Category: Writing

When I think about first drafts, I still think of the opening of the movie, “Romancing the Stone”. Joan Wilder, the heroine, types the final sentence of her romance novel and, sobbing, boxes it up to give to her agent. The impression I got when I first saw the movie was that she had dashed the thing off in one sitting.

Now that I’m older and wiser, I realize the scene must be showing Joan retyping the final version of her book, as one needed to do in the era of manual typewriters. She had to have slaved away at it for weeks to get it into final shape. There is no possible way she could just type up a first draft and send it off to her agent because, my friends, first drafts just aren’t that good.

Basically, I have mixed feelings about first drafts. I like the fact that the story has never been told before in exactly this way. I like that, at this stage, it can go anywhere, be anything. I like how it can completely change from what you thought it would be. You stare at the story, wonder where it came from, and realize it came from inside you somewhere. That is so totally cool.

On the other hand, I tend to flounder a bit in my first drafts. I thrash around with the characters and try to get them out of their messes with varying degrees of success.

See because this book has never been written before, you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. That can be a royal pain in the butt. Here you’ve got some good juice going, you’re flowing man, and then you get to the end of what you’ve written, look back at it, and realize it doesn’t make any sense in the story. Or it’s just, well, bad. Then you’re stuck, out in the middle of an ocean you’ve created yourself, and the boat you built to get you back to shore has just gone down. How are you going to handle that, hotshot? Huh? Go on, tell me!

Yeah. I don’t know either.

I guess that’s both the joy and the terror of the first draft, or, really, of anything you do for the first time. You don’t know what’s going to happen until you do it. You don’t know where in the world you’ll end up. You jump off a ledge using a bungee cord you haven’t fully tested and don’t exactly trust and don’t know if it will bounce or break.

But it’s okay. That’s what second drafts are for.

Unless you’re Joan.

 

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It may shock you to hear this, but I can be a screwed up mess of a girl.

In all fairness, I must say that sometimes my messes do not actually originate with me. Sometimes other people are messing and the mess just oozes out and covers me like slime because I’m not quick enough to run away. Then it sticks to me until I can scrape it off again. I swear, sometimes dealing with people is just like herding cats.

Present company excepted, of course.

And most of my messes really do start with me, although I’d rather not believe that. So I don’t.

This is where writing helps keep me (relatively) sane. There’s so much in life that I can’t control, so many things that are bigger than I am. It can be overwhelming. I’ll get thinking about what I need to do, or worrying about the future, or just trying to figure things out. My little mind starts whirling and whirling and whirling like it’s slipped a gear. Then I’ll say to myself, “You don’t need to think about this right now. You need to think about your book. What are you going to put in the next scene? Will they have sex?” And focusing on a problem I can and will solve helps me calm down a little bit and keep me anchored.

Writing as a peace aid became even more important when I decided to stop eating badly. Now that I can’t turn to ice cream — mmmmmmm…ice cream — for comfort, I had to find something else to distract me from obsessing about life’s little problems. Writing is cheaper and less destructive than other alternatives.

However it came about, writing is the thing that helps me hang on to the fragile thread which is my sanity. My mother’s sanity aid is painting and cryptograms. For my sister it seems to be scrapbooking and crafting. Some people I know find the key to sanity in photography. I work with people who are all into running or biking or other kinds of physical fitness. Yeah, I can’t explain it either. But I think we all need something – other than television!! – to take us outside ourselves. Then when we come back, the world seems to be a more manageable place.

The advantage of using writing for this purpose is that I can put people who annoy me into my stories, and then…get revenge.

Not that I would EVER do that.

heh heh heh

 

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As soon as I wrote my post last Thursday celebrating the anniversary of my blog and stating, with great conviction, that I would keep on writing, darn it, I found myself with nothing to say. Seriously. I sat down on Sunday to write my normally scheduled blog post, and my mind was a complete blank. Crickets were chirping in there. So I started moving furniture around in my living room instead.

I didn’t get any writing done, but the room looks mahvelous.

