Trapped by dreams?

And, if you’re really paying attention (and this might or might not be a sign of your true, everlasting love for me), you’ll recall that I’ve also scribbled my own blog full of the subject.

This week, I’ve had another confirmation that all of my conclusions about my dreams are true.

If you’ve read those aforementioned blog posts, you know that if I’m not writing, I go slightly crazy, and you know that when I go slightly crazy, I start dreaming all sorts of weirdness.

This week, I’ve started dreaming all sorts of weirdness. But before I get into that, here’s a run-down of recent writerly activities:

• In August and September, I worked on getting Shadows after Midnight ready for publication. I also got my short story “Dead Reconning” up to snuff…

• …and then helped publish A Consortium of Worlds, Vol. 1 (Fall Issue), in which that short story appears.

• Most of September and October, I spent writing, re-writing, editing, re-writing, and agonizing over my short story “If This Were a Stephen King Story” for Kindle All-Stars.

• Oh, and I also wrote, re-wrote, and agonized over my next short story for the next issue of A Consortium of Worlds, “Out of the Darkness.”

• In between all of this, I’ve been painting cover art for The Dragonswarm, Aaron’s Taming Fire sequel.

This all makes for much artsy busyness, yea verily.

And yet, I’ve been dreaming all sorts of weirdness.

WHY HAPPENING?!?

Yes, I’ve been writing a lot. I’ve been engaged in the ins and outs of creating readable stories for all you happy people out there. This is the stuff I’ve been wanting to do since I was 8, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

But.

Even though I have been doing writerly things, I haven’t been writing a new novel.

And I think that’s why my dreams have started getting all janky again. Lack of novel-writing causes the onset of insanity. My brain deals with insanity by gifting me with restless nights chock-full of loud, vibrant, Technicolor imagery.

Most recently, I spent last night tossing and turning to the beat of dreams about Kindle All-Stars. I don’t remember a particular storyline for these dreams, but I do know they involved editor-in-chief Bernard Schaffer’s staring out sternly at me from the Google doc of my short story.

So. All of this to say that I was right: not creating makes me crazy. More specifically, not creating novels makes me crazy, even though I’m most pleased at all the other creative wonderfulness I’ve been involved in of late. It just goes to show that what I’m really supposed to be doing is write books. It’s a good thing NaNoWriMo is coming up. : )

And that’s WILAWriTWe!

NaNoWriMo.org

I am not a person easily given to irritation. It takes a lot to push my buttons. Injustice is pretty much the only thing that can get me into a raging fury. (That and when drivers use the highway entrance ramp as a parking lot.) There’s a ginormous lot of space between my mellow and my raging fury, and I generally don’t stray too far from the mellow.

The husband might disagree with me on this point, but we’re not going to ask him. ; )

(Also, keep in mind that I’m talking about the emotional scale of mellow to irritation to outright anger. On other emotional scales–such as happiness, giddiness, excitement, anticipation, blah de blah–I can go from zero to passionate in two seconds flat.)

For example, as I wrote the above paragraph, I heard an odd noise and went to investigate. In the bathroom, I discovered a pile of cat vomit on the toilet lid. ON THE TOILET LID. Am I angry about this? No. Am I even irritated? Nope. What I am is utterly perplexed as to how this happened. And slightly amused that the feline in question at least knew the right room to go to. If only she could’ve lifted the lid….

Anyway, all of this to say I am not what anyone would call an irritable person. So when I find myself feeling grouchy about something, you’d think I’d know enough to pay attention.

Well, I’ve been working on a fantasy short story entitled “Out of the Darkness” for the past 8 weeks. And for the past 5 weeks, every time I’ve sat down to work on this short story, I’ve gotten ridiculously grouchy.

Of course, the grouchy affected the writing of said story. I kept getting stuck. My heroine didn’t want to do anything. My supporting character was such a nuisance, I considered having MC kill him just to get rid of him. My antagonist refused to show its (yes, its) face.

The stuck-er I got, the greater the grouchy every time I sat down to work.

Yesterday, after 5 weeks of self-torture, it finally dawned on me whence came all my troubles:

I did not want to be writing this story, plain and simple.

