I’m over at Word Whores talking about daydreaming and guiding it to write novels.
Dreaming Up Novels
//Tag: creativity
//Forcing Creativity into a Single Channel
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I’m over at Word Whores today, talking about World Fantasy Convention and why I gave up quilting.
Writing to Deadline – Keeping the Quality AND the Speed
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So, this happened today.
And, yes, I’m totally over the moon about it. This Top Pick Gold is an even higher rating than RT Magazine gave The Mark of the Tala, the first book in The Twelve Kingdoms. Beyond the obvious thrill of having this sort of amazing compliment is the incredible validation of having the second book exceed the first. It’s hugely important to me to continue to grow and learn as a writer. This tells me I’m on the right track.
The review says this:
Although The Tears of the Rose picks up immediately after book one, new readers will have no trouble following along as the events surrounding Prince Hugh’s death – at the hands of Amelia’s sister – are quickly described. Amelia’s journey from pampered princess to empowered woman begins with sorrow and pain, until she begins to see her purpose and embraces her newfound strength and power. She is a surprising female character, as is the scarred and mysterious Ash. He shows Ami what passion and love truly mean in the sexiest way possible – loving her unconditionally even when it seems impossible for them to be together. One of the highlights of the Twelve Kingdom series so far is that the women are charged with saving themselves and creating their own happily-ever-after, with the men surrounding them just one part of the process.
It means even more that they love about this book exactly what I do. I couldn’t be happier!
Another reason to feel good about this love for book 2 is that I wrote it on deadline. See, I wrote book 1, The Mark of the Tala, before my agent sold it. I had plenty of time to write it (though I did hold myself accountable to my self-imposed schedule, which I strongly advise pre-pubbed writers to do). On The Tears of the Rose, however, all I had was a few paragraphs of concept and a looming deadline.
I had a conversation with a younger author about this the other day, where she lamented the difficulty of trying to stay on track with the book she’d sold on spec (like I did with The Tears of the Rose). She was having a lot more trouble getting the book to gel and feeling a lot more stressed, even though she’d written the first book in the series in the same amount of time. I commented that I think it has to do with trying to wedge a part of ourselves essentially without timelines – our creativity – into a schedule.
A few years back I read a book called My Stroke of Insight. It’s not a book one would typically pick up to learn about creativity, but it’s an amazing story that way. The book is an autobiographical recounting of a brain scientist who experienced a devastating stroke in the left hemisphere of her brain. Because of her training and knowledge, she was able to observe her own symptoms and the effects of the injury on her thought processes with detailed insight. We often talk about the left brain being in charge of math, logic and other linear concepts while the right brain is our creative, language and imagination-based side. What this very left-brained scientist discovered was that the loss of function on that logical, linear side freed her creative brain in a new way. She also found that she lost most sense of schedule, timelines and organization. As her left brain recovered, she improved. In the interim, however, she was terrible at being on time.
This is what we’re dealing with by writing to deadline. The left brain knows all about that schedule, but the creative side – our storyteller – is oblivious. It moves on its own time, which is in some ways no time at all.
I ended up telling this writer that for me it’s a lot like making pie crust. Good bakers can make a pie crust come out perfectly a lot of the time. I’m a better baker than I used to be, but I’m no pro. I am, however, getting to be more of a professional writer. A lot of that is building skill. Experience and knowledge make the professional. Another piece is having a good recipe. Choosing the recipe that works also comes from experience and taste. You have to know what works for you. The final component, as every cook knows, is a dollop of hope and black magic. Sometimes you do everything right and the pie crust turns out tough. Or falls apart. A good baker plans around this and can recover.
She also gives the blessings of the kitchen gods their due.
On the Perils of Creativity
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I’m over at Word Whores this morning, where the word of the week is “crisp” and I’m talking about what happens when the creative well has dried up.
At What Point Do You Dig In to Protect Your Writing Process?
