I'm doing NaNoWriMo again this year. I just decided this about an hour ago.
I'm a glutton for punishment.
The timing for it is right, though. That was a major factor in my decision. I just completed a second draft of a novel I'm working on and need to let it "cool off" AND I need to work on doing a "white paper" draft of this other novel.
Yes, there are a lot of novels flying around. Whatever.
Doing NaNoWriMo is a guaranteed way to get a first draft or "white paper" draft done. It's punishing, exhausting, and an emotional roller coaster ride but still worthwhile.
This will be my fourth one. And, yeah, I'm going to make 50,000 words in 30 days just like I did THREE TIMES BEFORE. It'll be a pain, a slog, and all kinds of euphoria.
Definitely worth my time.
November is coming up in less than 2 hours. Wish me luck.
Showing posts with label Writing Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing Life. Show all posts
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Writing Life: Angels
"You seem more comfortable lately."
"Work is better and I'm writing regularly again," I say picking up a cupcake and peeling back the paper. There's a small jolt and a few chocolate crumbs drop to my shirt.
"Sector 7. Australian desert habitat," announces a mechanical sounding female voice.
I nod towards the glass dome. "So what's your fancy? Do you want to hang out down under?"
"Nah, let's keep going. I'm in the mood for a safari. Okay with you?"
"Sure."
He leans forward, looking at the hovercraft console then punches in some numbers into the keypad. There's gentle surge forward.
Mr. Gryphon and I are sitting in a large hovercraft having tea. There are no teacups or teapot, instead we brought along small thermoses of hot water and a selection of tea bags for each of us. We have the usual assortment of tea sandwiches and small cupcakes and we are sitting at a table built into the hovercraft, facing each other.
We are on the Ark, a massive spaceship which is part of a huge fleet. The Ark is a setting for one of my stories. I haven't finished it yet but Mr. Gryphon and I really like to come here and hang out.
The fleet houses every living human being, all in cryogenic sleep, while the Ark houses every earthly habitat and every species of animal. Each Sector is a different habitat which has been spatially shrunk down to fit inside massive domes. When you look inside the glass, they resemble snow globes, but when you go inside, each habitat is experienced as realspace and many are hundreds, sometimes thousands, of square miles. When I say "glass" I mean a transparent substance which is only a few atoms thick but is virtually indestructible.
The largest habitat is the ocean. All of it. The dome is so large that it sits at the very top of the Ark, the glass jutting out into space.
We are riding along one of the "boulevards," huge corridors for transport. Each corridor averages about a mile wide, are hundreds of miles long, and snake through the ship.
No one else is around. Everyone is still asleep. The ship's sensors don't detect our presence.
"Can't you write another story for this setting?" says Mr. Gryphon. He drinks some tea and picks up a cupcake.
"I suppose I could," I say, looking around. "I have grown fond of this place."
"The current story is such a downer, Miss Turtle."
"No spoilers."
"It's true," he says, waving his feathery hand. "All this is fascinating yet you tacked it on like an afterthought."
"Hmmm."
He puts his thermos down. There's a slight breeze of filtered air. "What's wrong? You're distracted." He is looking at me carefully, his ears twitching.
I'm getting a bit warmer, blushing. "Angels," I say.
"What about them?"
"They always appear, Mr. Gryphon. You are one yourself."
"And they always leave, Miss Turtle. Except me."
"That's true but I created you so you wouldn't leave."
"I'm not complaining."
"Sector 9. Black Forest," intones the mechanical voice. I look at the glass dome at the lush dark trees. Shafts of sunlight illuminate velvety green carpets of wild grasses and other underbrush.
I lean forward. The hovercraft picks up speed. We are on a long stretch between domes. "When I need someone and all seems dire and lost, an angel appears. It's the third time it's happened so far."
Mr. Gryphon blinks his great yellow eyes slowly at me. "Consider yourself lucky."
"And yet, I am doomed to never express my gratitude eloquently enough. I can never repay the favor. It doesn't seem fair."
"Maybe this is an exercise in accepting gifts."
"I always muck it up, Mr. Gryphon. I can never be elegant or restrained about it."
"That's because you always fall for your angels. Maybe not in a forever way but in a magical way."
"Magical?"
"You know, all brilliant imagination and the like. You want them to catch a glimpse of your inner world."
"I just want to share a little."
"Will you immortalize this one too?"
"I don't know. There's a bunch of other things to write."
The hovercraft is moving smoothly along. Ahead of us the lights begin to dim. I nod at him. Mr. Gryphon turns around. I focus forward, waiting as the hovercraft moves closer to a fork in the boulevard head of us.
We take the fork to the right and a few moments later the ship seems to vanish, and it looks like we are out in space. The number of stars is dizzying. Above and below us is nothing but the shock of endless space. We can see a small planet to our left, far off in the distance.
This part always takes my breath away.
We are still on the boulevard but this section is all "glass" and was built as an observation "road." It will continue this way for at least 10 miles. When the people are around, this section is a very popular place for walking, running, riding bikes, and driving, of course. The only thing you really can't do is walk your dog on it or ride a horse. The animals freak out when they see vast expanse of space.
It takes some getting used to when walking or running on the road for the first few times. You can't see the road so it feels like you're running in mid-air. Instead, you have to get used to the focusing on the small, bright red signs placed at regular intervals. Sometimes people get disoriented and run into the glass walls. It's easier if others are there so you can follow each other.
"I think you're immortalizing him now, Miss Turtle."
"Yes," I say absently. "I suppose this post is for him."
"Do you think he'll like it?"
"I have no idea. I don't even know if he's going to read it but...it's here and that's good enough for me."
Mr. Gryphon sits back in his seat. The hovercraft continues forward. I ponder my own gratitude for the current situation and hope I don't muck it up too bad.
"It will be all right, Miss Turtle."
"I hope so."
There's a bright light appearing on the planet edge to our left. Dawn is coming and it will be a new day in that world. I relax, taking a sip of tea.
"Work is better and I'm writing regularly again," I say picking up a cupcake and peeling back the paper. There's a small jolt and a few chocolate crumbs drop to my shirt.
"Sector 7. Australian desert habitat," announces a mechanical sounding female voice.
I nod towards the glass dome. "So what's your fancy? Do you want to hang out down under?"
"Nah, let's keep going. I'm in the mood for a safari. Okay with you?"
"Sure."
He leans forward, looking at the hovercraft console then punches in some numbers into the keypad. There's gentle surge forward.
Mr. Gryphon and I are sitting in a large hovercraft having tea. There are no teacups or teapot, instead we brought along small thermoses of hot water and a selection of tea bags for each of us. We have the usual assortment of tea sandwiches and small cupcakes and we are sitting at a table built into the hovercraft, facing each other.
We are on the Ark, a massive spaceship which is part of a huge fleet. The Ark is a setting for one of my stories. I haven't finished it yet but Mr. Gryphon and I really like to come here and hang out.
The fleet houses every living human being, all in cryogenic sleep, while the Ark houses every earthly habitat and every species of animal. Each Sector is a different habitat which has been spatially shrunk down to fit inside massive domes. When you look inside the glass, they resemble snow globes, but when you go inside, each habitat is experienced as realspace and many are hundreds, sometimes thousands, of square miles. When I say "glass" I mean a transparent substance which is only a few atoms thick but is virtually indestructible.
The largest habitat is the ocean. All of it. The dome is so large that it sits at the very top of the Ark, the glass jutting out into space.
We are riding along one of the "boulevards," huge corridors for transport. Each corridor averages about a mile wide, are hundreds of miles long, and snake through the ship.
No one else is around. Everyone is still asleep. The ship's sensors don't detect our presence.
"Can't you write another story for this setting?" says Mr. Gryphon. He drinks some tea and picks up a cupcake.
"I suppose I could," I say, looking around. "I have grown fond of this place."
"The current story is such a downer, Miss Turtle."
"No spoilers."
"It's true," he says, waving his feathery hand. "All this is fascinating yet you tacked it on like an afterthought."
"Hmmm."
He puts his thermos down. There's a slight breeze of filtered air. "What's wrong? You're distracted." He is looking at me carefully, his ears twitching.
I'm getting a bit warmer, blushing. "Angels," I say.
"What about them?"
"They always appear, Mr. Gryphon. You are one yourself."
"And they always leave, Miss Turtle. Except me."
"That's true but I created you so you wouldn't leave."
"I'm not complaining."
"Sector 9. Black Forest," intones the mechanical voice. I look at the glass dome at the lush dark trees. Shafts of sunlight illuminate velvety green carpets of wild grasses and other underbrush.
I lean forward. The hovercraft picks up speed. We are on a long stretch between domes. "When I need someone and all seems dire and lost, an angel appears. It's the third time it's happened so far."
Mr. Gryphon blinks his great yellow eyes slowly at me. "Consider yourself lucky."
"And yet, I am doomed to never express my gratitude eloquently enough. I can never repay the favor. It doesn't seem fair."
"Maybe this is an exercise in accepting gifts."
"I always muck it up, Mr. Gryphon. I can never be elegant or restrained about it."
"That's because you always fall for your angels. Maybe not in a forever way but in a magical way."
"Magical?"
"You know, all brilliant imagination and the like. You want them to catch a glimpse of your inner world."
"I just want to share a little."
"Will you immortalize this one too?"
"I don't know. There's a bunch of other things to write."
