The Sheer Terror of the Blank Page

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ballpen blank desk journal

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It’s been a long time since I started a new novel.

Well, maybe not as long as it seems. I had an aborted attempt around a year ago. But I’m really zeroing in on novel writing now, and I’m discovering something I probably knew, on some level, but didn’t really, y’know… KNOW. Namely, that when life with a two teens, a tween, and an eight-year-old just entering serious activities smacks into writing, everything suffers.

(But writing suffers more than the kids. I’ll never apologize for putting them first.)

2019 has been an intense year–much of it the best possible tension–a cavalcade of good things raining down on me! And I am so very grateful for it.

But nonetheless… intense.

I’ve always been a burn-the-candle-at-both-ends person, but lately I’m really feeling how little is left at either end. I’m dropping balls all over the place. I forgot a piano lesson, people. And a doctor’s appointment that I scheduled on a day off school to make my life less complicated.

I’ve been struggling to get momentum going on a new novel. I’ve been working on that this week, as best I can, and I’m coming to some new insights. I’ve known for a long time that for me, starting a major fiction project is like getting a huge machine in motion. It’s agony at the start, and as I slowly grind into action, the motion itself clarifies things, which clarify more things, and so on, until I’m writing as fast as I can and making notes to myself for things that will happen a dozen scenes down the line.

But first, I have to invest the time to get that motion going. And it is an intense effort that really does require big blocks of uninterrupted time.

2019 has been a year of interruptions. Some were cause for celebration, others for tearing my hair out. There was a period of 3 weeks this fall, for instance, when 2/3 of the weekdays I had one half or the other of my kids home, because the public & parochial schools don’t overlap their teacher PD days. Ever. It’s like the school systems put their heads together and went out of their way to make PD days consecutive rather than concurrent.

I have been philosophical. Well aware that I only have 3 1/2 years left with my oldest, I am trying to be present in the moments of my life.

But that means ignoring not just writing, but also the Mount Everest of laundry in need of folding. Yes, yes, the kids should do it themselves, but they only get half of it and they mismatch and do it wrong and it’s harder to fix it than to do it myself in the first place!

Ahem. Back to the point at hand…

There’s a conventional wisdom among writers that you have to get the story down, no matter how bad it is–you have to turn off the internal editor and allow yourself to write a crap first draft. I’ve never bought into that. Crap drafts are harder to fix than good ones.

Unless, of course, you have no draft at all because you can’t get the momentum going. And then yes, maybe it’s time to exile the internal editor and get the story on the page.

I also realized that what makes a first draft is so terrifying to me is that literally everything is up for grabs. The major backstory event that kick starts my protagonist’s journey could be caused by something she did, or by something another character did. There are positives and negatives to both ideas, and which one I choose impacts how her present story unfolds. What time of year did event A happen? Because I have to count X number of months/years forward from that in order to figure out when Event B in the present will take place. What, precisely, did Character C do to cause my protagonist’s problem? I need to know, because her story is all about fixing it.

And every time I set out to answer one question, I discover a dozen more that need answering in order to settle the one I thought I was working on.

So for right now, my job is to decide on anything–this little thing, that little thing. Create some little anchors. Because the more anchors I put down, the more solid the framework becomes. And the more solid the framework, the clearer the picture. And the clearer the picture, the more possible it becomes to write.

(Who said there’s no world building in contemporary fiction?)

Bizarre Dreams

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woman underwater wearing black one piece swimsuit
Photo by Engin Akyurt on Pexels.com

I had a bizarre series of dreams last night:

1: I couldn’t get apps to close on a smart device. (Anyone who knows me knows this is particularly bizarre because I don’t use a smart phone.)

2: I couldn’t find the right pair of contacts.

3: We drove up Scotts Bluff (one of the settings in my road trip novel), but the drive was so steep, I was certain we were actually inverted and I a) couldn’t believe we weren’t falling off and b) couldn’t understand how my risk-averse husband was so blase about it.

But the last dream was about a magical realm set in the world of one of my previous novels. When I woke up, I thought, “That would make a great back story for a new novel.” And I couldn’t get back to sleep for excitement thinking through the possibilities.

Since finishing my big novel revision and sending out a bunch more queries last week, I’ve been feeling a big void in desire and interest in novel writing. Partly because I’m still waiting for those great outdoor days off I promised myself. (Kayaking. Today. Even if it’s only in the 50s. Because hey. It’s not raining, and there are only a couple weeks of school left!)

But I haven’t been freaking out about my lack of desire. I figured it’d come in its good time. And now I believe it has. Because now I have two novels to develop and choose between…plus the one I tried to write last winter that I still think is a good concept, but needs more development.

Which makes this week a win, I think.

Meet My First Editor

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Conventional wisdom says that writers should never ask family members for feedback. Loved ones will inevitably fawn all over you and tell you how good your writing is (even when it isn’t) and that you don’t need to change a thing (even though you do). To the purveyors of CW, I simply say: You obviously haven’t met my baby sister.

Meet my first editor:

Okay, that was unfair. But I could have picked the one with her shampooed hair sticking up in a spike. Besides, I wanted to use the image to imply…accurately…that she’s been critiquing me since she was about this age. But since the 80s are long gone, let’s try this one instead:(Please ignore my daughter’s tremendously NOT attractive facemaking skills.)

My sister is a lawyer. But I told her the other day that she missed her calling. Because she has yet to give me a critique that was off the mark. Brutal she can be, but her reactions are always spot on. “Show, don’t tell.” “One-dimensional character.” “Implausible.” She doesn’t use writing lingo, but she instinctively understands the concepts. She also instinctively understands the market, even though she has no reason or expertise to qualify her to do so. She’s simply the quintessential modern reader. When she talks about a book, it sounds like a repeat of every agent blog I’ve ever read. Whatever she thinks about a book, you can bet it’s a darned good indicator of what everybody else is going to think, too.

And the most amazing part is that she hasn’t obsessed or pored over websites, magazines or books to learn it. She just gets it.

She’s been offering me feedback since we were both living at home, and I was saving my novels on multiple floppy disks.

 Imation Storage media - floppy disk - 1.44 MB

No, not those. I mean the one on the left in this picture. The 8-inch one.

 

You know, the floppies that were actually floppy?

Anyway.

The other day, I asked her to nit-pick my novel opening. The novel that’s making me pull my hair out, because it refuses to fly the coop. She sent me a blistering one-page (single-spaced) analysis of the first five pages of the manuscript, and finished up her missive with, “Well, those are my immediate thoughts.” I had to laugh, thinking, Holy cow, if those are your immediate thoughts, I don’t know if I’m going to ask for an in-depth critique!

Well, this quick and easy blog entry has turned into a two-hour ordeal of picture-hunting, so I won’t belabor the point. I simply wanted to publicly acknowledge my sister for her time and help over the years. Keep up the blistering, sis. Where would I be without you?