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A shot from Los Angeles last week and lunch with the delightful Lynda Ryba (@fishwithsticks). She’s going to be helping out with my Facebook Author Page, so we should see VAST improvements in that! (Really, it couldn’t get worse…)
What with it being NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month, if you live under a rock – basically you commit to writing 50,000 new words during November), I’ve been thinking a lot about the writing process. Quite a few people wanted me to participate in NaNoWriMo. I could, because I’m seriously drafting book 3 in Covenant of Thorns right now. (I think it will be called Rogue’s Paradise.) I’m almost 20K into it and will almost certainly write at least 50K during this month. And I’d like to be supportive – I really would. Some of the newbie writers in my local chapter are doing it and I can see it would be helpful of me to join in. I like being supportive that way.
Except I said no.
Why? Because I *have* to turn in this book – complete and polished – by December 31, according to my contract. Worse, my editor is going on this long trip to New Zealand (yes, we hate her) and really wants the manuscript by December 25, so she can take it with her. Really a week doesn’t make that much difference, but it makes the deadline ever so slightly tighter. I cannot miss this deadline.
But Jeffe, you say – isn’t that all the more reason to do NaNo, to crank on getting those words down?
See, it’s really not.
Over the past several years, I’ve put a lot of effort and concentration into learning and refining my writing process. I say “learning” because I really believe we all have an organic process that we have to discover and love. It’s rough to go against that. I’ve now written six novels and novellas according to the method I’m using now. I know how much I can do each day (right now, about 2,250 words in 2-3 hours) and how long it will take me to complete the draft and then to revise. Being able to reliably create on a schedule is crucial for being a professional writer. This process is delivering for me. That makes it precious.
Which means I’m not going to mess with it.
No way.
Call me superstitious, but I’m not changing a thing.
I’m feeling much the same about workshops and classes. Now, I’m a huge believer in continuing education, lifelong learning – all that stuff. I was the girl in college who took 21 credits every semester, just because there were so many interesting classes to take. That said, I don’t have a writing degree of any sort – no English major, no MFA. I’ve taken tons of writing workshops, etc., over the years, but for the time being, I’m feeling like I want to stay away from them.
This isn’t the hip thing to say these days. Particularly not in the romance-writing community. (In fact, I don’t recall seeing this perspective much at all in the literary community. Those writers are much more apt to be protective of their process and to be vocal about it.) People love to point out when established writers come to workshops. They say things like “I’m never done learning!” and “not taking workshops can lead to stagnation.”
In fact, someone said that last to me just the other day. I threw the question out to Twitter (of course). I framed the question carefully, asking if any of the writers – especially well-established ones – found themselves staying away from classes and workshops, to protect their method. I tried to phrase it to weed out the happy “I love to take classes!” answers. Even so, I still received those responses.
@jeffekennedy Yes. I get very “I’ll do what I want!!!” about it. I always hated writing for school.
— Victoria Dahl (@VictoriaDahl) November 3, 2013
and
@jeffekennedy Definitely. It’s taken me a long time to get my process right, and I’m not messing with it now after 20 books!
— Zoe Archer (@Zoe_Archer) November 3, 2013
Another author, who preferred to remain anonymous, told me about an experience early in her writing career about “you can’t do that” that stopped her flat. She didn’t write for almost a year.
I think if I cast my net wider, I’d hear more of this kind of feedback. Because it sounds better to be enthusiastic about learning and growing, those writers who feel protective of their process might be less likely to speak up. But, I think it’s an important point – and speaks to the gal who said that not learning could lead to stagnation, a very common view – to remember that growing isn’t necessarily derived from taking workshops. There are thousands of ways to learn and grow as a writer, not the least of which is reading!
It’s certainly a fine line to walk. And it’s not that I think my process or my art is perfect. I do feel, however, that it’s working for me. I’m continuing to improve as a writer and that’s important to me.
More, I’m protective of it.
One Cure for Writer’s Block
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Jackson will take treats from my hand like this. He puts his paws on me to steady himself, then plucks the shrimp, or ham, or turkey, or salmon, or beef, or really any kind of meat at all, with his teeth. I’ve never had a cat that would do like this before.
