Writer-In-Progress

Good news: I found the rough draft of the article I wrote over two years ago that the editor requested last week

Bad news: It really sucks worse than I remembered. Way too many words, some unrelated ideas, scattered structure (if you call that structure)…as a writer, do you ever look back on the stuff you’ve written in the past, after a passage of significant time and say…thank God they didn’t publish this? LOL.

The ideas are good, even worthy of some research. But the presentation…well, that’s what I should be doing now instead of blogging.

I think I will.

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It sure pours.

In good ways.

Two posts in one day is something for me. Two posts in one day because of good news is even better.

After going to school on cloud 9 from the “send more” request, I checked my school email and found a note from the co-editor of a state educational newsletter who thinks my idea for an article is great–and even suggested it might work as a quarterly column.

Just as I finished reading the email, our secretary stopped by to see me and asked “When are you going to write for us again?”

“Write for you?” I questioned.

“Yeah. You know, one of those great letters to the editor [of the Columbus Dispatch]. We need someone to show the good things that go on in public education again. Too much negative press”.

Wow. I’d forgotten my scathing, sarcastic yet popular letter to the editor last year. I sure loved writing that letter. I was so pissed off with the Dispatch’s George Bushian-boohiss- views on public education I had to light into someone after the report that teachers take too many sick days (aren’t they in our contract?) and too many Fridays off (yeah, I’m sure no downtown execs EVER take off Fridays). That letter was awesome. I think I had it written, drafted, proofed, edited and emailed within an hour. That’s passionate, quality writing, my friends.

There are some issues I’ve been mentally tackling lately. Especially charter schools. But Bill’s nice reflection on a piece of writing I’d somewhat forgotten was a damn good indicator of success to me. Something I wrote stuck with him and came back to me full circle.

Like success.

Life is good. Writing is better. And sending out that requested draft in time? Priceless.

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And speaking of success, here’s reason #1 to always send a thank you when you’ve been rejected and to never let an open-ended conversation (even via email) end…

I think I mentioned the query I sent to the RWR–the monthly magazine of the Romance Writers of America–proposing an article on opening lines–ten ways to improve your opening lines.

Last week, I received a wonderful rejection. Actually, I view all rejections as wonderful (no, my middle name isn’t Pollyanna) because to me, it’s a sign that I’m writing and that someone has taken the time to tell me–hey, this isn’t what we want/need but at least there’s merit. But anyways–the editor sent along a rejection of my initial idea but said some really flattering things about my writing–and invited me to propose something else. Being the good, midwestern girl I am, I knew I had to send a thank you but instead of sending it alone, I tacked on two more ideas: one that I’m currently researching for my own interest and another that I’ve been thinking about for a few years now.

Long story short: she liked them both. The second idea I already have something written up on, albeit still rudimentary and basic in form, and she wants to see that first to get a feel for my writing style. (My writing style…do we ever really recognize our own writing style?). On the first idea, she wants to know how long I envision the article. Now–maybe it’s just me, but that’s a pretty sweet request. Knowing my strengths as a writer, I can usually nail a word count within twenty words and say what I need to. Ten words? No problem. Fifty thousand words? No problem.

Needless to say I’m really excited today. I guess this means I’ll have to change my goals with the Serious Writer girls–but I think they’ll happily understand. Maybe the fiction will have to be on hold for a little while. Again.

But you should see Pollyanna grin.

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So, as a writer, what’s your definition of success?

I’ve been thinking on this one a little more lately because while it seems I’m having more success with my writing, it’s success in a different way than I envisioned.

See, originally, when I started writing fiction years ago (high school), my idea of success was to have people like my stuff. Easy enough. What teenage girl doesn’t love a story where the handsome guy falls in love with her and lets her wear his class ring and varsity jacket? (thanks to Julie for making me feel like that story was much, much better than it ever had hopes to be…LOL)

Then my notion of success involved winning something. As fate had it, I was allowed as a freshman to take upper level creative writing at my first (and true love) college, worked on a story all semester, submitted it to the campus literary magazine and voila–won first place.

As an aside, everyone in that class hated my story. I was the only romance writer, no one was killed or died a slow, agonizing, allegorical death, and there were no guns or death rays. Still, I won first place–and still, I firmly believe I was the only entrant in the contest.

As I’ve grown and written, my successful wishes morphed into a “rule the world through fiction” thought. Quitting the day job would be nice…to be able to stay home and write full time…sure, who doesn’t want to give it up to live life in their pajamas eating bonbons and dictating to servants? (oh, you misguided non-writers…)

But that fell by the wayside too, as I reached a success goal in a way I had never, ever anticipated. After all that time dying for fiction publication, I was published nationally on my first attempt. Not bad, but then I gave up fiction for nonfiction since I had so much more luck getting my nonfiction in the door.

And now I’m back to fiction (in the mornings) and nonfiction (in the evenings). The NF comes out like water. Sometimes impossible to turn off the ideas and words. And the fiction, in the rough draft form, did too. I think I managed about 80 pages in one week (longhand). But I’m trying to redefine my notion of success when it comes to being a fiction-writer-in-progress.

I’ve finished the first three chapters of fiction and am starting the revision process with chapter one (an interesting concept I’ve never tried before but works well for my friend JC–prolifically published in fiction–why not try something new?) but man, is it ever slow. It’s taken me two weeks to come up with two pages. I have to admit–those two pages feel like the best, most solid fiction writing I’ve ever done in my life to this point. I don’t see myself changing them. Maybe adding a layer of description or setting, but sticking with the structure itself.