The hovercraft is moving smoothly along. Ahead of us the lights begin to dim. I nod at him. Mr. Gryphon turns around. I focus forward, waiting as the hovercraft moves closer to a fork in the boulevard head of us.
We take the fork to the right and a few moments later the ship seems to vanish, and it looks like we are out in space. The number of stars is dizzying. Above and below us is nothing but the shock of endless space. We can see a small planet to our left, far off in the distance.
This part always takes my breath away.
We are still on the boulevard but this section is all "glass" and was built as an observation "road." It will continue this way for at least 10 miles. When the people are around, this section is a very popular place for walking, running, riding bikes, and driving, of course. The only thing you really can't do is walk your dog on it or ride a horse. The animals freak out when they see vast expanse of space.
It takes some getting used to when walking or running on the road for the first few times. You can't see the road so it feels like you're running in mid-air. Instead, you have to get used to the focusing on the small, bright red signs placed at regular intervals. Sometimes people get disoriented and run into the glass walls. It's easier if others are there so you can follow each other.
"I think you're immortalizing him now, Miss Turtle."
"Yes," I say absently. "I suppose this post is for him."
"Do you think he'll like it?"
"I have no idea. I don't even know if he's going to read it but...it's here and that's good enough for me."
Mr. Gryphon sits back in his seat. The hovercraft continues forward. I ponder my own gratitude for the current situation and hope I don't muck it up too bad.
"It will be all right, Miss Turtle."
"I hope so."
There's a bright light appearing on the planet edge to our left. Dawn is coming and it will be a new day in that world. I relax, taking a sip of tea.
Write. Good. Shit
So I've been wandering around lately looking for posts on how to work the social media and I see articles (formatted into lists) on how to effectively blog, and I keep running into the "write good shit" mantra. That is, write great content. Because, these people say, if you write good shit you can break almost every other rule about blogging.
Rules. About blogging. Yeah.
I guess I don't follow rules. This is why I have a very small readership.
Setting aside my feelings about "blog rules," I can't help but wonder exactly what is good shit? There seems to be a kind of consensus that writers need to write "good shit" but I have yet to find anything that explains what that could be.
It was cold but the chill in the air appeared to be standing in the room, a small entity in itself. She raised her hand, feeling for a breeze or the indication of a crack or some breach in building structure but there was none. Just the cool, slightly damp of a large basement with a single column of cold right in front of her.
The lights flickered, not that it was very bright in the first place. They'd installed old lights overhead that gave off a tired glint. The kind of artificial light that drains your energy if you stand under it too long.
She sighed. The smell of moldy, damp earth filled her nose. She shouldn't be surprised about that. She might be in a basement but she was deep enough under the building to be standing on dirt.
A sound. Scratching. How cliche, she thought. She looked down at her feet. Always the same, never different. She thought about how people are so wrapped up in themselves, how easy it would be for someone (or something) else move around you without your knowing. Someone could be standing right next to you or right behind you if you're wrapped too much in your own head space.
Head space... She tried not to think about that. She tried not to think about how she hadn't looked around herself in the last five minutes or so, and that if she did now, there might be someone or something standing right outside her field of vision.
Something brushed the back of her hair. She glanced to her right, perfectly still. Sometimes these things don't jump out at you like a guy with an ax in a horror movie, she thought. Sometimes they don't jump at all. Sometimes they're just standing there, waiting.
She took a breath and then slowly turned around.
Rules. About blogging. Yeah.
I guess I don't follow rules. This is why I have a very small readership.
Setting aside my feelings about "blog rules," I can't help but wonder exactly what is good shit? There seems to be a kind of consensus that writers need to write "good shit" but I have yet to find anything that explains what that could be.
***
How about this?It was cold but the chill in the air appeared to be standing in the room, a small entity in itself. She raised her hand, feeling for a breeze or the indication of a crack or some breach in building structure but there was none. Just the cool, slightly damp of a large basement with a single column of cold right in front of her.
The lights flickered, not that it was very bright in the first place. They'd installed old lights overhead that gave off a tired glint. The kind of artificial light that drains your energy if you stand under it too long.
She sighed. The smell of moldy, damp earth filled her nose. She shouldn't be surprised about that. She might be in a basement but she was deep enough under the building to be standing on dirt.
A sound. Scratching. How cliche, she thought. She looked down at her feet. Always the same, never different. She thought about how people are so wrapped up in themselves, how easy it would be for someone (or something) else move around you without your knowing. Someone could be standing right next to you or right behind you if you're wrapped too much in your own head space.
Head space... She tried not to think about that. She tried not to think about how she hadn't looked around herself in the last five minutes or so, and that if she did now, there might be someone or something standing right outside her field of vision.
Something brushed the back of her hair. She glanced to her right, perfectly still. Sometimes these things don't jump out at you like a guy with an ax in a horror movie, she thought. Sometimes they don't jump at all. Sometimes they're just standing there, waiting.
She took a breath and then slowly turned around.
Sorry about that. Definitely NOT good shit but having written this little pathetic missive makes me wonder some things. Could good shit be about telling a story even if you're trying to sell something? Is good shit a story and is it possible that stories, told well, are one of the best ways to move people?
***
Okay, how about this?
Ice plant flower. An invasive species scattered along our California coastline. Taken at Gazos Creek State Beach along Highway 1. Who might consider this good shit? My mom? She loves my flower pictures. A botanist? A beachcomber?
***
Or what about this? The fabled formatted-into-list post which appears to be everyone's, and I mean EVERYONE'S favorite type of post. Apparently, blog stats show consistently that if you want to increase the chances of having your post shared, you write a listed post. As in:
TOP 5 BEST TIPS I KNOW FOR TAKING AWESOME PICTURES!
These tips are in no particular order, I've just numbered them so Google will pick up that this is a list when it crawls through my little corner of the web.
- Pay attention to the light (and by extension, color). Whether you're outside or indoors, pay attention to where the light is coming in and the angle. For outside pictures, it's widely said the best light of the day is at sunset but even if it's high noon, you can still get a decent shot if you pay attention.
- Move around. Or better yet have your subject move around. If you're taking pictures of people, don't just settle for everyone standing in front of something and smiling. Watch what people are doing, and see if you can get some group shots where they're interacting with each other or with some landmark. And try running, jumping, walking, dancing, any kind of movement pictures, especially if the light is good and you're in a nice location. And definitely do this is you're photographing kids.
- Vary the perspective. As in, zoom in, pull out, get low to the ground, or high above your subject.
- Explore your surroundings. Keep looking for a better background, a better angle. Sometimes it's all about standing, watching and waiting for the light to shift a little. An obvious situation would be during a sunset but this tip applies to all photography.
- Experiment. Keep shooting and trying different techniques, equipment, places, ideas.
Good shit? Naw, just the usual list of tips, right? Plus, it's too damn wordy.
***
Round two of the fabled bulleted list post:
FOUR FACTORS TO CONSIDER WHEN CHOOSING A WORDPRESS THEME
(even though this is posted on Blogger)
- Consider how you're using the site. Are you showcasing your photography? Selling something? Blogging? There are a zillion themes that tailor to whatever your objectives are so take a look around.
- Ease of use. Do you know nothing about website building and need something you can just upload and start blogging on? Do you know CSS? Do you have a web designer and/or webmaster who will be maintaining the site?
- What's your learning curve? Are you planning on getting in there and learning how it all works so you can do it yourself? Will you hire someone to help you? Or do you just want to throw money at someone or a team to do it all for you?
- What's your budget? The possibilities are endless. You could go with the free Wordpress theme 2013 and do just fine for the most part or you could pay a yearly license for a Premium theme that allows you drag and drop functionality and flexibility.
Still not making it. Sigh.
***
One of my friends occasionally writes these great little posts with useful links. If I post a bunch of links about writing good shit, does that make the post good?
Write Epic Shit by Corbett Barr. Barr states you need to write posts that make people think, that are useful, and inspiring. Okay, that makes sense. He also says epic doesn't mean long. Uh oh, I think I've already screwed up there with this post.
The Number One Secret to Growing Your Audience: Write Good Shit by Ricardo Bueno. I'm not sure if this a good article on writing good shit but it's a nice list of tips for writing in general.
How to Write Great Shit and Own It by Kristy Gardner. I have to say I kind of like this post, particularly her number one suggestion.
The Most Important Lesson I Ever Learned by Steve Pressfield. Um yeah. This is a GREAT cold water splash of a post. Definitely worth reading.
***
Aright. I'm tired and I don't think I've gotten any closer to figuring out this epic shit thing. The cure for that is to keep writing. At least I think so.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Writing Life: Howdy/Some Impromptu Writing Advice
I'm listening to Eminem right now.
My garbage disposal is broken.
And I kinda like Psy's new video "Gentlemen."
In August, I'm going to see Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart in Pinter's play "No Man's Land" and (FUCK.YEAH.) I'll be sitting in the second row.
I saw the "Girl." Twice.
And I like the word Huzzah!
I saw a play called "The Motherfucker with the Hat." We gave them a standing ovation.
The guys next door, the ones who live with a dachshund named Oscar, were shouting and whooping. Must have been Giants game playing (random image).
I'm writing up a storm, as usual. And I write on our writing group's Facebook page sometimes, when I feel like it.
I have not been writing here. Dry as a bone with the blog posts. Focused elsewhere.
Besides, having faith and confidence in your abilities is not about ego, it's about being realistic about where you are in this process and giving yourself some credit. I'm a pretty good writer and a better storyteller. I really like my own stuff and the reasons why I'm doing this, the very core from which I operate, are rock solid.
