoons and forks are still out there in the world. In the trash, or under the dirt in the backyard.