I wanted to be writing something else.

The something else in question happens to be the novel I’ve been saving for NaNoWriMo since last December. (Visit my NaNo profile page here!)

And that’s really all there is to it. My inner artist child was throwing a fit because instead of letting her get her way, I was making her sit down and do all this work on this stupid-kenupid short story.

Whaddaya know. My grouchiness was a temper tantrum.

The cure for my ills was contained within the realization. As soon as I identified the source of the ridiculous grouchy, something loosened inside my creative brain. BAM! Heroine gets some gumption. Not to mention some smarts. BAM! Supporting character actually says something useful. BAM! Antagonist finally arrives on-scene with a screech, sparks flying.

Last night, I finally typed the two most important words of the story and called it DONE. Inner artist child capered most bizarrely at her sudden, short-story-less freedom. Yay, now we get to think about the NaNo novel! We hearts the NaNo novel! We LUVS the NaNo novel! BANGERANG!

And so forth.

So. Lesson learned: When irritable about a particular piece of writing, ask self if the source of irritation might be nothing more than a temper tantrum. If answer is yes, tell inner artist child to suck it up and get the work done. Playtime is just around the corner.

And that’s WILAWriTWe!

In short, KAS is the brainchild of one Bernard J. Schaffer, who is putting together a short story anthology for Kindle of various independent authors. The proceeds of the anthology will go to the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.

Who wouldn’t want to throw their writing hat into a ring such as this?

So, I did. I submitted a horror short story. And, two days ago, I got an email from Bernard.

He said he can’t accept the story as-is.

But he can’t reject it either.

He wants me to fix it.

His email gave me the freak-out.

Not because he was mean or anything of that sort. Yeah, the critique was tough to take (what critique isn’t?), but I came away from the email feeling like he respected the story and respected me as a writer.

No, the freak-out came from the realization that this was the first critique I’ve ever received from someone with whom I’d never had any prior contact.

I sent my story to a total stranger and actually got specific feedback on it.

That has never happened before.

• I’ve sent novels to strangers (i.e. publishing houses) and received polite rejections.

• I’ve turned in writing assignments to writer and long-distance writing coach Elizabeth Engstrom and received critiques in return. But this was under the umbrella of a writing course via correspondence, and I had at least communicated with her before sending her my stuff.

• I’ve shared my writing with friends and family who gave me honest but kind feedback. But they were friends and family.

Mr. Schaffer was a stranger whom I’d re-tweeted a few times on Twitter. But we’d never exchanged emails before; he wasn’t friends or family; and he was telling me specifics on story-fixing instead of politely telling me I sucked.

Hellllooooooo, broadened horizon.

I love it.

I intend to spend today working on the fixes. I’m hoping to finish them and send the story back to Bernard by the end of the day. This is a wonderful and crazy challenge to set myself, and the writer kid in me is jitterbugging with the most cramazing glee.

In his email, Bernard did not say that if I make the requested changes, I’m definitely in the anthology. But even if I don’t end up making the cut, I won’t regret this experience.

I did a First. I got some great pointers on becoming a better writer. I got to look Fear in the eye and say, “Shove it, sugar. You’re not the boss of me.”

I got to squash that little voice in my head that is so given to negative self-talk.

Step outside the box?

I smash the box, y’all.

And that’s WILAWriTWe.

You want to create it, make it, craft it, write it.

You want to share the story with people and see their eyes light up as they tell you what they loved about it.

You want to hover nearby as clusters of readers analyze, discuss, and defend your characters.

If you’re doing your job right, you even want to hear from your readers what didn’t work for them, because you know that such feedback will morph you into a better Maker Of Things.

You want to have book release parties and hold the paperback version of your book in your hands. You want to joke with your readers about signing their Kindles.

You want the satisfaction of Finishing The Story. You want the feeling of accomplishment that drives you to write the next book and the next book and the next.

You are hungry for all of this.

Here is the only way you’ll get what you want:

Give up that show you “need” to watch.

Give up that DVD you “have to” see.

Turn off the TV. Leave it off.

Give up that videogame. Give up that RPG. Give up that MMO.