David says I was talking in my sleep a lot last night. That should come as no surprise, since I’m getting heavily back into drafting this novel. The big fantasy novels seem to do it to me much more than the shorter, erotic romance works. I’m not exactly sure why. Maybe because it’s more complex storytelling. Maybe because I’m constructing an entire world along with the story itself.
At any rate, it makes me aware of how much my mind works on this kind of thing. I also find I begrudge distractions more. It’s like I already have so many conversations going on in my head that I can’t bear to listen to any new ones. At times like this I understand the writers who lock themselves away in a cabin for a few weeks or a month, to focus only on the book. I try to keep my life as normal as possible, evenly moving along, but sometimes I envy that model.
Quiet is just so crucial.
A few weeks ago, I flew to Ohio to meet up with some CPs and go to a conference. It was a fairly long flight there – about 3 hours – and I happily found a window seat to ensconce myself in. I exchanged hello’s with the gal on the aisle and set about staging my supplies for the flight. I knew the week ahead would be busy enough that I wouldn’t get tons of writing work done and I hoped for some solid writing time during the flight. As the plane filled, another gal took the middle seat. She and the woman on the aisle kept going after the initial greetings. And going. And going.
I even tweeted, before they shut the plane doors, that I really hoped they wouldn’t talk the entire flight.
They did.
Non-stop.
Some helpful Tweeters predicted this and suggested I go for ear buds early. Fortunately I could. I plugged in the music, opened my laptop and worked away. Every now and again – like when I removed my ear buds to talk to the flight attendant about what lovely drink she could bring me – I became aware that the conversation continued apace.
No, I have no idea what they found to talk about for that long.
But they had gone from total strangers to BFFs within minutes. At the end of the flight, once they stood, they reverted to strangers, as airline passengers do. We all wait, sitting, standing, half-stooped because the overhead bins are in the way, not making eye contact, pretending we aren’t Hugely Impatient to get off the stinking plane already. They went their separate ways without another word.
The new found connection was apparently just to pass the time.
I notice that, the deeper into creating I am, the less I want to talk. It’s like I have energy for the one thing or the other. I think that’s worth exploring. I rarely have good advice when people ask me about solving writer’s block or increasing productivity or enhancing creativity, but there’s something.
Try talking less.
It might feel weird at first. Maybe lonely. Maybe TOO quiet. But I do believe that, once you create that silence in your mind, other things will come to fill it.
Ideas.
Images.
Stories and characters and worlds.
Shh…
Hear that?
Does Writing Faster Mean Cutting Out the Art?
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During my travels last week, I stayed with a friend of many years, Kristine Krantz (aka KAK). She blogs on the Word Whores with me and also writes fantasy. We met via the RWA online chapter FF&P, sometime back in the vicinity of 2009. We became critique partners and friends.
At that time, we were both in the same place – shopping these fantasy novels we’d written and hoped to sandwich into some pre-cut genre somewhere. Though my path was hardly a straight-line – no A-ticket Cinderella ride for me – mine has gone faster than hers. She’s still “pre-pubbed” or whatever euphemism you’d like to slap onto that vicious purgatory of waiting for the market to catch up to your genius. I know this is a hard place to be, because I’ve been there. Another friend and sister Word Whore, Allison Pang, who I met at the same time and in the same way, also shopping a like novel, did manage to pull the A-ticket and full Cinderella ride.
(The moral of our three paths, by the way, is that none is strewn with rose petals and nobody, so far as I know, has received a sparkle pony life companion.)
At any rate, (I’m sure by now KAK has scanned ahead to find out just what the hell I plan to say about her) KAK invited me to stay at her house while I attended the Lori Foster Reader & Author Get Together. This turned out to be an unexpected delight because we spent many hours on her delicious screened back porch, overlooking her park-like back yard, while we worked on writerly things and talked.
There’s something truly restorative about rambling conversations on writing and publishing with like-minded friend who’s as keenly interested in the minutiae as you are. Though we see each other on IM, the conversations only go so far. I also realized, as we talked, that I haven’t been updating her regularly on all of my “business.” It’s a funny thing – as you get into dealing with Published Author World, you tend to talk most to people in the same tangle. I don’t *think* I ditched my pre-pub buddy, but we’ve been working on really different things. And, as you faithful readers know, my life has been moving really fast lately.