That’s the way it always goes for me. It’s one reason I don’t like to talk about works in progress, or, basically, my state of progress on anything. It’s almost a phobia. It seems like if I talk or write about something before it’s finished, there’s a part of me thinking it’s already complete. Then I lose impetus to keep working on the thing because I’ve already talked it all out.

The words themselves have a reality, and I can forget that the reality of the words do not necessarily translate into reality in other, more earthly, forms. If I talk about my book as if it’s complete, I feel that it is already finished and I don’t want to work on it anymore. I talk about writing a blog and – presto! The blog magically writes itself.

But, of course, this isn’t true. I can talk about my book as if it were finished until the cows come home, but the book is not really finished. I can talk about writing a blog for another year, but the fact is that I haven’t written a blog for another year. I can say whatever I want to about anything, I can make you believe that it is true. I can believe it’s true too. But it is not true and it is not finished unless I get off my duff and actually finish it.

Some people talk about what they’re working on all the time. A part of me is jealous – they seem to be so much more productive than I am (and they probably are more productive). But I also wonder if they are actually working on those things, or if they’re just talking about them.

On the other hand, maybe if I write a blog about having nothing to say, I’ll think that I’m finished with having nothing to say and then I’ll always have lots to say.

Hmmmm.

 

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While perusing Facebook the other day, I saw a post from my editor, Rhonda Helms, saying that she has contributed to an anthology of letters by authors written to their teen selves.

That started me thinking. What would I tell my younger self if I could? What advice would I give? Of course, I’ve already written some posts on the subject, but it made me wonder. Then I thought, what if I could only tell young Betsy one thing?  What if I could only impart one priceless pearl of wisdom?

After some consideration, I decided the one thing I would tell my young self would be “DON’T GO INTO DEBT!”

My first real job after high school was working as a clerk in the credit card department of a local bank. I was still 17 when I was hired. As soon as I turned 18, I got MasterCard and Visa credit cards, approved by special permission because I worked for the woman who approved such things. After that, the sky was the limit. I believe I had 10 store credit cards (the ones with the high interest rates) by the end of that year. I also got involved with Time-Life and Columbia House programs, among other things.

I took out my first debt consolidation loan at 19.

The amounts I owed were relatively small, but they set me on the path I’ve trodden for the past thirty years. As I worked through this exercise I was sure I would write, “Debt is a prison! Run away, young Betsy! Run!”

Then I thought about it some more.

I realized that the debt and the spending patterns I’ve struggled with, as well as all of my other mistakes and screw-ups, have contributed to make me who I am. All of the things I’ve done or didn’t do over the years have contributed to making me, well, me. If I’d chosen different paths for some of those things, wouldn’t the whole journey have been different? Sure, I could have avoided some pain. Maybe even a lot of pain. But there’s always pain.

I guess I’m trying to say that regrets are no good. I’ve made mistakes – some of them much worse than buying CDs I never listened to. But the mistakes I’ve made are not wasted if I’ve learned from them. And learning from my mistakes has made me who I am. And who I am is okay. A work in progress, but basically okay.

After doing all of this thinking, I came to the conclusion that my letter to my teen self would be very short. I would only say, “Don’t worry. It will work out. Just get out there and learn a few things.”

But I’m awfully glad I don’t have to start all over again. 🙂

 

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Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.

E. L. Doctorow

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I was talking to a friend the other day, complaining about a fact I needed to check for my WIP and trying to decide how to dig out the information. She said, “Why do you care? Why don’t you just make it up?”

I said something about fiction needing to be grounded in reality, but after she left I started to really think about it. Why can’t I just make stuff up? I know that good fiction needs to be based on reality, but why? Why do we say “it just wasn’t real to me” when we read a fiction book we don’t like? Why can a wrong fact push the reader right out of the story? In other words, why does fiction have to be real?

After stewing over that a little bit, I had a few thoughts. First, the rules of day-to-day life connect us all. If I, as a writer, am trying to communicate to you, a reader, we need to have common ground to understand each other. Societally accepted facts and norms provide a handy communication platform.

Then there’s the fact that fiction – any fiction – uses reality. If the story seems real, if it corresponds with your acceptance of reality, then you are more willing to enter the writer’s universe.