Pretend they don’t exist.

Give up Rockband, Garage Band, Guitar Hero.

Give up Facebook. Give up status updates and photos. Give up farms, bling, and aquariums.

Give up Twitter.

Give up those long chats on the phone. Give up texting. Give up emailing.

Give up reading blogs.

Give up reading news.

Give up reading magazines.

Give up reading books.

Give up social activities. Give up late night parties, walks at sunset, family dinners.

Give up eating out, working out, making out.

Give up cleaning.

Give up shopping.

Some of those things, you won’t need to sacrifice entirely. Some of those things, you should indulge in occasionally to keep yourself sane. Some of those things, you’ll need in order to recharge your batteries.

But.

How about these?

Give up the illusion of put-together.

Give up the illusion of can’t.

Give up the comfort of familiarity.

Give up that familiar voice inside your head that tells you you’re not enough.

Give up the words you tell yourself that keep you small.

Give up the words you tell yourself that keep you immobile.

Give up the words you tell yourself that keep you in fear.

Give up the cycle of negative self-talk you indulge in inside your head.

Give up the apathy.

Give up the shackles.

Give up the excuses.

Give up the doubts.

Give up the fear.

When you think, “I’m going to write,” there is something in your mind that starts listing reasons why you shouldn’t.

Give up that thing that tells you “no.”

Hey, love? All of this sacrifice?

It is going to hurt.

But it will make you more whole than you’ve ever been.

That is why it is worth it.

And that’s WILAWriTWe.

In Hitchhiker’s Guide, the astute reader learns that the Ultimate Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, The Universe, and Everything is 42.

Everything I’ve learned about life thus far causes me to tend toward agreement with this answer.

So, here’s the thing, y’all: When I think about writing and 42 and conversations with friends about writing and 42, I come to the conclusion that some of you, even though you do desire to write a novel, are simply petrified at the prospect of actually doing it.

This saddens me. And it angers me on your behalf, because I’m pretty darn-tootin’ sure that your fear is rooted in the fact that at some point, somebody told you you can’t.

They told you you’re not good enough. They told you you’re not smart enough. They told you you’re not educated enough or witty enough or old enough. They told you that you should wait until You’ve Got A Handle On Things, and then, maybe, you can settle in to do something creative. But right now, you’re just not freed-up enough.

Or maybe they told you you’re just not creative at all.

Whatever the actual words were, what they communicated to you was that You Are Not Enough.

And when they told you that, they subjected you to Fear. They made Fear your overlord.

This knots up my stomach and increases my heart rate because it is WRONG. It is UNJUST. It is NOT FAIR. And it is a LIE.

I’ve said it before, and I’m going to say it again:

You need not be subject to fear.

To write a novel, you have everything you need.

You have words. You know how to string them together in a way that makes sense. The bedrock of writing a novel is putting one word after the other in a way that makes sense, and doing it about 70,000 times.

That number? That 70,000? Psh, it’s nothing. You’ve already said a whole lot more than that over the course of your life. More than likely, you’ll say a lot more than that over the course of the next week.

In a novel, you’ll just write it down instead of saying it out loud. It’s that simple.

You’ve got an idea. You’ve been toying with it in your head. It pops up in your thoughts at inconvenient times, when you know you need to be paying attention to something else.

This happens because it wants you to write it. And because you want to write it. Together, you and your idea are supposed to be making something.

Who told you that you can’t?

You. Are. Enough. And don’t you dare contradict me on this. You are enough. No one has the right to tell you that you aren’t. You don’t have the right to tell you that you aren’t.

Words have power. The most powerful ones are the you say to yourself in your head.

You started telling yourself those words because somebody, somewhere, told you that you can’t.

Stop telling yourself that you’re not enough.

Stop telling yourself that you can’t.

Stop telling yourself that you don’t have time or energy or space or willpower or support or situation or framework or intelligence or education or resources.

What you have is idea. What you have is words. What you have is universe.

You have everything.

You are possessed of beauty and strength and life.

Now take your everything and put words together in a way that makes sense. Take your enough and write a novel.

And that’s WILAWriTWe.

