Comfort Zones

By Susan

I listened to a radio show this week where four women were thrown into crazy situations to see how they would react. One scenario was a day of skydiving. In the next, their life coach stripped naked and jumped into Lake Michigan and instructed them all to join her and they dutifully and joyfully followed suit. The tests seemed to have a few things in common: the element of surprise, facing a fear, and leaving your comfort zone. It made me want to do something different and cool too, until I thought about my novel. For whatever reason, I've been stuck in my same habits lately with no plans to change. And it's not working.

Writers, just like anyone else, sometimes have a hard time in leaving a comfort zone. We work very hard to classify ourselves as “YA” or “Women’s Fiction” or “Mystery” and not to cross any lines. We sit in the same chair in the same room at the same desk and write, basically, the same stuff, over and over. If we have poor habits we keep them. If we have great habits, then guess what? We keep them too. This is what separates the prolific from the pitiful.

And changing our writing habits is like deciding to jump out of a plane. (Note that I said ‘deciding.’ I can’t imagine it’s nearly as thrilling as the actual jump.) I switched from writing longhand to the computer after completing the first 30,000 words of The Angel’s Share, my work in progress. Then I started The Angel’s Share over after I decided that the whole thing needed to be in first person after all. Sometimes, as they say, a change can do you good. (Then again, sometimes I think maybe I just don’t know what I’m doing yet.)

This month, we here at What Women Write are participating in a writing blitz called National Novel Writing Month (or in some cases, our own versions of the challenge). The official goal is to complete a 50,000 word novel in the month of November. For some of us, it’s been uncomfortable. Or rather I should say, for me it’s become uncomfortable. Daunting. Overwhelming. Even, shall I say it, stupid. I don’t want to scribble a bunch of crap. I am stressed because I'm not supposed to edit as I go (and I'm great at editing while I go). I tell myself that I have no time for that kind of commitment. The thought of doing something a different way feels so weird that I can’t even fathom it will work.

And then I realize with all my internal grumblings that the problem isn't NaNo, the problem is simply me and my crappy habits. That’s when I think that doing something like write 50,000 words in a month might actually be a great idea. It could breathe fresh air into my novel. Frankly, what I’ve been doing (which is brooding, thinking, outlining, and daydreaming) hasn’t been working so great lately anyway.

I am going to do it. I’m going to step out of my comfort zone and do something that I wouldn’t otherwise do, and that’s committing to writing 50,000 works in the next 30 days. I’m not jumping out of a plane (though I might some day) and I’m not jumping naked into Lake Michigan (though it’s completely possible that one day I could), but I’m jumping into The Angel’s Share with a newfound goal- and the goal is as simple as getting the words on the page. I can’t think of a single thing that I have to lose.

Two by Two, or How to Board the NaNo Boat (not to be confused with banana boat)

By Julie

So, I started off November and my word marathon by taking a vacation day. That's right – on Sunday, I didn't write a single word.

Yesterday, I was determined to get moving. After all, November has but 30 days and time is already dwindling. I got moving, indeed, but discovered four new things about starting a writing marathon.

Two were helpful, two were not.

The negative

Reading and editing what I'd already written
If you're adding to a WIP (work in progress) during a writing marathon and have already written a pretty good chunk, it's a good idea to read through what you've already written ahead of time.

I was revising my previous manuscript right up to the last moment, and I didn't get a chance take the time to do this until Monday. Thus, my word count yesterday was -62.

Yes, that's a negative.

Wordle
If you want to add words to your WIP, do NOT, I repeat, do NOT Wordle your last manuscript.

Your first clue should be the description on the site: "Wordle is a toy ..."

While they call it a toy, it'd really a great tool for discovering things about your writing. Optimally, you discover all those words you pecked out do indeed talk about the things you intended.

However, you may also discover how many throwaway words you've overused. If certain words appear in as large a font as your main characters' names, you might want to do a find and replace on your document.