It's an important mindset to evolve to. It can be hard to maintain but if you can keep yourself there most of the time, you're doing all right.
My garbage disposal is broken.
And I kinda like Psy's new video "Gentlemen."
In August, I'm going to see Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart in Pinter's play "No Man's Land" and (FUCK.YEAH.) I'll be sitting in the second row.
I saw the "Girl." Twice.
And I like the word Huzzah!
I saw a play called "The Motherfucker with the Hat." We gave them a standing ovation.
The guys next door, the ones who live with a dachshund named Oscar, were shouting and whooping. Must have been Giants game playing (random image).
I'm writing up a storm, as usual. And I write on our writing group's Facebook page sometimes, when I feel like it.
I have not been writing here. Dry as a bone with the blog posts. Focused elsewhere.
***
I have nothing interesting to report. That's because I'm working a major project which I'm not going to reveal to the vast majority of you. Sorry.
I live a split life. On one hand, I go to work, check FB, check email, sometimes post statuses, go to writing group, see friends and family, go to the theater, hang out in the city.
On the other hand, I'm seriously focused on this project, working my ass off. Other writers keep asking what I'm writing. I either give them a very vague description or refuse to tell them. Trouble is, a few of the participants in my group have become regulars and they want to know when I'm going to start sending out my work. I'm not going to do that so I say something vague about looking into self-publishing and change the subject.
I'm closeted, in a way, and it will remain so for the foreseeable future maybe for the rest of my life.
I'm seriously okay with this idea.
***
It's always a mistake to think that everyone is going to be interested in your stuff. Your job, as a writer, is to identify who your readers are and go after them. Or rather, it's your job to HELP your readers, the people who are going to love your work, to find you.
And it's not going to be all your friends and family either.
Who is going to love your work? What are they like? What are their interests and where do they hang out? These are important questions.
Even more important is how you market to those readers. I heard on a podcast that the best way to market your book is to write a second one. This way when a reader finds you and loves your stuff, there's more for them to buy. Ideally, you'd have at least five books in the hopper so you can keep some momentum going. Yes, this is a long term project.
Blitzing people with emails about your book is just spam, gets lost in the shuffle. It may work for a little while but you can't sustain your sales with that. You have to get yourself out there in other ways.
What's your website like? Is there a lot of content? Have you been writing/blogging on it for a while so people can get a sense of your writing? Is your face plastered all over the place but you have no content up there to show for it? Take that shit down, for crying out loud. People don't care about what you look like or that your name is in a giant sized font, they want to know if they're going to like your writing, and you. The only way they're going to know that is if you give them something to read. Free first chapter? Pzzt! How about a free short story or two? This way people can get a good sense of your writing so they can make an informed decision about whether to give your book a shot.
What? You don't have a website? Get off your ass and set up a WordPress site somewhere! Use the default theme, Twenty Twelve if you have to (it's not bad, by the way). Get yourself a domain name and start cranking on that baby as soon as you can. You need to start this shit when you start writing your book.
If you finish your book and people are curious about you but you don't have a website or your website is paltry and neglected looking or your website is all images and links to Amazon but no content for the reader to explore then he/she will move onto the next book (not yours).
Lastly, remember that writing a book and marketing it are two different skill sets. Do not underestimate this truth or the attendant learning curve. Do not ignore that you're going to have to do marketing and find your audience whether you get picked up by an agent and published traditionally or decide to self-publish. There are a zillion articles, online courses, books that tell you how to leverage social media, blogs, etc to get yourself and your book out there.
***
Writing, like all artistic endeavors, requires a measure of ego. It's the only way to steel ourselves against the people who aren't going to like our work or any scathing criticism that will come our way (and it will, believe me). Not everyone will like your stuff. I'm sure there are people who think this blog is crap. That's okay because I'm willing to tell those people to 1) go fuck off, and 2) wish them good luck with finding a blog they do like, thanks for stopping by.Besides, having faith and confidence in your abilities is not about ego, it's about being realistic about where you are in this process and giving yourself some credit. I'm a pretty good writer and a better storyteller. I really like my own stuff and the reasons why I'm doing this, the very core from which I operate, are rock solid.
It's an important mindset to evolve to. It can be hard to maintain but if you can keep yourself there most of the time, you're doing all right.
***
Psy's video, by the way, is about an obnoxious jerk who plays pranks on people but I like his low crotch pants, bright jackets, sunglasses, the hip rocking dance, and the song is catchy. I like this parody and especially like it when the women start hitting back with the pranks.
Saturday, February 09, 2013
NaNoWriMo 2012: Finished This Draft - 76,666 Words
That's about 307 pages and it's the second longest thing I've written so far.
As always, it was a tough slog and this time it took even longer to finish. My last NaNo novel tops out at 76,761 words but I managed to finish it by the middle of January. This one took almost another month of work.
There are huge plot holes. I'm not satisfied with the end. There are a couple of plot points which might not work and by the end I was just laying down words and leaving out some details so there's a stilted quality to the writing but this is a first draft and first drafts are shitty.
On the plus side, my characters really seemed to grow in this story. They seem authentic and their character arcs fit them. The story is exciting and takes place in New York City, Europe, and Asia. And I cried at the end of the Epilogue.
I'm taking a week off from writing (this blog post excepted) then I'll finish another project that's waiting in the wings. I'll start working on revising this draft in another month, maybe six weeks. We'll see how I feel.
It feels good to finish. The great thing about writing, about many endeavors for that matter but especially creative ones, is each time you finish and complete another milestone you add to your skills, increase your endurance, and learn a little more about how you work. Writing is building slowly, completing work, working hard. There's no getting around that fact.
Tuesday, January 01, 2013
Writing Life: Ten Lines (or sets of lines) From Novels And Stories I Haven't Written Yet
This is the time of year for top ten lists and Miss Turtle has decided to compile her own. Keep in mind I don't know how these lines will fit into the story, when they will be written, or even what they will be about exactly. Also, they are all from separate stories, minimal editing has been done, and, with the exception of the line from Story No. 1, they were written cold. When I finally get around writing the stories down, these lines will likely change. The numbering is purely for reference.
Story No. 1:
Revenge is the purest form of self-destruction.
Story No. 2:
Character 1: Why do you keep following me around?
Character 2: Because you need following. If you keep wandering around in these dangerous parts by yourself something bad is going to happen.
Character 1: Why should you care? We don't even really know each other.
Character 2: Hell if I know. Must be your big blue eyes or, more likely, my own damn boredom. Not much is happening right now and this is, well, it's a form of cheap entertainment.
Story No. 3:
He sat as he had for days. Mute, virtually paralyzed, unable to respond to any stimuli until he saw the flash of needle and the syringe being filled. There was no change in expression nor did he move but a single tear managed to leak out of his eye, running down his cheek when he finally blinked.
Story No. 4:
You're not going to shoot anyone! You're just a damn accountant!
Story No. 5:
The house dreamed, stretching and reaching. Its own hunger had finally been satiated and the desire to take more and more had subsided. Now it sat, looking regal with its old architecture and strangely elegant broken down insides. No one would go there anymore, it had done all it could to keep all the living things away. If anything or anybody tried to breach its walled and glass skins, it wouldn't just take lives, it would take everything that existed outside the overgrown garden walls.
Story No. 6:
The water pouring into the narrow space was warm at least. I looked up as the opening was sealed shut. I waited for them to turn off the lights but they remained on. The water was already up to my waist. I looked at my hands for a moment then up again. I couldn't figure out why they left the lights on. I took a deep breath. At least I'd learned to swim and tread water that would keep me alive for a little while. My heart was pounding. I was really going to drown this time. I'd almost done it twice before but this time it seemed inevitable.
Story No. 7:
The President sat alone in the Oval Office. He'd come to Washington riding on the backs of those voters who had high hopes for him. And he'd believed that he could live up to those hopes, but it was after 2:00 am EST on Wednesday and he'd seen the very last of his idealistic plans vanish in this week's round of grueling late night meetings. At least he'd held onto those plans until after he'd passed his first hundred days milestone.
Story No. 8:
The first time I saw my true love, I was getting on a train. The power had switched off for a few minutes as it does underground, and everyone was looking at their phones, their faces illuminated with that cell phone blue light. He was the only one not looking at his phone. Instead, he was looking at me.
UPDATE: This one wasn't written cold, actually. A friend posted on FB that she'd gotten on MUNI and the lights went out for a few seconds and everyone's face was illuminated by a cell phone. I asked her for permission to use this striking image in a story.
Story No. 9:
Character 1: I liked you a lot better before. At least you seemed to like me then. Now you can't wait to get rid of me.
Character 2: What else am I going to do stuck with the likes of you for 50 years? The whole universe in front of us, decades of time, and only you for company? I had to compromise on something.
Story No. 10:
This time I'm getting everything back. Everything I lost, that I hold dear is coming back to me. Just this once.
Story No. 1:
Revenge is the purest form of self-destruction.
Story No. 2:
Character 1: Why do you keep following me around?
Character 2: Because you need following. If you keep wandering around in these dangerous parts by yourself something bad is going to happen.
Character 1: Why should you care? We don't even really know each other.
Character 2: Hell if I know. Must be your big blue eyes or, more likely, my own damn boredom. Not much is happening right now and this is, well, it's a form of cheap entertainment.
