Writer-In-Progress

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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• Filed in Random Writing Stuff

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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I’ve had an epiphany. At least I think it’s an epiphany. Since I don’t have them all that often, I’m not sure if it’s an epiphany or just a wildly random thought…or maybe even just good, old-fashioned common sense rearing its head.

For so many years I’ve written fiction. I’ve loved every moment, every word, every character speaking in the middle of the night in my mind, begging me to get up and write their latest revelation. Honest. But there’s been something in the fiction that’s held me back. If I could publish just the beginnings of fiction stories I’ve started I’d have several anthologies. Don’t get me wrong–I completely love writing fiction.

But just over a year ago, the opportunity to write nonfiction–for a national publication–fell into my lap–or onto my desk–quite literally. Being the always-up-for-something-new person that I am, I jumped right in. Who would have thought my first stint with nonfiction would have reached a national audience not once but twice? Surely not me. Heck, I’d never even considered nonfiction at the time.

But I loved it, too. For different reasons than I loved fiction.

Nonfiction is structured. I know where I’m going (most times) before I begin. The research or interviews or outline guides me exactly where I’m going. I have a word count, a theme, a tone and a built-in audience willing and ready to read my composition. Like fiction, I get nonfiction ideas around every corner (and that, at times, is no joke!) but the difference is I can sit down and pound out a 3,000 word first draft of an article in the time it takes me to go back into my fiction and remember where my characters are. With every piece of nonfiction I work on, I learn stuff. I certainly never thought I’d be able to tell you the psychological factors that typically affect premature twins and not singles or what makes a small publisher different from an independent publisher…but I can now.

Now back to your regularly-scheduled epiphany…
I know these things may not make sense, but to make a long story short (which is something any good fiction writer needs to be able to do), I (think) I’ve decided to switch gears and start writing more nonfiction than fiction. Wow. I never, ever thought I’d say that and mean it but I do. The epiphany was…if I am continually told how excellent my nonfiction is…and many people comment to tell me how much they enjoy it and how much they’ve learned from it (gratifying the English teacher in me), then why am I not doing more of it? I’ve had two terrific nonfiction book ideas I’ve put on the backburner in this need to be fiction-published and think of how much fun it will be to work on a book where I can see the light at the end of the tunnel before I get there. (Of course, they’re both books for writers).

I don’t really have anything to lose. The discipline and skill I learned writing fiction will serve me well as I cross into the realm of nonfiction…and I won’t totally leave it behind…but I won’t feel so guilty about it!

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• Filed in BethWorld

I belong to a stellar group of amazing lady writers who serve a variety of purposes. One of the most important is to keep cracking the whip (which ironically sounds like a $5 bill when I fail to meet my goals…) while goading me toward my own (self-set) three-week goals.

The Serious Writers has been a crucial element to improving my writing and keeping me going. We (5/6 of us, depending on month) meet at local coffeehouses every three weeks and vent, commiserate, share successes, drink coffee, eat chocolate, share bookcovers and reviews and do what all good writers do…set goals. If you don’t make your goals by the next meeting, you’re forced to cough up five bucks for the kitty. So far we’ve had some darn good lunches courtesy of the kitty. And since I had to pay yesterday, my goals this three weeks are much more reasonable:

–10 pages completed in the rough draft of my novella-in-progress
–a typed but possibly still rough draft version of the article on first lines (see earlier post on that bit of genius)
–to keep my sanity as I organize and send out the copies of manuscripts to be judged for my local RWA chapter (Central Ohio Fiction Writers) (what WAS I thinking when I agreed to be contest coordinator?)

Since Thursday (goal-day) I haven’t even thought about the goals. Maybe tonight.

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• Filed in Goal Setting

I came home from an inspirational (ok, also my first) writer’s retreat this weekend with a finished ten-page article in my hip pocket that just needs revising and a good query letter to find its way into a glossy writer’s magazine and the fuel to get cracking on that short story I’ve been stalled on a for a few weeks. But first I had a speed bump in the road to creative and harmonious bliss…

My thesis proposal.

I still like using the word thesis, even though it’s dated and, when combined with my recent stories of how my Barry Manilow CD collection was stolen from my car (no joke…I can’t smile without them), makes me sound about as hip as an 8 Track player. Somehow thesis makes me feel scholarly and educated when the truth is that my ability to write makes it slightly easier to pass total bullcrap by in literature reviews and research design essays that dot my path to the MA Ed. I’d better finish by next fall. To say I’m completing my thesis sounds impressive. To say I’m finishing my final project sounds like I’m waiting for mom to pick up a posterboard and markers on the way home from work so I can get out the glue and glitter. Call me old fashioned. Everyone else does!

But back to the roadblock. I came home from school yesterday (the job), raring and barely able to contain my creative energies toward cleaning up the article and starting a killer query (don’t hate me because I like writing queries), but had one slight hitch in the process: my thesis proposal is due today. And I still had the methodology to finish.

Yikes.

Nothing takes the wind out of a creative writer’s sails than having to write something academic and dry. Luckily, I’d finished a portion of my methodology for my midterm so it was a matter of cutting, pasting and adding in more details. Not the details I liked, though. But the good student in me persevered, limited my action verbs and told instead of showed.

I like to think that the academic writing teaches me exactly what not to do in fiction. I’m sure it does. But what it’s done for sure is tossed a wrench in my creativity. You know, like the person who tries to drive a stick for the first time and you hear that bone-rattling grind of gears when they just don’t quite master the clutch? That’s how my creative mind is working now. Crunched gears.

Here’s hoping a sunny day in Ohio is the oil I need to get out of this bind…

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• Filed in BethWorld

This is my second blog. I’m still debating if I’ll share my first here.

Of course I will. Eventually. I can’t keep secrets for long.

Anyways, this blog is more like a writer’s diary whereas my other blog is much more businesslike. I’m looking for a place to journal my writing journey for posterity’s sake (and so I can tell mom to check it out when she calls to ask..”What’s going on? Why don’t you call?” I can only use the “my cellphone battery is dead” excuse so many times.)

And part of me just loves to share my writing experience with other writers. It’s such a lonely world when that pre-planted, subliminal, inexplicable urge forces you grab a pen and write ten pages while your friends opt to hit the bar…or your baby (current story-in-progress baby, that is) cries in the middle of the night, waking you from blissful slumber with a lightening-sharp crack of an idea that won’t allow you to get back to sleep until you flesh it out.

Such is the life. If you’re a writer, you understand. If you aren’t…we like you anyway.

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• Filed in BethWorld