But it’s dreadfully slow. And part of my idea of success is writing, writing fast and writing a lot. Maybe I need to define success for myself for all aspects of my writing process…ten pages a day in drafting, one page a week in revision, one published article a month in nonfiction…? It’s a lot to remember….

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And not just because it’s colder here in Ohio in the mornings.

After a long, dreary, rainy-wet day spent asking those good, old, everybody-wants-to-know questions on life, I managed to get back to writing yesterday. I haven’t forgotten Jamie and Fatima, but one of the best gifts I can give both of them is to live a happy life doing what I love…

Writing.

Yesterday I managed to finish the final draft of an article I’m sending to a national education market on Friday (just working on the query now…is there anything worse?!). This morning I sat down with my fiction pad and cranked out almost all of chapter 2. Only thing left is the final scene to catapault me and my characters into the adventure (for all you Vogler fans).

And it feels good. Really, really good.

What I still want to know is how non-writers get through the day.

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For all you philosophizers/writers, here’s a question I think on often, and in the last two weeks of my life, have thought on almost hourly:

How do non-writing people get through life?

More specifically, how do they think and function without a pen and paper? I sometimes try to fathom myself lost on a desert island (especially when the weather here in Ohio sucks something awful) and that old question of …what would you take and who would you take?

After the fun of whatever current singer or movie star I’m in the mood for would wear off, I’d still be sitting beside my notebook with an endless supply of fountain pens. I just can’t imagine NOT writing. My mind doesn’t wrap around that notion.

And here’s why I’m thinking about it so much.

Last week one of my oldest friends passed away at the age of 31. He’d have been 32 the day after his funeral, but for some reason he wasn’t supposed to hit that mark. Now, Jamie and I haven’t seen each other since we were probably 12 years old, but as our parents spent a lot of time together in our early years, so too did we, with my sister and his brother. Jamie had a laugh that you could not resist laughing with, no matter how hard you tried. He also had more freckles than the country sky has stars and the biggest, silliest smile to make you feel happy even when he was up to his rotten tricks of getting us kids into trouble. (I was the oldest and usually willingly took the brunt).

Though Jamie and I hadn’t spoken in so long, I wondered why his death hit me so hard. This is where the non-writer thoughts came in. In order to understand my feelings, I journaled half a notebook, wrote two poems and a story and am still trying to answer questions I can’t understand. How do non-writers get through these times? And what is it about these deep, emotional moments of our lives that just fill our minds with words and our hands with energy?

Jamie’s death was an interesting contradiction to Fatima’s death, however. Fatima was one of my students a few years ago in middle school. She was curious, extremely intelligent but at times unmotivated, with a silly grin and a huge heart for anyone smaller than her. She couldn’t read (English or Somali) when she came to me, and I figured half the problem was her dyslexia–undiagnosed, of course. With that taken care of, she still had trouble reading. I managed to get her glasses, which she faithfully wore only to my class. In the hallway I had to always, always remind Fatima that if she couldn’t see, she couldn’t read. She would always smile at me, pull out her glasses, and magnify the eyes I knew loved me for being someone who loved her back.

I left the classroom a few years ago, and Fatima moved on to another school. Just this morning as I was leaving for school, I caught Fatima’s photo on the morning television news. I didn’t notice her blinding smile from last year’s (her freshman year) school photo or the totalled car and the word “fatality” in tiny type in the background of her photo. All I registered in my mind was that she wasn’t wearing her glasses.

And that’s all I’ve been able to think of all day every time I mention Fatima’s untimely death to teachers who shared the priviledge of educating Fatima her short time here. Her glasses.

But Fatima’s death has had the opposite effect on me from Jamie’s death. I can’t write. I tried pushing the pen against the paper today and only squeaked out three pages of fiction which I know don’t make sense. I couldn’t edit the article I wanted to send off for the Friday deadline to a major publication that would be a big break for me. I couldn’t do anything but sit and wish I’d hugged Fatima one more time instead of reminding her about her glasses.

And now I’m here. Even when I don’t think I can write or have the heart, I’m writing. See what I mean? How do non-writers get through the day?

Thanks for being in my life, Jamie and Fatima.

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Yeah. So much for that epiphany. Worked out well for the first week or so, but the more time I spent working on my book proposal, the more time I found myself hearing snippets of dialogue and getting flashes of characters from (one of) the fiction pieces I started this summer.

In order to appease whichever muse decided to play head games with me, I grabbed a pen on Saturday morning, started writing the second draft of the blessed story and by Saturday night found myself twenty pages (and three empty fountain pen cartridges) deep in fiction I’d given up.

Again.

Anyone else have this problem? When you make up your mind to stop writing on something, whether it’s brochure copy or a historical family saga set over three centuries, then start working on something else, does the original start working for you? Or am I losing my marbles? I haven’t been able to think of anything else but this fiction story now–although I managed to pump out a good, bare-bones rough draft of an article that’s due on Friday. I’m itching to write. I even brought my fiction notebook to school with me–something I rarely(if ever) do anymore.

Maybe that’s the secret to writing: ignore what you want to write in order to write what you have to write and what you want will come find you.

That’s enough for today—I have an exciting fiction story to get home to.

Oh, yeah. One more thing.

And the other thing I forgot to mention was that I had to hack up $5 for my serious-writers group because, during the past three weeks, I was unable to cough up 5 pages of fiction.

Insane, isn’t it?

Well, the goals have changed. I’m on my way to post now. And they are…(drumroll, please):
*finish Chapter 2 in the fiction WIP
*submit the ELL article to KDP by the 10th
*finish rough draft of introduction to nonfiction WIP

So help me, if that muse starts buzzing around my head again…

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