Story No. 3:
He sat as he had for days. Mute, virtually paralyzed, unable to respond to any stimuli until he saw the flash of needle and the syringe being filled. There was no change in expression nor did he move but a single tear managed to leak out of his eye, running down his cheek when he finally blinked.
Story No. 4:
You're not going to shoot anyone! You're just a damn accountant!
Story No. 5:
The house dreamed, stretching and reaching. Its own hunger had finally been satiated and the desire to take more and more had subsided. Now it sat, looking regal with its old architecture and strangely elegant broken down insides. No one would go there anymore, it had done all it could to keep all the living things away. If anything or anybody tried to breach its walled and glass skins, it wouldn't just take lives, it would take everything that existed outside the overgrown garden walls.
Story No. 6:
The water pouring into the narrow space was warm at least. I looked up as the opening was sealed shut. I waited for them to turn off the lights but they remained on. The water was already up to my waist. I looked at my hands for a moment then up again. I couldn't figure out why they left the lights on. I took a deep breath. At least I'd learned to swim and tread water that would keep me alive for a little while. My heart was pounding. I was really going to drown this time. I'd almost done it twice before but this time it seemed inevitable.
Story No. 7:
The President sat alone in the Oval Office. He'd come to Washington riding on the backs of those voters who had high hopes for him. And he'd believed that he could live up to those hopes, but it was after 2:00 am EST on Wednesday and he'd seen the very last of his idealistic plans vanish in this week's round of grueling late night meetings. At least he'd held onto those plans until after he'd passed his first hundred days milestone.
Story No. 8:
The first time I saw my true love, I was getting on a train. The power had switched off for a few minutes as it does underground, and everyone was looking at their phones, their faces illuminated with that cell phone blue light. He was the only one not looking at his phone. Instead, he was looking at me.
UPDATE: This one wasn't written cold, actually. A friend posted on FB that she'd gotten on MUNI and the lights went out for a few seconds and everyone's face was illuminated by a cell phone. I asked her for permission to use this striking image in a story.
Story No. 9:
Character 1: I liked you a lot better before. At least you seemed to like me then. Now you can't wait to get rid of me.
Character 2: What else am I going to do stuck with the likes of you for 50 years? The whole universe in front of us, decades of time, and only you for company? I had to compromise on something.
Story No. 10:
This time I'm getting everything back. Everything I lost, that I hold dear is coming back to me. Just this once.
Friday, November 30, 2012
NaNoWriMo 2102: 51,342 Words!!!!
Yes, sports fans, I did it. I kicked ass and took names. I stared down my own procrastination, excuses, and I plowed through that shit.
It was difficult. It was a slog. I was about 10,000 words behind going into Thanksgiving weekend but I did well these last three days, only had to write 2,000 words a day. For those of you wondering, 50,000 words is about 120 pages. 51,342 words is about 125 pages.
And it's not over yet. I'm guessing I'm about two/thirds the way through this story. I may rest tomorrow then I'll keep writing. I'm going to start out with a goal of 1,000 words a day but if that turns out to be too ambitious, I'll throttle it back to 500 until the story is done. And who knows? Maybe this will be the start of a good writing habit. Maybe I'll spend the rest of my life writing 500 or 1000 words a day and never look back.
It can be done, this novel writing thing. But it's really hard work. It's a commitment. It's a big deal. And I might not get anywhere with this stuff but who cares? I'm going to keep writing. When I'm on my deathbed, I'll be frantically typing on my tablet or laptop, trying to outrun Death's grasping hands for a few minutes longer while I lay down my last words.
Have a good weekend, everybody. I know I'm going to.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
NaNoWriMo 2012: 20,178 Words
It's the middle of the month and I'm still behind. Nothing new there but it's difficult to stay focused and I'm not sure why at this point. I could blame it on a lot of things, and believe me I've been trying to but the blame isn't getting me anywhere.
I just need to write, dammit. That is all.
I'm loving my story a lot. Usually by the middle of the month, I start hating the story and the characters. I think about quitting and I wonder why I ever bothered but this story is different. I feel like it's a slog to get it down but I'm really enjoying myself. Weird.
I'm starting to wonder if this story will breaking the 50,000 word limit. Like the last NaNoWriMo novel, this one might.
Unlike previous NaNos, I had a much better idea of what this story was about because I've spent a lot of time thinking about it. I took some random notes on the way to the starting line and I knew there were several scenes that had to be included. I knew how it was going to begin and how it's going to end. Thing is the story is still managing to surprise the hell out of me. For example, my characters keep having these fascinating conversations and for the scenes I knew had to be in the story, they're going differently than I expected.
This has all been great, of course, but it's still a slog. Onward to the finish line...
Monday, October 29, 2012
NaNoWriMo 2012
Yes, it's time for number three. My third participation in National Novel Writing Month. I've got a story to draft and with November close by, I'm going to give it another go.
The Rules: 50,000 words in 30 days. Sign up at the website. You "win" if you can verify your story word count at the end of the month.
I will not be participating in any of the group writing activities or hanging out on the forums. There's too much work to do - about 1700 words per day of work. I could talk about how this time will be easier because I've done it two times before but I'm going to assume it will still be a tough slog.
I have an idea for the story, a big fucking muddled stew of an idea, truth be told. I have no idea how it's going to go. This story is a cumulation of previous stories and the ending of a short series so it has to be great and satisfying. Has to be.
Ever look at your own work, marvel at how cool it is and how well it turned out then wonder how the hell you did it? I do that all the time especially in the beginning of a project. Did those words really come from me? How did I figure out those plot points so everything fits so well together? I'm nervous, of course, as I am before all NaNoWriMos but I'm also excited too. I can't wait to see how the story goes and what surprises come out. I've got front row seats to the best show in town.
The Rules: 50,000 words in 30 days. Sign up at the website. You "win" if you can verify your story word count at the end of the month.
I will not be participating in any of the group writing activities or hanging out on the forums. There's too much work to do - about 1700 words per day of work. I could talk about how this time will be easier because I've done it two times before but I'm going to assume it will still be a tough slog.
I have an idea for the story, a big fucking muddled stew of an idea, truth be told. I have no idea how it's going to go. This story is a cumulation of previous stories and the ending of a short series so it has to be great and satisfying. Has to be.
Ever look at your own work, marvel at how cool it is and how well it turned out then wonder how the hell you did it? I do that all the time especially in the beginning of a project. Did those words really come from me? How did I figure out those plot points so everything fits so well together? I'm nervous, of course, as I am before all NaNoWriMos but I'm also excited too. I can't wait to see how the story goes and what surprises come out. I've got front row seats to the best show in town.
Monday, September 03, 2012
Writing Life: The Wrong Novel
The backstairs at Fembo House in Nuremberg, Germany
I'm using this house, the City Museum, as a model for the house in my story
I'm flailing again. This is not a surprise. Another story is out being reviewed by a friend right now and I've happily turned to my historical novel again. Well, I happily turned to it last week but I'm feeling unhappy about it now.
My usual refrain: I don't know what the hell I'm doing.
I've been working on this novel for years. I crossed the Atlantic to research the setting and I have laid out scene after scene. I've also written back stories for the two main characters...and the back stories are more cohesive than this huge mess of a novel I've been staring at. On the bright side, I have an embarrassment of riches will which serve me well later. But it's not later, it's right now, and I have to figure what to do with the current story.
In a way this is a really good place for me. The historical novel was my first real novel and the first draft was a complete story with character development, a comprehensive plot with twists, and a story arc. It was also the wrong story. How does that work, you ask? How do you write at least 125 pages of a novel where everything fits and there's plenty of suspense and character development, and it's a complete story? How can that story not be the right one? Another writer (most likely an inexperienced one) might also say "But you have a novel! What's wrong with it?"
Here's the thing, at least for me: just because you write a story with characters and setting and stuff and you manage to write a story (beginning, middle, end) with some decent elements doesn't mean it's the right story. What's important to note is that this particular story, the wrong one, isn't wasted time. You've learned something about your characters and the world you've built and hopefully you can take some story elements and use them when you draft the right story.
I attribute this "write an entire novel but not the right one" as a combination of my formidable imagination, innate ability for telling stories, and simple writerly inexperience. I will note that I have not had this problem since. Usually my first draft is pretty much on par with the story I want to tell. I may have to do some major expanding of certain story elements or add some scenes to flesh things out but I'm generally right there with the story. The current novel is not right there. I knew the story I drafted wasn't right but I didn't know why and tried many things (and many tangents) to figure out what was wrong with it. I wandered around in the desert of my novel for a good long time before the characters did something to scare the hell out of me and everything came to standstill. I was so freaked out that I didn't know what to do and attempted to write myself out of that particular situation but that didn't work so I finally made peace with things and moved forward in that direction. Or rather I ran to catch up with my characters.
And it's the right direction BUT I now have all these bits and pieces from laying down so many earlier scenes. Some might work, some definitely won't but I don't even know how to start the clean up.
***
I signed up for a revision writing course online (Holly Lisle - How to Revise Your Novel) which is comprehensive and a ton of hard work. This past week I've been debating about whether I should continue to work on this novel by working my way through Holly's course or if I should continue to flail.
Right, so I've obviously answered my own question there. By the way, the course costs money but in my opinion is money well spent. I recommend checking out her website for tons of free writing articles. Her methods may not work for you but I like her nuts-and-bolts approach.
***
I made a comment earlier about this being a good place for me. What I meant is I can see that I've progressed in my writing because I'm not writing entire novels where the story is completely wrong anymore. This is a gratifying thing to notice about yourself as a writer.