When you can accept the reality of the fictional world you are reading, then you relate to the things that happen there as if they were also real. In other words, you identify with the world and the characters in it.

Fiction can also use reality by contrasting with it. By bouncing off it and around it to show the absurdity or the horror of it. That lets you, the reader, relate to reality in a different way and maybe pierce the veil a little bit. But you have to have the base – the reality – before you can contrast.

I think that fiction becomes, in a very true sense, its own reality. When you read a book, when you believe it, you help to create it. Harry Potter’s world existed simulataneously in the minds of millions of people all around the globe. We all created versions that were slightly different, but they were all basically the same because they were based on the same book.

To create a world, we have to believe in that world. And to believe in a world, we have to see that world as real. And for us to see that world as real, it has to have some sense of reality. Harry’s world was fanciful and alien in a lot of ways, but we all understood it. Even though the rules that ran the world were strange, we were able to comprehend them.

So, yes, I make things up when I’m writing fiction. But I still have to base what I write on the experiences and facts of life. Even if the story’s about a bunch of kids flying around on broomsticks, it still has to be real.

 

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If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. There’s no way around these two things that I’m aware of, no shortcut.

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It’s really hard for me to try to write when I’m feeling extremes of emotion.   The emotion can be either end of the scale.  If I’m feeling extremely happy or excited, I’m all jittery inside, or I just can’t make myself sit down at the computer.  If I’m extremely upset or angry, then it’s hard to put it aside and find my rhythm.

I think that’s because writing, as with any creative endeavor, requires you to enter what is almost a different state of consciousness.  As I write, I feel myself sinking into the characters and the situations in which they find themselves.  If I’m in a good, stable, peaceful frame of mind it is much simpler (although never simple) to push through the closet of coats and break out into Narnia.  If I’m in an extreme state of emotion, well, it ain’t pretty.

I’m finding that if I want to be a productive and consistent writer (and I do), then I can’t let my emotions influence whether or not I write.  If I sit around waiting for that perfect zen writing mindset to hit me, I’ll be old and gray before I finish my second book.

Oh, wait.  I am old and gray.  Well, you know what I mean.

So, if I want to write, I have to write regardless of how I feel. I have to write regardless of the drama going on in my life. It doesn’t matter if I’m angry or happy or sad or excited or irritated.  I have to save the drama for my mama, sit down, and do the work.

The added benefit is that if I can get started, nine times out of ten the act of writing itself will help to settle me and bring me back to the center. So I guess the key is to go towards creativity when I’m feeling stressed instead of going towards things like, you know, food.  Or chocolate.

And the best part is that if I’m writing, I can create a scene where the heroine eats chocolate AND gets busy with a hunky hero.

Win!

 

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I’ve been listening to the audio books of “The Bride Quartet” by Nora Roberts over the last couple of days. It’s been a long time since La Nora has written a series of straight-up contemporary romances without mystery, suspense, or woo-woo stuff, so I was listening to learn.

I have various reactions to the books themselves, but what really blew me away were the number of named characters. Not only do we have the four female leads and the four male heroes, not only do we have important secondary characters, but we have a positive plethora of brides, grooms, wedding party members, and others who show up throughout the four books as minor characters. The number of names needed for this series dazzled me.

Naming characters is one of the hardest things I have to do when I’m writing a story. I know you find this hard to believe, because I’ve already demonstrated my expertise in coming up with baby names. But naming a character is different. The name of a character can be a useful tool and a clue to personality. Finding one you’re comfortable with can be fraught with difficulty.

Not only does the character’s name have to fit, but there are other considerations you have to worry about in fiction. For example, do you know someone with that name? Will that person be offended if you give their name to a particular character? On the other hand, will they think it means more than it does? (especially in a romance novel – LOL)

Does the name conjure up bad memories? Does your boss have that name? Is the name pronounceable? Will the readers stumble over it every time it shows up? Does something catch your attention and draw you away from the story? In my book, two of the male characters had last names that sounded very similar. It caught my attention when I was reading, so I changed one of them.