Yesterday, I was horrified to learn I'd used the word 'just' 313 times in my last manuscript. After searching for each instance and discarding as many as I could, I was left with 128. That's still a lot of justs. We won't even talk about the word even.

It was a worthy activity. I'm querying that manuscript, so maybe even critical, but it certainly didn't help my word count. I frittered away spent several hours doing it.

And the positive

Three-Act Structure
Countless writers recommend using the Three-Act Structure for writing fiction. The problem is, most demonstrate it by breaking down a movie. Unfortunately, it seems like every movie they use is one I've never seen and have no desire to watch. I get bored and never make it past Act One.

I wanted a simple explanation. Short enough to please my right-brained muse, detailed enough to be useful. I set off on a search and came across this article by Patrick Dent.

Today, I copied and pasted the basics of his article into my WIP. I answered as many of the questions as I could. About three pages of work. Not too long, not too short. Just right, in the words of that famed fairytale blonde.

I know where I'm going now. Before I was kind of batting around in the dark. Not always a bad thing when you're exploring a story idea, but not so great for a writing marathon.

Pandora
I'm no stranger to Pandora.com, the Music Genome Project. This incredible tool allows you to enter the name of a musician, and it plays music by that artist and many others you might enjoy based on that artist's style.

I employ Pandora for distasteful activities like working out. I know some of you people like working out, but we are not alike. I used to jump on my treadmill (until I injured my Achilles tendon, which is now healed, so I have no more excuses), point my browser toward Pandora, select my Nina Simone channel, and some of you may laugh to hear I practically danced on the deck. An hour felt like a few minutes.

It's also a great tool for writing.

I've found Pandora helpful while writing because I don't usually know the songs or lyrics, so I'm not as distracted as I might be listening to my favorites.

Today, I used it two new ways.

Do you know of writers who create soundtracks for their WIPs? I have, loosely, in the past, but it can be time consuming. This afternoon, I simply listened to the first six or eight songs Pandora played for me and chose several that spoke in some way to my story and characters. I pulled up the lyrics, made a note about which character might listen to that song and why, and in the process, my brain dove straight into my story and the minds of my characters. That list may not stand as a soundtrack, but it certainly helped today.

The time I'd spent doing that was enough and was verging on too long, so I stopped playing with the buttons. The channel where I stopped conveniently morphed into instrumental music, and with my headphones plugged in to block the noise of annoying cell phone conversations and coffee machines, I wrote more than 2,000 words.

I'd say that's a decent dent and a big improvement over yesterday's -62, wouldn't you?

And you?
What nifty tools have you discovered to nudge your marathon along? And if you're participating, leave a comment letting us know how it's going for you.

Regarding my title, my daughter said, "You're so funny, Mom. That's a knee-slapper." I'm not sure whether she's serious. She's 12 and has perfected the art of sarcasm.

NaNo or NaNot?

by Pamela

I can’t believe it’s already November. Seems just yesterday my kids were discussing what to be for Halloween. Now, with thoughts bending toward Christmas, it’s hard to think of shopping when it’s 70 and sunny today in north Texas.

Today is a perfect day to write.

Today is a perfect day to begin writing a novel.

If you’ve ever wondered what it takes to write a novel, there are thousands of folks out there who can say, “It only takes a month.”

I wrote my first manuscript in a month. I let the idea marinate for more than a year, but once I committed to writing it, the story flowed and a month later I had about 70,000 words in a file. They weren’t all good words, but they were there. The editing process took a lot longer and now that story is tucked away after I realized that, not unlike parenting a first child, I had learned and made my mistakes on that one. And, even though I love it dearly (again, like my first child!), it probably isn’t meant to be published. (The first-child analogy stops here; mine turned out great in spite of my pitfall-parenting.)

A few weeks ago I posed this question to my fellow women writers of this blog: Who is doing NaNo? Julie, Joan and I had met for lunch, and Julie mentioned she was going to NaNo. Having successfully completed her goal of 40K on a manuscript two years ago, she was ready to NaNo again. Having unsuccessfully participated in it last year, I was ready to try again. Joan had not tried it (although having considered it) and decided she’d up her usual writing goal in the spirit of the event.