In fact, she FINALLY (hee hee hee) completed a monstrous revision of her epic fantasy novel. “Revision” is probably a misnomer because she really wrote a whole new novel with the same world and characters. I feel quite a bit of guilty responsibility for this since I was the one to give the crit that triggered the massive rewrite.
She says she doesn’t blame me.
But it took her a long time to do this. Meanwhile I’ve been working fast. It’s nice for her to be able to do this, because she has the luxury of time right now. We know you pre-pub authors get sick of hearing this from us – we got sick of hearing it, too – but writing before contract is REALLY different than writing for contract and under deadline. We know it’s not nostalgia-worthy since being in that hem-tugging, please-see-me stage of publication wears on the soul, but having the luxury of time is something we look back on fondly. Also the lack of expectations.
KAK and I had this conversation. She mentioned that she’d noticed me blogging about writing books I sold on spec and how it feels different. I said, yes, that it feels like another kind of writing altogether. For me it means:
- I have to form a plan ahead of time, because selling on spec means I sell the concept and THEN write the book. This is not a natural pattern for me.
- Writing a story you’ve “pre-sold” to an editor creates this lens where I feel like I’m writing FOR the editor. That person is very firmly in my mind, because they are now the primary recipient of my story. I haven’t decided if this is good or bad.
- There is a firm external deadline. I have to plan ahead – by a year or more, in some cases – to ensure I have the time to write and revise the way I want to.
This last is crucial because, as I rambled on the topic, KAK nodded and said, yes, you write faster and cut out the art.
Which I’ve been mulling ever since.
Because I don’t think that’s true. I can totally see why it would seem that way. There is certainly not the time to lovingly tweak and polish every bit. There is, also, a definite sense of creating a product that fits a particular expectation (see #2 above). However, I don’t feel like I’m cutting out the art.
Maybe this is self-delusion, because I really HOPE I’m not cutting out the art.
I definitely have not managed to short-cut the suffering. Writing a book faster is no less painful than writing it slowly. It’s more that I am more efficient about it. Some of this is experience. I know by now where I’m going to bog down and how I’m going to feel about it – and I’m quite a bit more ruthless about pushing through it. I don’t have time to wander for weeks through the Enchanted Forest (see last Friday’s post, if you have no idea what I’m referring to). I’ve BEEN through that stinking forest and now I just take the direct – and sometimes arduous – path straight through to the Fountain of Story.
I think it’s less cutting out some of the art and more knowing how to pack the art in there. Like really experienced travelers can pack for a two-week trip in 30 minutes and not forget a thing. You just get good at it.
Mainly because you have to.
Speaking of which, I have a novella due on Saturday and just shy of 9K to go to finish.
See you on the flip side!
How Not to Be a Neurotic Writer
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I spent the last few days on “writers retreat” with my critique partners Laura Bickle and Marcella Burnard. Laura treated us to a cabin in the Hocking Hills and took us on her favorite hikes to these amazing nooks and grottoes. It was so lovely. There’s something about all that pure water springing through rock crevices that’s magical, too. It felt purifying and inspiring.
The reason I put “writers retreat” in quotation marks is because we are all writers and we did retreat – no cell service or internet – we didn’t actually write all that much.
We talked about it. A lot.
And normally I’m a proponent of the “don’t talk about it, just do it” school of Getting Your Writing Done, but this was a chance for us to hash out all our Thoughts on career, peers and gossip. It was more like a corporate retreat. What have we done and where are we going?
My favorite moment: when Laura referred to my career “strategy.” Yeah. Like I planned this.
Among our topics of gossip were the inevitable rehashes of the various colleagues who’ve flamed out for various reasons. The ones who inexplicably posted highly inadvisable rants to blogs. The ones who burned bridges with publishing houses for no apparently better reason than because they had a barrel of lighter fluid handy. The neurotic divas who threw fits in bookstores or at conventions. Talking about the Great Cautionary Tales is fun, especially while drinking wine in the hot tub while fireflies dart about, but it’s also useful. There’s an unfortunate tendency for writers to be nutbags. Almost like it goes with the job. But I just don’t believe that has to be the case.