So what am I going to do now? How am I going to stop wringing my hands and wondering where to start? I suppose I'll get my money's worth and finish Holly's very intense but I'm sure exceptionally useful course. All six months worth of lessons and more of actual work. I keep telling myself I can do it faster on my own but that's just bullshit. I can barely write a 100 page story in less than a friggin' year much less something that's more than double that page count.
Everything takes so damn long. Oh well. I guess I better get cracking...
Saturday, June 30, 2012
My Short Story and its "Problems"
"There's always someone around even if you can't see them."
That's a quote from my short story "Rodney." I thought about offering it up here for 99 cents as an experiment in self-publishing. It wouldn't matter if no one bought it. I'm more interested in the process of getting a story ready for sale on Amazon than anything else.
The problem is I had it critiqued two more times and both times the story was shot down as having problems so I've set it aside and focused on other projects. I'll work on the story later but this brings to mind how difficult it can be to hear other people's comments about your work.
People keep telling me my character is too emotional. Hrrumph. Under normal circumstances I would say fuck it and post it here but I feel like if I really want to do this experiment and offer it for 99 cents then the damn thing better not have "problems."
I had an interesting conversation with one of my friends at a recent writing group. She said she was no longer interested in making money off her writing and finds satisfaction in sharing. I have to agree with her. There is something nice about having a small readership who looks forward to your stories.
I keep thinking I should work on "Rodney" and make it less...problematic so I can get on with the experiment but I love the way it is even if my character is too "emotional." The first time I had the story critiqued, I got great feedback that made the story way better than when I'd drafted it. Subsequent critiques have been close to useless.
A couple of weekends ago I had an enlightening conversation with my Mom where we talked about this short story and its "problems." I read it to her a while back and she thought it was fine even the parts that were gory. Still, talking it through with her was helpful. It made me see that perhaps there were things in the story I needed to bring out more. For example, the early part of the story is gory but it's not clear to the reader why the story has to be that way.
As it is, I have other fish to fry but this story remains on my radar. Maybe I'll try something radical like do a podcast reading of the story as it is and then redraft it and offer that version up for 99 cents. We'll see.
That's a quote from my short story "Rodney." I thought about offering it up here for 99 cents as an experiment in self-publishing. It wouldn't matter if no one bought it. I'm more interested in the process of getting a story ready for sale on Amazon than anything else.
The problem is I had it critiqued two more times and both times the story was shot down as having problems so I've set it aside and focused on other projects. I'll work on the story later but this brings to mind how difficult it can be to hear other people's comments about your work.
People keep telling me my character is too emotional. Hrrumph. Under normal circumstances I would say fuck it and post it here but I feel like if I really want to do this experiment and offer it for 99 cents then the damn thing better not have "problems."
I had an interesting conversation with one of my friends at a recent writing group. She said she was no longer interested in making money off her writing and finds satisfaction in sharing. I have to agree with her. There is something nice about having a small readership who looks forward to your stories.
I keep thinking I should work on "Rodney" and make it less...problematic so I can get on with the experiment but I love the way it is even if my character is too "emotional." The first time I had the story critiqued, I got great feedback that made the story way better than when I'd drafted it. Subsequent critiques have been close to useless.
A couple of weekends ago I had an enlightening conversation with my Mom where we talked about this short story and its "problems." I read it to her a while back and she thought it was fine even the parts that were gory. Still, talking it through with her was helpful. It made me see that perhaps there were things in the story I needed to bring out more. For example, the early part of the story is gory but it's not clear to the reader why the story has to be that way.
As it is, I have other fish to fry but this story remains on my radar. Maybe I'll try something radical like do a podcast reading of the story as it is and then redraft it and offer that version up for 99 cents. We'll see.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Back to Basics
2012 Circa Calendar
Index cards (3x5 and 4x6)
Some small moleskines (mostly blank)
Small envelopes
The list above is a label on a white box I have on my desk.
Years ago, a guy I used to work with said when things get overwhelming or major changes are taking place sometimes it's helpful to get back to basics. Just focus on getting all your ducks in a row with the basic things in your life.
I thought at the time this was great advice because it places your focus on shoring up your foundations and gives you solid ground to stand on.
There are a ton of changes going on in my life right now. Due to many factors, I'm going to have to give up my rent-controlled apartment. In order to do that and stay here in San Francisco, it means I'm going to have to downsize. This sounds like a bad thing but it isn't. I have way too much crap, including things left over from my marriage that just don't apply to me and my life anymore. I've been wanting to streamline for years and this is the perfect opportunity to do so.
Looking at all my stuff and starting this process is intimidating as hell, though. I know there's a finite number of items in my apartment (it's not that big) but when I think about it, I get really nervous. Need to start small, need to start steady. Plus, the idea of living in another place is also scary. It's exciting too. I think I need this little shake up.
I streamlined my schedule even before I heard about my apartment. After more than 23 years I retired from volunteering with the penguins. I wasn't doing very much at the end there and I've got a bunch of personal projects I really want to focus on. Also, I stopped doing the monthly critique sessions for my writing group. I was the only one doing them and no one wanted to back me up. Running a critique session is more work than facilitating a writing group.
This evening I've started purging in earnest. I'm in my living room and worked for an hour while listening to 90s rap tunes. I tossed a lot of stuff already, consolidated some items, and have labeled some items for storage. I'm going to finish up with my office supplies (damn, there's a lot of those!) and get ready to do some more work tomorrow.
When I first started writing I read a book on writing by Jack Bickman titled "Writing the Short Story." It was the first nuts and bolts writing book I'd ever read. It's a kind of a course where you do a ton of prep work on 3x5 index cards about things you're interested in that could be inspiration for your writing and how to map out your story using 3x5 cards. I went through the entire book and worked really hard. At the end I had a nice pile of 3x5 cards with my story, characters, settings, etc. all mapped out and...I took the pile of cards and put them away. I never wrote that story down. I even went to where the story was set and drove around, making notes. The reason I never wrote it down is because the story was done. There was no need to continue with it. This was the first time I discovered intense outlining and prep work before writing doesn't work for me.
Well, I found those 3x5 cards in a box a little while ago and had fun flipping through them. All the things I'd written down for inspiration still apply. I thought about tossing the cards because I know I'll never go back and look at them but I think I'll keep them a little while longer.
Bickman's book was valuable for other reasons even if I didn't take to the method he was teaching. Mainly, it gave me a good overview of plot structure and the concept of adding "tags" or characteristics to your characters to give them more depth.
Another thing I found nestled among the 3x5 cards is an outline for a short story I wrote when I first moved here. The story itself has been lost as far as I can tell. The setting is in the Southwest and it's an extremely disturbing revenge story. I mention it in this old blog post (The Role of Extreme Violence in Art). I went all out with it and kept pushing and pushing, trying to go to places that scared the hell out of me to see what would come out and how much I could take. I know if I read it now it would be full of beginning writer mistakes but it would be nice to take a look at it anyway. The story contains some of the most powerful visuals I've ever written and is one of the most violent and gory stories I have ever read. I still remember most of it and at this point those 3x5s are just about priceless. I'll probably write it down again at some point.
Hmm. I was supposed to talk more about getting back to basics but ended up talking about writing again. Oh well.
I have a lot of blank index cards. I use them in my writers notebook/calendar sometimes and occasionally decide to go back to using them as my calendar. And who knows, I may decide to try plotting out another story with them. I'll talk about the moleskines later. For now, let's just say I have an obsession with them, and blank books in general.
If I find anything else of interest, I'll do another post.
Index cards (3x5 and 4x6)
Some small moleskines (mostly blank)
Small envelopes
The list above is a label on a white box I have on my desk.
Years ago, a guy I used to work with said when things get overwhelming or major changes are taking place sometimes it's helpful to get back to basics. Just focus on getting all your ducks in a row with the basic things in your life.
I thought at the time this was great advice because it places your focus on shoring up your foundations and gives you solid ground to stand on.
There are a ton of changes going on in my life right now. Due to many factors, I'm going to have to give up my rent-controlled apartment. In order to do that and stay here in San Francisco, it means I'm going to have to downsize. This sounds like a bad thing but it isn't. I have way too much crap, including things left over from my marriage that just don't apply to me and my life anymore. I've been wanting to streamline for years and this is the perfect opportunity to do so.
Looking at all my stuff and starting this process is intimidating as hell, though. I know there's a finite number of items in my apartment (it's not that big) but when I think about it, I get really nervous. Need to start small, need to start steady. Plus, the idea of living in another place is also scary. It's exciting too. I think I need this little shake up.
I streamlined my schedule even before I heard about my apartment. After more than 23 years I retired from volunteering with the penguins. I wasn't doing very much at the end there and I've got a bunch of personal projects I really want to focus on. Also, I stopped doing the monthly critique sessions for my writing group. I was the only one doing them and no one wanted to back me up. Running a critique session is more work than facilitating a writing group.
This evening I've started purging in earnest. I'm in my living room and worked for an hour while listening to 90s rap tunes. I tossed a lot of stuff already, consolidated some items, and have labeled some items for storage. I'm going to finish up with my office supplies (damn, there's a lot of those!) and get ready to do some more work tomorrow.