I have also learned that composing coherent, cohesive, and helpful blog posts during facepainting time is nigh on impossible.

This all leads back to: YOU SHOULD HAVE A BLOG POST CUSHION.

Clearly, I don’t. So please forgive.

Until next time, here’s a picture of a pretty girl I painted!

Fire Mask design by Fancy Faces.

Why the letter J? Because if my friend and fellow writer Josh Unruh hadn’t decided to make it his personal crusade to introduce me to “low fantasy” (aka “sword & sorcery”), you wouldn’t be reading this blog post.

So. Onward! This morning, I finished reading Conan #1 by Robert E. Howard, L. Sprague de Camp, and Lin Carter. The book is a collection of short stories by Howard, going back as far as 1934. From what I understand, de Camp and Carter edited the stories, completed some of them, and compiled them into this collection. (I’m sure Josh will correct me on this point if I’m wrong.)

I think it’s safe to say that this was my first foray into writings of this genre; however, much of Conan’s world reminded me of a movie I grew up watching (over and over and over, ad infinitum): the 1940 film The Thief of Baghdad.

1940s. 1930s. Approximately the same era. Sandals. Swords. Sorcery. Heroes who are something of societal dregs — not a smidgen of education, but a goodly amount of cunning (and, in Conan’s case, a massive dose of brute strength, always handy). Fair maidens in need of rescue. Treasure in need of stealing. Evil in need of vanquishing (usually not out of moral considerations but simply because it impedes the treasure-stealing process).

(As a side note, Howard’s writing style in Conan also reminds me of the so-called “Heinlein juveniles” of the ’40s and ’50s. There’s a whole series of blog posts in the effects culture and society have upon the collective style of an era’s writers.)

What we have here, my friends, is not-so-good guys getting the drop on bad guys, and it’s all set in a fantastical world where elves and hobbits and brownies would stick out like sore Thumbelinas. In one of the stories, I found a brief mention of werewolves. I could imagine vampires in this world, but only if they came in the form of demons conjured up from the netherworld. Orcs wouldn’t be out-of-place…but if we think of orcs as all brawn without a lot of brain, Conan’s got that pretty much covered already.

Howard goes a long way, especially over the course of the first few (chronologically arranged) stories, to present Conan as a hulking jock who never thinks anything through. This big brute of a main character’s drives are testosterone, greed, and boredom (in that he doesn’t like it and seeks adventure to alleviate it). As a woman of the 21st century, Yours Writerly read the first few stories while raising an eyebrow and smirking. There might even have been some eye-rolling.

But.

Through the course of the stories, Conan develops a reputation in the mythical lands through which he travels. This reputation doesn’t exactly precede him, but it does spread quickly after he arrives and settles (briefly) in a given area. Yes, this reputation includes the brute strength, vengeful rage, and lack of civilized manner. But it also includes his skills in thievery.

What does it take to be not only a successful thief but also an admired thief? Surely, I submit, it takes more than just ridiculous strength and sword-prowess. Here’s where we return to that cunning I mentioned earlier.

Conan plots. He analyzes. He waits, curbing his own wild impulses with the patience of a consummate hunter. He concocts schemes for breaking-and-entering that leave authorities confounded. In no sense a scholar, he still learns foreign languages and customs as he goes, reasoning that they will serve him in his thrill-seeking, treasure-purloining, and law-evading. He’s even smart enough to get the girl and then give her back to her betrothed with that poor schmuck’s being none the wiser.

I have no idea if Howard was the one who infused a seemingly shallow character with deep, unexpected undercurrents, or if de Camp and Lin did it in rewrites. Either way, the depth is there. I didn’t expect it, and it made me smile to discover it. Well-written characters in plot-driven stories always make me smile.

Conan is more fun than any “jock” character has a right to be — and that’s what makes him fascinating. He’s a great reminder of the lasting impact a unique, convention-shattering character can have on a reader. (He shatters my conventions, anyway.)

Howard created a “low” fantasy character who is now iconic in my mind. That’s something very few “high” fantasy authors have been able to do. And that’s WILAWriTWe!

So: Stop, drop, and think, my dear inklings. In three brief points, let’s review some of our basic writing principles.