Extract the lesson from these tales, please.
That’s often what stories do – they illustrate lessons for us. Often the message speaks to a deeper part of ourselves. In fact, the best stories work that way.
In thinking about the whole concept of “I’m an artist and therefore neurotic” concept, I started thinking about the hero’s journey. There’s the classic tale of journeying to another world to bring back the prize. This “other” place – the underworld, dreamworld, faerie, what have you – is equivalent to the subconscious. Wherever we believe our stories come from, it feels like a journey to get them. We metaphorically travel to this other landscape – not the world of traffic lights and alarm clocks – to connect to the creative principle.
(You can call it the muse or the subconscious or the Great Storyteller or whatever – I don’t think it matters.)
In the stories, the dreamworld follows different rules, but the hero who survives, who triumphs, is the one who is pure of heart. She’s the one who can face herself in the mirror and accept who she truly is. It takes discipline, self-knowledge and brutal clarity to journey to the dreamworld and bring back the prize.
When the hero triumphs, she travels the night-dark sea, returns with the magic elixir, neatly bottled and labeled, turns it into her editor ON TIME and saves the village. Much rejoicing.
The others? They can make it to the dreamworld all right, but return in a shambles. The vial of the elixir she went to obtain is half-full, the hero is drenched with the stuff, the label has fallen off. She’s weeks late and stumbles into the village that burned long ago, wondering what the hell happened.
I explained this idea to Laura and she nodded sagely. “This,” she said, “is why Douglas Adams said the most important tool is a towel. We need the towel to soak up all that extra subconscious water, so we don’t drown in it.”
Very wise, my writer friend.
She’s right. We balance our creative journeys with practicality. Being neurotic or crazy or an unbalanced diva is never okay. Yes – journey to the dreamworld. But keep your objectives in mind. Bottle the elixir, wipe off the bottle and get back to the village in time.
Be your own hero.
Nourishing Creativity – an Ode to Polton Elementary School and My Mother
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With the Phantom book finished, I spent time in the garden this weekend. Most restorative to work with my hands and body, to clear away the old detritus, coax the perennials into shape and plant new flowers. And clean up the gargoyle. She’s watching over the pansies for me.
And, as of yesterday, I started in on developmental edits for Rogue’s Possession. For those who aren’t familiar with the lingo, those are the first round of edits. My editor just sends me an email describing some global changes she’s looking for. Add tension to the beginning, tighten the ending. Here are some suggestions. That sort of thing. Some of you may recall she’d originally asked for April 3 on those (dies laughing), but now we’re trying for April 15. I think I can do that.
My mom complains that I make my childhood sound awful when I reflect on my growing up. I suspect this is because our painful experiences are the ones that really spur us to change – or, at least, that’s how we remember it.
Yesterday one of my crit partners sent me the TED talk by Elizabeth Gilbert on the creative spark. You might remember it from early 2009, when it was really making the rounds on the internet. My friend, however, must have been under a rock at the time and missed it. The talk really resonated with her – as it did for many of us – and I watched it again, to be able to discuss some of the finer points. Surprising to me: I heard very different things in it this time, after dedicating so much of the last four years to my own writing.
My friend had come across the talk because I’d sent her this one, by Ken Robinson on how schools kill creativity. One story he tells is about Gillian Lynne, who was failing out of school at age 8 – until her principal recognized that she was a natural dancer. Her mother sent her to dance school instead, and Gillian became a success instead of an academic failure. My friend asked me if I thought my schooling had killed or nurtured my creativity.
Something I’d never once thought about.
I mean, I’ve mentioned my early schooling from time to time. How I went to an experimental school in the early 70s, with team teaching, no desks and open space classrooms. Mostly I have made fun of it (Magic Circle where we shared our feelings) or criticized it (the famous ordeal of my stepfather having to teach me the multiplication tables because I’d been pulled out into a special program and then plunged back into long division without knowing how to multiply). My stepfather was a vice-principal in a neighboring school district that was not experimental and he often complained about the gaps in my traditional education.