When I first started writing I read a book on writing by Jack Bickman titled "Writing the Short Story." It was the first nuts and bolts writing book I'd ever read. It's a kind of a course where you do a ton of prep work on 3x5 index cards about things you're interested in that could be inspiration for your writing and how to map out your story using 3x5 cards. I went through the entire book and worked really hard. At the end I had a nice pile of 3x5 cards with my story, characters, settings, etc. all mapped out and...I took the pile of cards and put them away. I never wrote that story down. I even went to where the story was set and drove around, making notes. The reason I never wrote it down is because the story was done. There was no need to continue with it. This was the first time I discovered intense outlining and prep work before writing doesn't work for me.
Well, I found those 3x5 cards in a box a little while ago and had fun flipping through them. All the things I'd written down for inspiration still apply. I thought about tossing the cards because I know I'll never go back and look at them but I think I'll keep them a little while longer.
Bickman's book was valuable for other reasons even if I didn't take to the method he was teaching. Mainly, it gave me a good overview of plot structure and the concept of adding "tags" or characteristics to your characters to give them more depth.
Another thing I found nestled among the 3x5 cards is an outline for a short story I wrote when I first moved here. The story itself has been lost as far as I can tell. The setting is in the Southwest and it's an extremely disturbing revenge story. I mention it in this old blog post (The Role of Extreme Violence in Art). I went all out with it and kept pushing and pushing, trying to go to places that scared the hell out of me to see what would come out and how much I could take. I know if I read it now it would be full of beginning writer mistakes but it would be nice to take a look at it anyway. The story contains some of the most powerful visuals I've ever written and is one of the most violent and gory stories I have ever read. I still remember most of it and at this point those 3x5s are just about priceless. I'll probably write it down again at some point.
Hmm. I was supposed to talk more about getting back to basics but ended up talking about writing again. Oh well.
I have a lot of blank index cards. I use them in my writers notebook/calendar sometimes and occasionally decide to go back to using them as my calendar. And who knows, I may decide to try plotting out another story with them. I'll talk about the moleskines later. For now, let's just say I have an obsession with them, and blank books in general.
If I find anything else of interest, I'll do another post.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Writing Life: Type
A manual typewriter at a winery in Healdsburg.
Those IBM Selectrics were revolutionary as was whiteout and correction tape. Learning to use whiteout properly was an art in itself. You had to keep the brush clean and glump free. And to get the best results, you had to slowly paint over the letter while keeping the rest of the paper around the letter as clean as possible.
When I went to secretarial school, I learned about computers. I learned DOS, that old MS operating system, and we had seven inch floppy disks that were literally floppy. If the IBM Selectrics were revolutionary, the computer was a miracle, a beautiful thing that crawled out of a science fiction story. I would stare at the screen of green letters on black expecting it to start talking to me. The day I learned about deleting, cutting and pasting, and saving documents to be worked on later stand out as one of the most important days in my writing life. When I realized you could print the document you were working on after it was done and proofed, I thought it wasn't possible for things to get any better than that.
I'm happy I was wrong about that assumption.
While the computer and I are close friends, I do find that good old fashioned typewriter up there to be an exotic, sexy creature capable of performing in almost any situation, including a power outage. I think how nice it would be to have one. A writer should have a manual typewriter around somewhere, right? If only I had the space for it.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Writing Life: Sex Scenes
I've been writing sex scenes recently and though I wouldn't consider myself an expert I have come to some conclusions about them.
There are the usual considerations such as how explicit do you want/need them to be? What kind of mood are you going for (beautiful, sensual, raunchy, porn), and should the scene be short, maybe even a scene in passing, or long and drawn out? These are all important questions.
For me, sex scenes are very special because they provide a unique opportunity to show character development, relationship arc, and story arc. And I believe each sex scene should be treated as its own little story with a beginning, middle, end, and conclusion. If you're going to write one it really should to count.
Character development - Everyone makes love/fucks differently. A sex scene can show a character tag, it can show what a character truly wants (and not just to get off either). It can show that someone really wants affection or is craving love or has a need to dominate or that they're angry or that they're in love (maybe not with the person they're with), what they like and are turned on/off by and on and on. A sex scene can show someone surrendering or resisting someone or something and how that character feels about it. It can show the baggage from past relationships and it can show that a character is terribly lonely.
Relationship arc - This is a no brainer. Does the relationship change at all during or after the sex scene? How? And how do the characters relate to each other? Or maybe they part anonymously, never to meet again. This says something about relationship too and about the character.
Story arc - A sex scene can suddenly raise the stakes by making someone care more or not. It can cause conflict with the character or other people. It can make things matter all of a sudden.
All of these things are true whether you're writing about a sweet honeymoon scene or a massive impersonal orgy. Both scenes are fantastic opportunities for storytelling.
There are the usual considerations such as how explicit do you want/need them to be? What kind of mood are you going for (beautiful, sensual, raunchy, porn), and should the scene be short, maybe even a scene in passing, or long and drawn out? These are all important questions.
For me, sex scenes are very special because they provide a unique opportunity to show character development, relationship arc, and story arc. And I believe each sex scene should be treated as its own little story with a beginning, middle, end, and conclusion. If you're going to write one it really should to count.
Character development - Everyone makes love/fucks differently. A sex scene can show a character tag, it can show what a character truly wants (and not just to get off either). It can show that someone really wants affection or is craving love or has a need to dominate or that they're angry or that they're in love (maybe not with the person they're with), what they like and are turned on/off by and on and on. A sex scene can show someone surrendering or resisting someone or something and how that character feels about it. It can show the baggage from past relationships and it can show that a character is terribly lonely.
Relationship arc - This is a no brainer. Does the relationship change at all during or after the sex scene? How? And how do the characters relate to each other? Or maybe they part anonymously, never to meet again. This says something about relationship too and about the character.
Story arc - A sex scene can suddenly raise the stakes by making someone care more or not. It can cause conflict with the character or other people. It can make things matter all of a sudden.
All of these things are true whether you're writing about a sweet honeymoon scene or a massive impersonal orgy. Both scenes are fantastic opportunities for storytelling.
***
As for me, a sex scene is always damn intimidating to write, and it can take me a little while to work up my nerve. I've been using the following process:
- Consider what your goal is for the scene. Are you trying to show the relationship is changing? How can you do that? By making it sweeter or rougher or something else?
- Try to keep it fresh and special. You can vary the location, the time, the situation, etc. Setting will play a huge part in the scene whether your characters are in bed with a fire going in the fireplace, in the shower, outside, or in a unused room at a huge party.
- Vary how they do it. Different positions, different types of sex, experimentation are all valid ways to show character preferences and changes.
- Once I write the initial scene, it's usually okay but not great. I make it way better by adding more and more layers of details. I'll add explicit detail, add more "love and affection" type details, if appropriate while keeping in mind character, relationship, and story changes. I work on it for a while then let it rest then do some more work. My sex scenes often go through 10 or more drafts.
- Mine tend to be explicit but it's not necessary or preferable depending on your story. If you're not going for explicit but you want to write a longer scene then I would suggest focusing on "love and affection" and sensual details. Kissing, touching, hugging, and other kinds of pleasuring. Sound, scent, touch are all very important details.
- Speaking of kissing, I have to say I still don't feel comfortable with my kissing scenes. They're not bad but I want them to be off the charts. Practice makes perfect.
This is just me but I don't like scenes which are very obviously a description of the author's sexual preferences and body types. Such scenes take me right out of the story. I don't want to hear that the author likes blondes with big boobs. I want to see what's going on with the character, how the character feels about his/her partner, and what changes are occurring. Those are the things I find interesting.
Lastly, sex scenes are a fantastic place to inject humor, if appropriate to your story. Humor can endear a character to the reader and provide additional bonding for the characters.
Thursday, March 08, 2012
Writing Life: Thoughts on "Back to 'Bird by Bird'"
In 2007, I wrote a post called "Back to 'Bird by Bird'" which described my feelings about struggling with my writing especially what to do with the first draft of my historical novel and a lecture I attended with Anne Lamott, who wrote "Bird by Bird," a classic book on writing. A friend of mine mentioned that he read the post the other day.
Reading it now makes me smile. That was over four years ago. I can't believe all that's happened in these last four years. I'm now on the third official draft of my historical novel. I'm home sick today and spent some time reviewing all the chapters I'd thrown together, eliminating the ones that definitely did not belong, and noting ones that only had one sentence (placeholder chapters, really!), and compiled the document into Word. It's now over 88,000 words or 237 single-spaced Word pages.
The story has taken on a gigantic life of its own with at least two viable backstories which are both over 70 pages long (not currently included with the Word document), and a couple of secondary characters who keep insisting on running away with their own story. Those boys need to pipe down and wait their turn.
And I went to Europe in 2010 and researched the story setting when I visited Nuremberg. You know, if you had told me I was going to lose my job soon after I came back to that trip, I may have thought twice about going but I'm glad those guys didn't tell me because it's going to be a long time before I can do any significant travel. I'm so grateful I got to go there once. I would love to go back in December but I don't see how that's possible.
Anyway, I burned through my (new) black ink cartridge printing out my hard copy of the novel. No matter, there's more where that came from. Serious revision is going to begin to turn this bad boy into the real deal and I'm really looking forward to it.
It surprises me to say this but I feel so much more comfortable with myself in general. I think about that time in 2007 when I was laid off, and about that time in 2010 right after I came back from that trip. My situation is still far from stable but I feel very sure of myself, my writing, and my ability to take this story where I want it to go. It's very odd to realize this for the first time as I'm writing this post.