Three Writing Basics

1. Every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end.

   • In the beginning, you introduce your protagonist and her goal. You also introduce your antagonist and his goal. The antagonist’s goal must be in direct conflict with your protagonist’s goal.

   • In the middle, your protagonist works toward her goal while the antagonist works against her. The protagonist suffers setback after setback. The antagonist crows diabolically. Action and tension build and build and build until your reader’s head starts splitting at the seams.

   • In the end, tension builds up to the climax, which is the most dramatic point in the story. Here, your protagonist experiences a major turning point for better or for worse. Usually, she ends up getting what she wants after having paid a price she didn’t want to pay. Finally, you tie up any loose ends and send your reader home with a satisfied sigh.
2. “The road to hell is paved with adverbs.” –Stephen King

   And other terrible things such as poor spelling, run-on sentences, verbose flowery stuff, dangling participles (*shudder*), incorrect punctuation, weak verbs, and dialogue tags other than “said” (Yes, your characters may mutter or snap, but only at direst need.). Don’t do any of these things, and your readers will thank you for it.

   My publisher, Consortium Books, uses The Chicago Manual of Style for editing purposes. I highly recommend.

3. What your readers want matters.

   You’re not writing for you. You might think you’re writing for you, but you’re not. If you are telling stories, then you are a storyteller, and storytellers always have an audience, even if they haven’t found that audience yet. If you are a writer, you are in the entertainment business. You are writing for your readers, and at some point, like it or not, you’re going to have to give them what they want.

   What do they want? Well, that depends on what genre you’re writing. My current novel series, Demons of Saltmarch, is Christian fantasy. My readers want something otherworldly and supernatural. Something adventurous and faith-challenging. They want a story that packages the spiritual in the tangible. They don’t want vulgar language, sex scenes (although I’ll admit I push the envelope a little on that one), anti-Christian propaganda, or preaching. In showcasing concepts of faith, I walk a fine line for my reader’ sake.

   In contrast, my epic fantasy series has an audience with different expectations. They can probably handle a bit of faith discussion — but what they’re really after is transportation into a world wholly unlike their own. They want adventure and magic. They don’t mind vulgar language and a sex scene or two (actually, most of them probably want those). They want creatures they’ve never seen, places they’ve never been, and cultures they’ve never experienced. They want (read: demand) believable characters in an unbelievable world which is my job to make believable.

   Oh, and they want non-cliché elves. Those are very important.

And that’s WILAWriTWe!

What are your writing basics?

Tell us in the comments!

*Keep It Simple, Stupid

Photo by Julie V. Photography

That’s right, my dear inklings. Today, I shall give you a work(s)-in-progress update, which, if my calculations search functions are correct, I have not done since February. Fortunately for us all, a WsIP update also qualifies as a WILAWriTWe, because part of learning about writing includes all the doings of The Writing Life. Bam.

So, without further ado or adon’t, here’s the current in-progress scoop on my Writing Life in no particular order (because when is The Writing Life ever orderly?):