NaNo is short-shorthand for NaNoWriMo which is shorthand for National Novel Writing Month. According to the official Web site (NaNoWriMo.org), NaNo is a fun, write-on-the-fly approach to writing a novel. Participants start November 1 (see, you are already a day behind if you haven’t started) with the goal of completing a 175-page book or 50,000 words by November 30. It began in 1999 when Chris Baty and 20 others in the San Fransisco Bay area decided to band together and each write a novel. Ten years later, the idea has grown into quite a literary free-for-all.

The goal here is quantity over quality. You don’t edit as you go, which is something I struggle with. You give yourself permission to make mistakes, take risks and embrace your reckless side. Be uninhibited. Have fun. And take comfort in the fact that there are 150,000 other crazy people in more than 90 countries doing the same.

NaNo organizers track participants' progresses via their Web site (and list fun write-ins by area), predicting an 18 percent success rate. And if you need validation that good does come out of NaNo, look no further than Sara Gruen, whose NYT best-seller Water for Elephants began as a NaNoWriMo novel.

So, we at What Women Write are all participating on some level. I know Elizabeth has already weighed in this morning with her word count for yesterday: 1862! on a new story. My goal is to finish a manuscript I started some time ago but haven’t touched for months, other than to weave it into a short story. I have about 13,000 words, so I have set a goal of completing the story—however many words it takes. Joan is going to add to her WiP (work-in-progress) and so are Susan and Kim. Julie’s goal is adding 50K words to her current manuscript.

Whenever you commit to putting words to paper, it’s more fun when you have support. Maybe you have a family member or friend who enthusiastically gives you positive reinforcement or offers a hug when the words just won’t flow. Support and encouragement can make a huge difference in your writing. If you don’t have a cheerleader or you don’t want anyone to know you are writing, finding online support via NaNo might just be what you need.

I know we’ll have a huge morale boost mid-stride when we all head to a cabin for our inaugural writing retreat. The six of us are going to hole-up for a long weekend of writing. We’ll keep you posted on our progress.

How about you…are you on board for NaNo or some version of frenzied writing for November?

A Room of My Own

By Kim

A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction. – Virginia Woolf

Growing up as an only child, I always had my own room. At times I had my own bathroom, even my own balcony. When I was nine the entire top floor of our condo, which included two rooms and a loft, belonged to me, though I usually played in the storage nook halfway down the staircase, which I also claimed. At our house in Maine, the basement was mine, though it may not have been such a prize as I shared the space with the wood stove and had no door until my dad built me a proper room down there.

Dorm life in college was miserable. With parents who lived overseas, all of my things were with me, and I had to share a room a fourth the size of what I was used to. My roommate and I agreed an off-campus apartment was in order the moment we were allowed to have one. I had my own room again, and eventually my own apartment. Heaven.

Then I got married and had kids. I’ve accumulated more things over the years and my personal space has shrunk. I have to wonder what Virginia Woolf would think of my ‘room’ today.

Here is my desk. It’s a bit cramped, but it’s mine, at least until one of the kids commandeers my computer to play Webkinz or leaves artwork or trinkets they’ve made for me on one of my piles of papers. During the day, it’s a little oasis in an otherwise chaotic house. Beside me, I have vintage postcards of Roycroft and other places featured in my work in progress, The Oak Lovers. Look up and there’s a stunning portrait by Edmund Wyly Grier of my great-grandfather, Carl Ahrens, the protagonist of my novel. From my chair I can see several of Carl’s paintings. (Note the bright pink earplugs sitting near my monitor. I’ll get into why those are an important fixture soon.)

To my left is a wall of photos and sketches of the women of generations past and present, other than for a lone photo of Carl by the lamp. The cabinet, not generally left open, is where I cram correspondence and research material related to my book. What doesn’t fit in there fills filing cabinets under the printer, the lamp and my desk. Things I've not yet found a home for wind up stacked behind my monitor. That pile is frightening. Yes, I can find things, but only when I don’t need them.

