A Writer's Check List

Using Gaiman's list and checking it twice.

1. write
I'm doing TONS of writing. None of it happens to be in the form of fiction, at least not on purpose. I'm writing blog posts, class notes for writers workshops, and too many sympathy notes. But I am writing and learning and feeling, so I'm going to give myself a partial pass on this one, which is generous, I know.

2. finish things
Oh. There's a load of laundry piled on the bed and another in the dryer. Half of my perennial bed has been dead-headed. There's flaky, dried milk where we put the milk in the refrigerator. And I haven't gotten around to putting the smoke detector back up. But I did finish the ironing from two weeks ago. Pass? I did finish my dinner last night.

3. go for walks
I HAVE to go for walks. I have a dog. If I don't take her for a walk, she gets, well, constipated. And then she stays very near me. Trust me, it's better to take her for a walk. Pass! (The fall colors are amazing.)

4. read a lot and outside your comfort zone
I read a lot. I wish I could read more, faster. I would read more science fiction, I think. (I just finished Ender's Game.) I have been reading nonfiction that makes my soul itch, which makes me wish I were a better person, a smarter person. Definitely outside my comfort zone. I'm taking a humanitarian pass on that one. I feel bad enough already.

5. stay interested
I'm trying very hard not to be interested in certain things right now, like what's going on in Washington. Oi vey! Other than that, I'm hyper alert to life. My off button doesn't seem to be working, which I find disappointing. What I need is an ice cream cone and a tree swing. Let me try that and get back to you.

6. daydream
Yes! I'm a daydreamer, and I don't get in trouble anymore. Pass and double-pass!

7. write
I wrote this blog post. And finished it. That's two!

How are you doing on your list today?

Dancing In the Desert

Would you believe me if I told you that when I wrote my first novel, "To Dance In the Desert," I didn't exactly know what I was writing about?

You might believe it if you didn’t like the book.

Or if you did like it, but you’ve written one yourself, you might understand completely.

Or if you pay attention to the mysterious ways of God. If so, you weren’t surprised at the words Ariel brought us from Neil Gaiman.  Perhaps, like me, it comforted you to remember how often you’d reached for the words, and found them there waiting.

Ariel asked what our droughts looked like. Mine has been, for several years, a drought of words, brought on, at least in part, by the economic dryness we’ve all experienced.  The other ladies on this blog have suffered worse than I have, and by their friendship and example, have kept me from despair.  They have been Jane to me, the ones who showed  me how to dance.

Lately, I’ve sensed a turning, a small, first pirouette (it starts inside, where it doesn’t yet surprise the neighbors). It feels like a strange kind of joy, like a last kiss to the world we’ve lost, and a desire to assert myself into the new one, to explore it  for possibilities.

The turn manifested first in a desire to make a few changes of my own. I woke one morning resolved that all the wallpaper had to go. We’re still painting.

And for the next step – a sashay left? – I got myself a real, get-up-and-go-to-work job, and one I think I’ll love. It’s at a local non-profit that will allow free reign for all my flower-girl impulses toward service and community.

Then, just to buck the obvious assumption that I will now spend even less time writing, I’ve already begun a new regimen of getting up at dark-thirty, and going to the keyboard.  I’m pleased to say it’s going well.

Ariel mentioned Gaiman’s commencement speech, and I looked it up, and loved every word. As happens on YouTube, one video led to another  (Neil Gaiman on the Greg Ferguson Show) to another (Neil Gaiman talking about copyright and the web) to another (Neil Gaiman’s advice to new writers). If my husband hadn’t asked for spaghetti, I’d be there still.

But in the commencement speech, Gaiman had something to say about this new, strange world that made me pirouette again:

The rules, the assumptions, the now-we’re-supposed-to’s of how you get your work seen, and what you do then, they’re breaking down. The gatekeepers are leaving their gates. You can be as creative as you need to be, to get your work seen. YouTube ande the web and whatever comes after YouTube and the web can give you more people watching than old television ever did. The old rules are crumbling, and nobody knows what the new rules are. So make up your own rules. 

Look at that.  It only takes a little turn for the end to look like the beginning.

I'm proud of these ladies - of Sharon and her new novel, "Unraveled;" of Latayne and her courage and persistence; of Bonnie, forging her new paths in fiction; of Patti, diving into the creative process in brave new ways; of Debbie for proving that great stories can be written in small bits of time -  and of you - for striking out like Abraham for a promised land you haven't seen.

Have you made a pirouette lately? Do tell. We’d love to read what you have to say.

I’d better go make that spaghetti.

Unfettered Writing

If you knew that you would never be published (or for those who have a book or so under their belts, never published again) would you continue to write? You should, because exercising that creative muscle would at that point be all about the process and not the boundaries, either real or imagined. I’m not talking about writing with ungodly abandon, but writing unfettered.

On a recent flight, I happened to pick up Southwest’s magazine and found the perfect example of writing unfettered. In October’s edition, Neil Gaiman’s short story Orange was featured, and I loved that his writing strayed outside the normal expectations of a salable story.

The opening lines are: ‘CONFIDENTIAL POLICE FILE’ and ‘(Third subject’s response to investigation’s written questionnaire).’ Then it lists the answers phrased so that you know the question without reading them. His treatment was so unconventional that I had the feeling he didn’t care about the ‘rules.’ He appeared to be having a ball.

So imagine there’s no one telling you this is the way it should be done, this is what sells. What elements of story can we address with the freshness that comes from writing for sheer enjoyment? Here’s a starter list:

• In whose perspective should the story be told? Consider all the possible characters who may have a fresh perspective and don’t just round up the usual suspects. It could be a very minor or surprising character with some tie-in before the end.
• What is the unique premise? Is the premise itself unique, or is it enough that the treatment be unique? Neil’s story has both.
• When does the story start? Try writing from the end forward or out of sequence, if disjointedness is a reflection on the protagonist.
• Why should we care about the characters? Is the quest truly life changing? Does it suggest danger or risk-taking, whether physical or through inner turmoil?

It’s true that Neil has earned the right to color outside the lines, and there is a definite trust factor established for him to produce a salable product that will delight his readers. But he didn’t get to that point by fettered writing.

Are there elements of your story that could use a fresh perspective? We’d love to hear from you.