But thinking back now… wow.
That special program that caused me to miss multiplication? (Which, by the way, took less than a week for me to make up.) I spent that third grade year with fourth, fifth and sixth graders, traveling around Colorado and learning about western history. Now I realize how much that year opened my mind to the range of human experience. Women like Baby Doe Tabor and Molly Brown became larger than life to me. That time instilled in me an appreciation for the concept of the frontier, of struggle, of the desire for wealth and success and the crushing effects of defeat.
My teachers were good to me at that school. They let me read in class when I was bored with the assignment. They gave me special projects to work on. Instead of smacking me down for being a smart ass (because, oh yes, I was one even then), they encouraged me to channel that energy. I found it funny, often, that they were always concerned that I not get bored, but now I see – I was never bored. My teachers found ways to challenge, stimulate and open my mind.
And my creativity.
I sometimes joke that I have such an eclectic approach to life. In college I double-majored in biology and religious studies, with enough credits to minor in theater. I ended up in grad school for neurophysiology, work as an environmental consultant and now write fantasy and romance novels.
I’m realizing now that this is their gift to me. That my early schooling did nourish my creativity. My mom bought a house near this school so I could go there and it made an amazing difference for me.
What a wonderful gift this was.
I Don’t F**cking Care If You Like It
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If you look closely, that thermometer reads 9.3 degrees F. Brr! But then the sun rose high enough, it warmed up, and all the fairy frost disappeared.
Last Friday I posted about something I learned about writing from reading Tina Fey’s Bossypants. I extracted so many great nuggets of wisdom from that book, I just have to share (at least) one more.
Amy Poehler was new to SNL and we were all crowded into the seventeenth-floor writers’ room, waiting for the Wednesday read-through to start. There were always a lot of noisy “comedy bits” going on in that room. Amy was in the middle of some such nonsense with Seth Meyers across the table, and she did something vulgar as a joke. I can’t remember what it was exactly, except it was dirty and loud and “unladylike.”
Jimmy Fallon, who was arguably the star of the show at the time, turned to her and in a faux-squeamish voice said, “Stop that! It’s not cute! I don’t like it.”
Amy dropped what she was doing, went black in the eyes for a second, and wheeled around on him. “I don’t fucking care if you like it.” Jimmy was visibly startled. Amy went right back to enjoying her ridiculous bit. (I should make it clear that Jimmy and Amy are very good friends and there was never any real beef between them. Insert penis joke here.)
With that exchange, a cosmic shift took place. Amy made it clear that she wasn’t there to be cute. She wasn’t there to play wives and girlfriends in the boys’ scenes. She was there to do what she wanted to do and she did not fucking care if you like it.
I was so happy. Weirdly, I remember thinking, “My friend is here! My friend is here!” Even though things had been going great for me at the show, with Amy there, I felt less alone.
(Fey, Tina (2011-04-05). Bossypants (Kindle Locations 1436-1441). Reagan Arthur Books. Kindle Edition.)
That chapter is subtitled “One in a series of love letters to Amy Poehler.” Now, I’ve long loved Amy Poehler’s comedy, too, but this made me adore her just that much more.
I think this makes a good mantra for writers. I’m going to take an extra step and say particularly for female writers. I know the guys suffer much of the same stuff we do – the critics, the rejections, the uncertainty. But I really do believe that, as females, we are strongly programmed by society to be likable. Women who are judged unlikable (Hillary Clinton, for example) are excoriated for it – a judgment that overshadows their other accomplishments. We learn very early that we are meant to be pretty, polite and affectionate. We might enjoy being those things, but feeling the pressure to be that – with little room for anything else – can really get to you over time.
Especially when you’re an artist. It’s hard (maybe impossible?) to make good art when you’re worried about people liking it. You might have to think about that stuff when it comes to marketing, but there’s no place for it when you’re creating. And, I think, it’s really hard for women to get away from that consideration.
So, this is a liberating thing.
Say it with me, kids.
I don’t fucking care if you like it!
I knew you could.