To my right hang examples of the artwork my great-grandmother, Madonna, did at Roycroft. On the bookshelf rest a menagerie of family photos and rocks plucked from the spot where Carl and Madonna met and the Ojibwa reservation where Carl once lived. One of Carl’s paintbrushes is in the vase, though I often fiddle with it when the words don’t flow. It still smells faintly of turpentine and I love running my fingers over the patches worn smooth from long use. In case you're curious, the nude woman in the one photo is Madonna.

My most constant companion through the day is the dog. If only he would always be as sweet as he is in this photo. While writing this he’s attempting to hump one of the cats. Seeing she just spent the last 20 minutes sharpening her claws, I imagine she’ll win this battle soon. In the meantime, I have earplugs.

My space is cramped, but manageable, at least until three o'clock on school days. After that, all hell breaks loose. My room is not a room at all, you see, but one wall of a living area in the middle of the house. This space is also occupied by three animals and three kids. The 39-year-old boy may not look like a kid, but he’s the loudest and has the biggest toys.

Here is his space. Keep in mind that I took this photo while sitting in my desk chair and no, I did not zoom in. The corner of his desk is 52 inches from the back of my chair. He’s a gamer, so when he’s home, he rarely leaves this desk unless one of the kids needs him or I present him with a list of chores. Now, out of courtesy to me, he does wear headphones. This prevents me from hearing the incessant music, gunfire or other sound effects. A drawback of his chivalry is that the children always come to me to fix drinks, snacks, malfunctioning electronics or out of boredom. Another negative is that his new headphones are equipped with a microphone, in which he frequently talks to other players. Imagine what a disruption it is to be immersed in the world of 1908 Toronto and have the guy behind you pipe up with, ‘Can I blast this one away with the regular machine gun or do I need the vaporizer?’

Hence the bright pink earplugs. Yet, if I wear them while children are home, who will notice when heads are bonked or the verbal sparring comes to blows? Even on those occasions when I put my husband in charge of his offspring for a few hours, I can't escape the household melee because I don't have a laptop. Volcanoes built in the kitchen erupt to squeals of delight uttered less than ten feet away from me. When the phone rings, I hear it in triplicate. If a visitor should push the doorbell, it chimes directly overhead. Just seventeen feet of echoing laminate floor separates me from the big screen TV, fully pimped with surround sound, a Play Station 2, a Wii, and an Xbox.

Sometimes desperation allows me to tune it all out enough to work. I wrote a heated argument scene to the soundtrack of Dora the Explorer. A pivotal romantic scene got penned while my husband and a neighbor jammed to "American Woman" on Rock Band. Madonna was indeed an American woman, but Carl was decidedly not telling her to stop knocking round his door ‘cause he didn’t want to see her shadow no more.

Clearly I need a proper space of my own, but my only option is to take one of my daughter's rooms. I can’t ask an eight-year-old to share with a four-year-old, especially since she's had her own room since birth. Doing so would rob them both of a private place to dream, something that was vital to me as a child and helped shape me into the writer I am today. There’s no place for a makeshift office in my bedroom, and I’d never sleep if my computer were there anyway. A room could be built above the garage but at great expense. Right now I’d settle for a little shed in the backyard, provided it had electricity and a window air-conditioning unit. Texas summers are a little toasty after all.

When I expressed my desire for my own space to my husband, he smiled, kissed my cheek, and told me I could have anything I want if I just sell a couple of million dollar books.

Yeah, I’ll get right on that, Honey. Now, go watch the football game in our bedroom.

Don't Jaywalk Your Query

by Elizabeth

I'm a pretty law-abiding citizen. If you overlook my occasional indifference to speed limits on long stretches of open highway, you could really call me squeaky. I really don't understand disregard for the law, especially when the law simply codifies common sense and protects the vulnerable.