It's a bit like realizing you have an idea of what you're capable of, and that you don't have to be at the mercy of whatever is being thrown at you all the time. I'm not saying shit isn't going to get thrown at me, it happens, but I know there are some areas of my life that will still remain under my own control.
It's good to be back on the blog, people. I hope you are all doing great. More later.
Reading it now makes me smile. That was over four years ago. I can't believe all that's happened in these last four years. I'm now on the third official draft of my historical novel. I'm home sick today and spent some time reviewing all the chapters I'd thrown together, eliminating the ones that definitely did not belong, and noting ones that only had one sentence (placeholder chapters, really!), and compiled the document into Word. It's now over 88,000 words or 237 single-spaced Word pages.
The story has taken on a gigantic life of its own with at least two viable backstories which are both over 70 pages long (not currently included with the Word document), and a couple of secondary characters who keep insisting on running away with their own story. Those boys need to pipe down and wait their turn.
And I went to Europe in 2010 and researched the story setting when I visited Nuremberg. You know, if you had told me I was going to lose my job soon after I came back to that trip, I may have thought twice about going but I'm glad those guys didn't tell me because it's going to be a long time before I can do any significant travel. I'm so grateful I got to go there once. I would love to go back in December but I don't see how that's possible.
Anyway, I burned through my (new) black ink cartridge printing out my hard copy of the novel. No matter, there's more where that came from. Serious revision is going to begin to turn this bad boy into the real deal and I'm really looking forward to it.
It surprises me to say this but I feel so much more comfortable with myself in general. I think about that time in 2007 when I was laid off, and about that time in 2010 right after I came back from that trip. My situation is still far from stable but I feel very sure of myself, my writing, and my ability to take this story where I want it to go. It's very odd to realize this for the first time as I'm writing this post.
It's a bit like realizing you have an idea of what you're capable of, and that you don't have to be at the mercy of whatever is being thrown at you all the time. I'm not saying shit isn't going to get thrown at me, it happens, but I know there are some areas of my life that will still remain under my own control.
It's good to be back on the blog, people. I hope you are all doing great. More later.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Writing Life: Class Progress - Part Two
I'm supposed to be writing now, you know, working on my novel but
I've been screwing off this evening so I'll further indulge myself by
writing this post. I already frittered away the evening by getting the
photos from my Zion trip ready for public viewing. Who knows, I may
email one of my classmates after this blog post is done if my brain
continues to rebel.
Nah, I won't do that. What I'm going to do after this post is published is write. What I mean by that is I'm going to work on my class novel (this blog post doesn't really count towards my daily quota). And the reason why is because I have been writing everyday (except this past Sunday when we were hiking the Narrows at Zion) and this habit has ingrained itself into my psyche.
Write everyday, man. Produce. It's becoming my new motto. Write even if I'm sitting in the back of the car, as we scream down I-5 en route to Vegas and then onto Zion National Park. Write even though I'm crammed in with all the camping gear, luggage, pillows, etc. and there's barely any elbow room. Write even though it's night at the campsite and everyone else is sitting around the picnic table having a lovely dinner. I'm eating too but I'm apart from everyone because I have to "work." The stars are ablaze overhead and the moon has not yet come up. And still I have my eyes fixed to my Galaxy Tab while they indulge in conversation.
Write no matter what.
My ability to produce a story quickly out of thin air is getting easier. Whether the story is any good is a whole other thing. I'm getting the idea that the novel I'm working on for this class isn't going in the right direction and I'm going to have to completely rewrite it. Though this can be disconcerting, it's actually huge progress on my part. Most of the time I get through the entire first draft before I discover the story isn't right and then I sit there wringing my hands wondering what the hell to do next.
Nah, I won't do that. What I'm going to do after this post is published is write. What I mean by that is I'm going to work on my class novel (this blog post doesn't really count towards my daily quota). And the reason why is because I have been writing everyday (except this past Sunday when we were hiking the Narrows at Zion) and this habit has ingrained itself into my psyche.
Write everyday, man. Produce. It's becoming my new motto. Write even if I'm sitting in the back of the car, as we scream down I-5 en route to Vegas and then onto Zion National Park. Write even though I'm crammed in with all the camping gear, luggage, pillows, etc. and there's barely any elbow room. Write even though it's night at the campsite and everyone else is sitting around the picnic table having a lovely dinner. I'm eating too but I'm apart from everyone because I have to "work." The stars are ablaze overhead and the moon has not yet come up. And still I have my eyes fixed to my Galaxy Tab while they indulge in conversation.
Write no matter what.
***
We
are little more than halfway through the class and my critiques are
getting ever more detailed and elaborate. I don't think this is a good
thing though one of my classmates assures me that it is. I just keep
finding more and more things to suggest about sentence structure, first
lines, story structure, transitions, characters, etc. And if someone
asks me to answer questions about the story, like one person did, then
God help them I'm off on a whole new page of commentary. I had to force
myself to keep the comments to one page. I think I moved the margins and
went down a font size in an attempt to look like I wasn't babbling on.
So fucking embarrassing.
Thing
is, going to such measures is a lot of work. I have to be in the right
frame of mind and ready to put pen to paper. I have to have a large
block of time because I do it all in one go so I can keep the story
fresh in my mind. And I have to think, and reach, and keep digging to
find more stuff to pull out of myself that might have some use to the
writer.
All this effort is making my own
writing better. And I know my long winded critiques are helping at
least one student. And my teacher tells me I'm getting good at picking
apart stories.
Rest assured I'm not making all this
effort for the other writers in my class. I'm doing it for me. I know
that if I put an enormous amount of effort into this shit then the
benefits will come back to me a thousand-fold. Or at least ten-fold.
Something like that.
***
My ability to produce a story quickly out of thin air is getting easier. Whether the story is any good is a whole other thing. I'm getting the idea that the novel I'm working on for this class isn't going in the right direction and I'm going to have to completely rewrite it. Though this can be disconcerting, it's actually huge progress on my part. Most of the time I get through the entire first draft before I discover the story isn't right and then I sit there wringing my hands wondering what the hell to do next.
I can skip the wringing hands part this time because I know what I need to do. Progress.
Though all of these things are good,
I'm expected to make a contribution to our class anthology Portion
Control and I have no idea what I'm going to contribute. I'm inwardly
balking at the idea of including an excerpt of my class novel. It's
going to have to be something else. Christ, how am I going to pull that
off?
Yeah, I did say I can produce quickly but...well, I guess we are going to see just how quickly in the next couple of weeks.
***
Even with all my bellyaching, this class is one of the best things to
happen to me in my writing life. I'm seeing myself getting better and
better, hands getting dirty, ink stains everywhere. And good habits
being developed besides.
I jokingly told my instructor when he
was done with me I was going to be carved out of wood. I was kidding
but now I'm sure that statement is true.
Time to work. On my class novel. Not on the email to my classmate.
P.S. Wow, I barely had to edit this post. I guess I am getting better.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Writing Life: Class Progress - Part One
I started a writing class. It's only the second one I've taken in my entire life. The first one I took at San Francisco City College when I got here seven years ago and it was pretty bad. The instruction, if you want to call it that, was non-existent.
At the time I thought I could teach the class better even though I didn't have much writing experience. Now I know I could teach it better and I haven't published anything.
This writing class is taught by Tony DuShane. Check out the link there if you want to know more about him. He's published a novel and has his own interview show, etc. I decided to start a new novel for this class instead of working on one of my existing ones. I have plans for them and don't want to show them to anyone right now. I was feeling a bit cheeky about that, truth be told. Sure, yeah! A new class, new novel! No problem.
However, last Tuesday I sat down at my Galaxy Tab and stared at the blank screen. I realized I had to pull an entirely new novel out of thin air and I wasn't sure if I was up to the task. To top it off, this novel will be critiqued so I can't write a new novel and allow it to be a major mess no one looks at. There has to be something for people to work with and it has to be of reasonable quality so no one's time, especially mine, is wasted. The only thing I had to work with is I decided it was going to be a haunted house story. I knew I wanted the setting to be a huge, sprawling estate. I had an idea for the opening sequence but no ideas for the characters, the story, or even what the house looks like.
Almost everyone else is working on novels/memoirs they've had for a while so they're all farther along than I am and (presumably) their stories are going to be more polished. I stared at the blank screen of my Tab, place my fingers on the keyboard, and started pounding out a story.
At the time I thought I could teach the class better even though I didn't have much writing experience. Now I know I could teach it better and I haven't published anything.
This writing class is taught by Tony DuShane. Check out the link there if you want to know more about him. He's published a novel and has his own interview show, etc. I decided to start a new novel for this class instead of working on one of my existing ones. I have plans for them and don't want to show them to anyone right now. I was feeling a bit cheeky about that, truth be told. Sure, yeah! A new class, new novel! No problem.
However, last Tuesday I sat down at my Galaxy Tab and stared at the blank screen. I realized I had to pull an entirely new novel out of thin air and I wasn't sure if I was up to the task. To top it off, this novel will be critiqued so I can't write a new novel and allow it to be a major mess no one looks at. There has to be something for people to work with and it has to be of reasonable quality so no one's time, especially mine, is wasted. The only thing I had to work with is I decided it was going to be a haunted house story. I knew I wanted the setting to be a huge, sprawling estate. I had an idea for the opening sequence but no ideas for the characters, the story, or even what the house looks like.
Almost everyone else is working on novels/memoirs they've had for a while so they're all farther along than I am and (presumably) their stories are going to be more polished. I stared at the blank screen of my Tab, place my fingers on the keyboard, and started pounding out a story.