• I’m an associate editor for The Consortium‘s upcoming “A Consortium of Worlds, Vol. 1.” It’s a short story e-magazine comprised of speculative fiction by seven Consortium writers, including Yours Writerly. My role means I am managing submissions, working on my own short story, editing others’ stories, coordinating deadlines for writers and Head Editors, arranging for cover art, and generally trying not to freak out. It’s great fun, sometimes overwhelming, and continuously learning-experiential in all areas.
• I am the cover artist for the upcoming “A Consortium of Worlds, Vol. 1″ short story e-magazine. See previous.
• The Consortium is currently enjoying a short story boom, and I am booming along with it. My prolificness? prolificacy? started with “Dead Reconning,” my high fantasy submission to the e-magazine. I’ve since finished a horror short story and am now 1/3 through with another high fantasy one. I can still count on one hand the total number of short stories I’ve ever written, but I plan to get that up to two hands before the end of the year.
• Conceptually, the cover art for Aaron’s next novel, The Dragonswarm, is underway. I am also the cover artist for this project. This one will be another oil painting, and I’m hoping to start within the next couple of weeks, depending on when the project description falls into my greedy little hands.
• As Jessie pointed out last week, The NaNoWriMo Approacheth! I’ve known since the beginning of the year which story idea I’d be working on this time, and it’s been driving me slowly crazy to resist writing any of it. But now that it’s just two months away, part of my thought is bending toward pre-writing and pysching myself up for the yearly November madness. I can’t wait!
• Jessie is editing my next novel, Shadows after Midnight, which comes out the first week of October! I’ve peeked at her edits a few times and plan to start revising based on her feedback within the next week. Final edits are a process I both enjoy and despise. Enjoy, because I love finding out how my work reads to someone who knows what she’s doing — and then taking those critiques and using them to polish and tighten my story. Despise, because this is the part where I get sick of the story, the characters, and my own voice, and I end up just wanting to be done with it all and get it out there. For me, this despising and getting-sick-of is a crucial element of my process. This element helps me not tweak the novel to death and helps me get it out the door. Otherwise, I’d tinker with it for the rest of my life. Ugh.
• I’m also doing my Head of Consortium Writing School thing. Mentoring writers. Talking about writing. Scheduling social writings. Being reminded to schedule social writings. The usual.
• Is there more? I think there’s more. There’s always more. But that’s pretty much all I can think of at the moment. If I’ve forgotten something important I’m doing, tell me about it in the comments!

Photo by Julie V. Photography

I am cheating in that, before I get to the meat of today’s WILAWriTWe, I want you to go read this one I wrote in February. It was the first time I delved deeply into the concept of a Writer’s Tribe here on Unstressed Syllables.

Please pay particular attention to the “dude, I get you” part and the “carry-feathers-not-sticks” part.

…

Did you click through and read?

Don’t you try to cheat, now. And do as I say, not as I do. ; )

So. If you really did click through and read, you now know all about what the Writer’s Tribe (or Writers Tribe; I’m still debating that one) is for and why you, O Writer, need a Writer(‘)s Tribe.

Two days ago, seven Consortium writers gathered in Aaron’s living room to roundtable edit each other’s short story submissions for our upcoming short story e-zine, Consortium of Worlds, Vol. 1.

I probably don’t have to tell you how apprehensive I was, going into that meeting.

But I’m gonna tell you anyway.

Images of vindictive critiquing flashed through my head. What if everyone had only criticism for each other and no positive feedback? What if none of the “fix this” was ever counterbalanced with “this part was cramazing”? I’m Head of the Writing School for the Consortium, so I get very protective of my writers. I don’t mollycoddle anybody (I don’t think) — but as I looked ahead to our roundtable and imagined my writers bursting into tears over adverbs, passive voice, and plot holes, I had to fight down the urge to mother-hen everybody.

We’re all adults, I told myself. Surely, I don’t need to caution anyone to play nicely with others?

So, Monday night, we hunkered around our tribal fire and chit-chatted for half an hour, neatly avoiding the pink elephant that was our Very First Official Roundtable Editing Session. Finally, somebody broke the ice with a well-placed “Who’s on first?” (though no one mentioned baseball), and we launched into Tribal Council.

Notes on the Tribe's critique of my short story

Inklings, we palavered over each other’s stories for four hours, and it was glorious.

Nobody cried. Nobody flew into a rage. Nobody threw things. There were many, many compliments. There was a lot of honest criticism. Openness and receptivity to critique were rampant. For some reason, everything got compared to Firefly. Twitterly #TweetVengeance happened. We didn’t go five minutes without collective guffaws and gigglesnorts.

As it turns out, we all play well with others. Without anyone’s hanging a lampshade on it, we affirmed the okayness of each other’s writerly weirdness, and we all obeyed the maxim “Speak Truthfully, But Carry a Feather (No Sticks!).” As Head of Writing School, I felt free to check my mother-henning at the door. As a writer, I couldn’t have asked for a more supportive tribe: one that encourages each other but also pulls no punches in honing each other’s craft.

(They might even call shenanigans on the mixing of metaphors.)

The experience re-affirmed to me how essential a Writer(‘)s Tribe is. They make me a better writer and a better human. I would not be without them.

And that’s WILAWriTWe.