Then there are all of the things names are shorthand for – like ethnicity, background, and age. Are the names you want to use stereotypes? Are they cliches? Are you using them as a way to get out of developing the character, as opposed to a signpost leading to that character?

In the “Bride Quartet” books, Nora uses the names of the minor characters to create brief images with the single stroke of a pen, like a line drawing. Not enough information to get confusing, but enough to create different personas for the brides and grooms trouping through the busy wedding business portrayed in the books. I can’t even imagine naming that many characters.

So, hats off to Nora Roberts. Again. I listen, I learn. And I’m reminded how much the character names help support the story.

I think my next couple will be named “Chip” and “Bitsy”.

Or not.

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Yet another broohaha in Romancelandia over reviews and the author’s response to said reviews has prompted me to examine my own responses to the reviews I’ve gotten on my book. I would prefer not to be stupid as I pick my way through the minefield which is publishing.

Sometimes it’s hard to know the right thing to do. You’ve written this thing, you’ve poured your heart into it, given it your time. Then you release it into the wild and not everyone sees it the same way you do.

If you get a bad or lukewarm review, it might be that your first response is to take offense. Maybe all you want to do is defend the book. But you have to resist the impulse, and that’s really hard.

When I read some of the less-than-kind reviews I’ve gotten, I wanted to defend myself. That would have been a mistake. The reviewer is entitled to his or her opinion. And they usually made some good points that let me see my work from a different perspective.

Obviously I want everyone to love my book, and I’ve been fortunate that most people seem to like it. But a few (hopefully very few) bad or lukewarm reviews or ratings are only to be expected. They’re part of the price of admission.

So when I see kerfluffles where authors attack reviewers for their opinions, I shake my head. I mean, we want reviewers to post about our books, right? How does attacking them help anything?

I admit, it’s easier for me to shake my head because I’m new. I don’t have the community (yet) to generate a lot of attention. It’s probably easier for me to take a deep breath and move on.

When I read my own reviews, I try to remember that, whether it be a good review or bad, the reviewer is not writing for me. The reviewer’s job is not to prop up the ego of the author. That’s my mother’s job and my sister’s job and the job my friends are supposed to do. The reviewer is writing for his or her own community of readers. The only thing the reviewer owes me is an honest opinion and the respect we all owe to other human beings.

As I continue to write and publish, I’m sure it will be harder to take the high road when faced with a bad review. The longer you’re out there, the more varied opinions you attract. I just hope that I will handle whatever comes halfway decently. And I hope I won’t be stupid.

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The other day, two of my characters decided to um, get busy with each other.

I’m a romance author. Characters tend to get busy (*wink, wink*) in romance novels. But here’s the thing. I hadn’t planned for this to happen in the scene I was writing. I hadn’t really wanted it to happen in this particular scene. A little later on, yes. But not now. And yet I looked up from my typing and the heroine was sitting in the hero’s lap playing tonsil hockey.

I realized that I had a choice. I could force the characters apart, send them each to their respective corners, as it were, and bend them to my will. Or I could go with the flow.

I decided to just go with it. The result was a scene that was incredibly easy to write. Everything just fell into place (pardon the pun). More, I realized that what had happened made sense for the story, more sense than what I had planned. Their love scene spun out organically from the situation, which is important and sometimes a little difficult to pull off.

What happened? The characters took over. They turned the tables and made me do what they wanted to do. As a result, they came alive.

It’s not always convenient when the characters take over. The fact that the scene is different than I’d intended screws up my story outline. And because it’s not convenient, it’s very tempting for the author to push the characters back where we want them to go. Lord knows I’ve fallen into that trap. The result is stilted dialog and fake action.

I don’t know if this scene will stay in the book. I’m sure it will need to be rewritten and edited in the second draft. But I’m glad that I’ve matured enough as an author to recognize what was happening. I’m glad I went with the flow of the story, despite my intentions.

I hope that at some point I’ll be mature enough as a human being to treat other humans the same way that I treat my characters. I hope that eventually I’ll learn not to try to push people into boxes. I hope I won’t try to make other people follow my outline. I hope I can let them be who they are, the same way I’m learning to let my characters be who they are.

It’s just a lot easier to do in fiction.

 

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