****
The story isn't terrible so far. I decided to completely go for it with this class. If people are going to be critiquing my first draft I might as well push myself to produce something and not rely so much on the revision process before I do any polishing. I'm uncomfortable with anybody looking at my first draft so this will be a valuable learning experience.
Tony's approach so far is spot on. He requires that we work on our novels everyday for at least 20 minutes and that we critique our fellow students' work every week. This is going to be a difficult thing to maintain for eight weeks but just these class requirements alone should seriously improve my writing, editing, and ability to produce quality material.
I'm going to have the first ten pages of my story reviewed during the second critique session. I have to email everyone my draft this Monday. I started this novel last Tuesday. Tony asked for volunteers and once again, I just fucking went for it. For myself, and this may not apply to other writers, I think the ability to pull a story out of thin air, write it down quickly, and make it into something good in a short period of time is a worthwhile skill to have.
Stay tuned for more on this class.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Writing Life: Stories on the Fly - An Explanation
I've been wanting to do something like this for a while. That is, give myself a scenario such as the one in the post below (a woman, locked in a room, with a deadline), write a story within a certain time, and allow myself less time to edit the story. Then post it on this blog immediately.
It's really a writing exercise to see what I can come up with. With enough practice I should get better at it (I hope). When I was with my ex, we tried a similar idea but we had to tell the stories out loud to each other without writing anything down. I took the scenario (two men in a car, arguing about a woman) and told a complete story with a beginning, middle, and end right off the top of my head. There was plenty of conflict and secrets that came out in that little story. There was no time limit. The idea was we had to verbally tell the story until it was finished.
I'm going to try this exercise from time to time. Feel free to leave a scenario and a time limit in the comments if you'd like. The minimum time for writing the story is 15 minutes. I promise I won't cheat! I can't guarantee that all the stories will be good or even decent but I'll never improve unless I challenge myself.
Thanks for reading.
It's really a writing exercise to see what I can come up with. With enough practice I should get better at it (I hope). When I was with my ex, we tried a similar idea but we had to tell the stories out loud to each other without writing anything down. I took the scenario (two men in a car, arguing about a woman) and told a complete story with a beginning, middle, and end right off the top of my head. There was plenty of conflict and secrets that came out in that little story. There was no time limit. The idea was we had to verbally tell the story until it was finished.
I'm going to try this exercise from time to time. Feel free to leave a scenario and a time limit in the comments if you'd like. The minimum time for writing the story is 15 minutes. I promise I won't cheat! I can't guarantee that all the stories will be good or even decent but I'll never improve unless I challenge myself.
Thanks for reading.
Writing Life: Stories on the Fly - The Only Way Out
Total Writing Time: 15 Minutes; Total Editing Time: 8 minutes, 30 seconds
Scenario: A woman. Locked in a room. With a deadline.
The clock was ticking. She looked up at the window. Sheet metal had been welded over it. She checked her watch again. She knew it was two minutes fast. Yes, two minutes might be enough, she thought. Above her head near the top of the window, was a bomb. Just a handmade bomb but she could see there was enough explosives to destroy half the building, and certainly this entire room.
She was alone in a room about 500 square feet. The walls were painted black, featureless. The floor was made up of white shiny tiles. There were pools of bright lights concentrated in the center of the room, leaving the outer edges dark. There was only one window and one door. The door had bars of steel welded over the front of it on the other side. She knew this because there was a small screen hanging down from the ceiling in front of her showing the door and hallway outside. It was a little like one of those DVD screens that drop down inside a fancy, tricked out mini-van. No one was in the hallway. She had nothing but her clothes and her watch. She pounded the sheet metal over the window with her fist, testing it. There was no way to break through it.
After looking around the room, she walked around the outer edges quickly testing the walls for any weaknesses. She finished in the middle of the room and stared up at the DVD screen. It was attached to the ceiling but there seemed to be a seam in the ceiling. She jumped lightly, hitting the bottom of the DVD screen. There was the tiniest amount of give. She smiled.
She backed up and then ran towards the DVD screen and leaped up towards it. She grabbed the screen and held on, swinging her legs. The screen held and then her forward momentum pulled the screen's based too far and the screen ripped from the ceiling leaving a gaping hole that looked like it would just large enough for her to crawl through. She landed on her hip with a thud, pulling the screen and its cords with her. She checked her watch. There was only three minutes to go. She grabbed the cords and climbed up through the hole as quickly as she could. She was breathing hard but paid no attention. There was a long corridor of vents ahead of her. She had no idea if she was going to get far enough away in time but she had to try. She began crawling away from the room, barely able to get up on her knees. She went in the direction of the north side of the building near the river and kept going. She knew if she didn't reach the other end of the building, she would probably be killed in the blast or at least seriously injured.
She stayed focused. Kept moving, she thought. It was the only thing she could do. She could see the other end of the building in front of her. Just a little bit longer, she thought.
The building exploded.
She was alone in a room about 500 square feet. The walls were painted black, featureless. The floor was made up of white shiny tiles. There were pools of bright lights concentrated in the center of the room, leaving the outer edges dark. There was only one window and one door. The door had bars of steel welded over the front of it on the other side. She knew this because there was a small screen hanging down from the ceiling in front of her showing the door and hallway outside. It was a little like one of those DVD screens that drop down inside a fancy, tricked out mini-van. No one was in the hallway. She had nothing but her clothes and her watch. She pounded the sheet metal over the window with her fist, testing it. There was no way to break through it.
After looking around the room, she walked around the outer edges quickly testing the walls for any weaknesses. She finished in the middle of the room and stared up at the DVD screen. It was attached to the ceiling but there seemed to be a seam in the ceiling. She jumped lightly, hitting the bottom of the DVD screen. There was the tiniest amount of give. She smiled.
She backed up and then ran towards the DVD screen and leaped up towards it. She grabbed the screen and held on, swinging her legs. The screen held and then her forward momentum pulled the screen's based too far and the screen ripped from the ceiling leaving a gaping hole that looked like it would just large enough for her to crawl through. She landed on her hip with a thud, pulling the screen and its cords with her. She checked her watch. There was only three minutes to go. She grabbed the cords and climbed up through the hole as quickly as she could. She was breathing hard but paid no attention. There was a long corridor of vents ahead of her. She had no idea if she was going to get far enough away in time but she had to try. She began crawling away from the room, barely able to get up on her knees. She went in the direction of the north side of the building near the river and kept going. She knew if she didn't reach the other end of the building, she would probably be killed in the blast or at least seriously injured.
She stayed focused. Kept moving, she thought. It was the only thing she could do. She could see the other end of the building in front of her. Just a little bit longer, she thought.
The building exploded.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Writing Life: The Bar
One of the key settings for the post-apocalyptic novel I drafted during the last November National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) is a bar. The first quarter to third of the novel takes place there. I knew I had to find a real bar to base this setting on but the ones I checked out in San Francisco were all wrong. They were too small, too narrow, and other problems. None of them made sense. I was thinking I might have to grab one of my good friends and go on a serious search through the City to find one.
While in Pioneertown visiting a friend during my Joshua Tree road trip, we stopped at a local bar for a drink before dinner. We were deciding on appetizers and drinks and I kept looking around. The place was really familiar but I couldn't figure out why since I'd never been there before.
It took me a few minutes to realize this is the bar in my novel. I was only familiar with the area where the main bar was and the kitchen was much narrower than in my novel but this is place. The brick walls, extra seating area, small stage area, and bricked in office in the center of the building were all extra details but they're perfect and will change the story for the better. I told my friends I needed to look around so I strolled around and around trying to take in as many details as possible since I'd left my camera in the car. There was a band playing too and I didn't want to retrieve my camera to take flash pictures during the performance. I took note of the floors, the smells, the walls, and the configuration of the place. When we got back to my friend's place for dinner, my friend gave me a brand new notebook to record my notes. You can see some of my notes below:
One of my friends suggested that perhaps the reason I couldn't find a bar in San Francisco is because the story should be set out in the middle of nowhere and not in a city. I told her I was seriously rethinking that idea.
I'm far away from going back to this novel since I'm working on other projects but it feels really good to have found this very important part of the story. And it will change the story quite a bit. The wheels are already turning.
While in Pioneertown visiting a friend during my Joshua Tree road trip, we stopped at a local bar for a drink before dinner. We were deciding on appetizers and drinks and I kept looking around. The place was really familiar but I couldn't figure out why since I'd never been there before.
It took me a few minutes to realize this is the bar in my novel. I was only familiar with the area where the main bar was and the kitchen was much narrower than in my novel but this is place. The brick walls, extra seating area, small stage area, and bricked in office in the center of the building were all extra details but they're perfect and will change the story for the better. I told my friends I needed to look around so I strolled around and around trying to take in as many details as possible since I'd left my camera in the car. There was a band playing too and I didn't want to retrieve my camera to take flash pictures during the performance. I took note of the floors, the smells, the walls, and the configuration of the place. When we got back to my friend's place for dinner, my friend gave me a brand new notebook to record my notes. You can see some of my notes below:
One of my friends suggested that perhaps the reason I couldn't find a bar in San Francisco is because the story should be set out in the middle of nowhere and not in a city. I told her I was seriously rethinking that idea.
I'm far away from going back to this novel since I'm working on other projects but it feels really good to have found this very important part of the story. And it will change the story quite a bit. The wheels are already turning.
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