It drives me nuts seeing parents at my kids' school jaywalking their kids across the fairly busy street. (Worse in the rain. Trust me, don't get me started there.) I realize the parents are watching cars, waiting for tolerant drivers to stop in the flow of traffic to let them cross, rendering the practice more or less safe, but it still irks me. There are crosswalks at either end of the school, and sure, it would add two minutes to the twice-daily routine--but at what cost are they buying those 240 seconds? As I see it, those parents are teaching their kids that their time is more important than other people's; that the rules don't matter; and that taking a shortcut is okay if you don't get caught.

There are times to break the rules. I get that. Civil disobedience has its place; our country wouldn't exist without it. But I don't agree that a busy street with frazzled drivers, a situation in which a moment's inattention can transform those saved two minutes into a lifetime of regret, is the place to introduce the concept to a seven-year-old. Not that I think these parents consider they're teaching those kids anything. They're simply focused on getting them to school on time. Even so, the thing about breaking rules is that you have to know the rule and have followed it before it's meaningful to break it. (Or safe, for that matter--and in the case of the Founding Fathers, at least worth the considerable risk.)

For writers on the cusp, it's not time to break the rules, either. I'm equally amused and amazed reading accounts of queries stuffed with glitter, or packaged with trinkets, or accompanied by not-funny joke death threats. I'll admit that when I first learned about the system, my mind flickered to what pretty paper on which I'd print my queries. Luckily for me, information is plentiful to anyone who exerts themselves even mildly, and I'm pleased to report I never sent out a query on anything but plain white bond, SASE included.

The query system isn't perfect. We all know that. Laws aren't perfect. But both work pretty well almost all of the time, and if you follow both, chances are your sparkling manuscript will find representation, and you'll remain ticket-free (and un-maimed). Querying is not the time to flaunt the rules. That's not what gets noticed. Shining within the guidelines is the way to catch an agent's attention. And since your manuscript has one shot with that agent, play it safe. Play it smart. Cross your T's, dot your I's, stay inside the crosswalk. Allow your project to provide the glamour.

And teach your kids to follow the rules instead of how to get around them. They'll figure that out on their own when they're teenagers.

Editing With Ghosts

by Joan

I didn’t start out thinking I’d write ghost stories. But one day a ghost showed up in a manuscript I was writing and helped my protagonist deal with some buried family secrets. She was based on my Aunt Florence who died when I was twelve, a rotund redhead who loved to float in the pool, inhale coffee and cigarettes, and belly laugh. I like the idea of spirits and souls so connected to people or places that they just can’t leave. Of ancestors who stay with us long after they die. (Kim agrees)

Last year I wrote a blog post about a mysterious ghost writer who communicated with me via my computer. Turned out it wasn’t a ghost at all, just my son’s runaway Bluetooth mouse, making itself at home on my screen. Technology.

I imagine Aunt Florence, a product of the Depression, wouldn’t quite know what to make of our technological advances. I’ve been accused of being a Luddite, despite using Word and Excel for over twenty years, regularly posting to two blog sites, not so regularly posting on Facebook, and writing three manuscripts and the bones of two others on my laptop. To be honest, though, I stick to the functions I know and don’t go searching for new tools.

But I do keep an eye out for new ghosts. And I’ve just encountered another one, though this one’s no Luddite. In fact, this one does make herself at home in my computer. She's Rachel, a British ghost I downloaded to my Mac.

I had no idea my computer had a function for text-to-voice, probably has had for many years. Julie turned me on to this amazing concept, after reading about it on QueryTracker. But I didn’t really like the robotic voice my Mac offered and found a program called GhostReader. (I’m sure there are others, but I’m partial to this one’s name.) There are many languages to choose from, not just British English. Just open your document in GhostReader and it will READ YOUR NOVEL ALOUD TO YOU.

Aside from the thrill of hearing your manuscript read aloud, this is a great self-editing tool. After many revisions, it’s easy to find yourself skimming sentences, paragraphs, even whole pages after a while. Sentences you’ve read over and over sound good because they are familiar. But are they really good? Are they clean, tightly written? Do they convey your intent? The program has a pause/play/rewind function so when you hear odd phrasing or a misplaced word, you can stop and jot down the problem. You can make changes and copy it over to Word, even download it to your iPod, I’m told, though I haven’t tried yet. GhostReader is an amazing tool for any writer!

I’ve had a number critiquers and beta readers on the ghost story I’m shopping to agents. Last month, I put it on hold while I did some brutal revisions, added some new twists, changed my working title and now I'm getting it ready for a new beta reader. Rachel just read the first five chapters to me. I felt as though I was listening to an audio book I’d purchased. I’m excited about it all over again.

Little by little, I’m leaving my Luddite ways behind. And meeting new ghosts.

(If anyone knows of a similar program for PC users, I'm sure our readers would be interested.)

Joy and Worry

By Susan

My 7-year-old daughter is full of joy. She is one of those people who cracks jokes, sees humor in everything, and seems to surf through her uncomplicated life on one big joyous wave. Sometimes it’s completely exhausting, especially when there are soccer practices and laundry and homework and bedtime to worry about. I often worry about all the other things we are not doing, instead of taking a moment and laughing with her. I choose worry because I am her mother and she chooses joy because it’s fun. Motherhood, as Moms know, is fun. But it’s not as fun as being seven years old.

Writing is like being the mother of a joyful seven-year-old. The characters on the page dance off in different directions, spinning and laughing while you try to pull them back so they have meaning and substance. Sometimes it’s like herding cats. You want your protagonist to repent and change, to complete his character arc, yet all he wants to do is continue on his merry little way without apology. Or your antagonist laughs at you because you cannot think of anything clever for him to do next. And so you worry. Just like you worry about your children. When that happens, writing isn’t as fun anymore.

Writing is supposed to be fun, right? We do it because we love it, because we have to, because it frees us. We nurture our characters, and we fret over little details the same way we dress our daughters on picture day. Yet just like our kids, our works in progress take on a life of their own. They start doing their own thing. If I don’t worry about my novel (or so I seem to think), the next thing I know it’ll be sneaking out to ride around with boys who drive convertibles. It’ll be smoking cigarettes and saying dirty words, leaving me alone, waiting up for it, hoping that it comes back to me. All of this, of course, shows up as procrastination or writer’s block or lack of discipline or just plain lazy, bad writing. That’s when it becomes easy to blame the unruly child I have created rather than take ownership for my own habits. That’s when I worry it’s all garbage. That’s when it’s not fun anymore.

Yet our characters are also much different from our children: we make them kill their lovers or run from the law or get caught up in a tangled web that is not of their own doing. We root for them, and we hope our readers will too. We almost always know they will have a happy ending, unless we kill them first. We want to share in their joy. Then we allow worry back onto the page. At the base of it, when we are worrying about them we are actually worrying about ourselves. Will I get an agent? Will this ever be published? Why am I doing this, anyway?

And so I am trying now, quite mindfully, to release my worry about my characters and about myself, and allow the words to take me where they want me to go. In the process of releasing the rules and writing for joy, I’m finding a clearer voice in my narrative. I like my book a lot more. Sure, there are plenty of unforeseen things I could worry about. Or I can just choose the joy and write for the sake of writing. Why not have fun while I’m here? I’ve created a perfect sentence or two. I’ve drawn beautiful landscapes out of phrases. I’ve fallen in love right alongside my characters and been heartbroken when I wrenched the lovers apart. Now that’s having fun. If I push and pull my characters and tweak the story enough, perhaps I can let my worry go and just enjoy the moment.

If you are famous and tortured by your art, it can be hip to talk about the pain of writing, the blood that flows from your pen, the way you agonize over every manuscript. But for me? My family is my life, my work is my passion, and writing is my fun. And so the destination (being published) doesn't matter as much for me anymore. That's what caused my worry to begin with. I’m deciding to enjoy every minute of my writing journey instead and to just have fun. Like they say, life is all about the journey, not the destination. My writing is much more fun now since I left the writing worry behind.

Besides, I’ll need to save the worry for my daughters.