Tag: writing like crazy

Snow Camping, Horses, Volcanoes and Crossbows

Once again, I find myself writing three chapters in parallel. I’m self-trained about fiction writing (shows, right?), so I’ve drawn my own insights. In this instance, my insistence on writing chapters in threes reflects my thinking. I begin with an introduction to the situation and expand on it. That’s chapter one. The next chapter is the buildup and climax, while the third chapter is the activity afterward and the denouement.

It’s not always this way, but this is what typically happens with the main chapters or sections. Other chapter types I call bridges and pivots. A bridge chapter links previously written chapters or sections, while the pivot lets me change direction. No, I don’t always write from the beginning to the end, but in scenes and sections. I read the other day that some writers begin with the ending, and work backward. They don’t begin writing until they’ve figured out that ending.

This week’s writing is slow but steady, hampered by research requirements. I am visual (hear me roar) in my nature, so I like visualizing things. If I know too little to visualize them, my writer calls, “Road trip!”, and off we go.

This road trip lasted a week. Can you I tell you how much I knew about horses when I started?

 

 

Exactly. Jumping on the information superhighway, we sought information about horses. Fortunately, another blogger posted a link to “How to Write Horses Wrong: 8 Red Flags” by Rachel Chaney, on Dan Koboldt’s site, which was a helpful starting point. Next, we hunted information on crossbows. Let me tell you, I know more about horses than crossbows, which should confirm how little I know.

Onward to more familiar and safer subjects, but which I required deeper and broader knowledge, snow camping and volcanoes. These were more of a refresher nature but also provided opportunity to remember important details.

I’m beginning the third chapter today. Besides being slowed by research, I wrote notes in parallel, and updated the bible. At one point, I also outlined these three chapters. I’m an organic writer by nature. I like the spontaneity organic writing provides. When things become complicated, I stop and write an outline. The outline is not deep, but a series of points to tie together. This outline was less than one page. It helped me firm what I’d visualized and permitted me to track and develop the action while adding the verisimilitude my research provided. Although I consider myself an organic writer, I’ve come to evolve into a hybrid writer, outlining pieces when needed, and following the lights through the dark the rest of the time.

Hybrid, organic, outliner, and pantser are convenient conversation and reference labels. They don’t tie me to anything. During the course of cultivating myself as a writer, I learned that I needed to develop a process that works for me. I’m not static. I hope that I continue to learn and improve. I expect it my process to change as I do. That is absolutely cool. What works for this novel may not work for the next one.

Doesn’t matter. I’ll do what it takes. The key to progress is putting words on paper, getting it to flow, keeping it coherent, logical, and true to itself, with a grammar and style that others will read, and finishing, with the caveat that finishing the novel’s writing process means just that; it still ain’t a book, and it’s probably not ready for publication. That was another lesson learned.

As an aside, because I became curious, the first two chapters in this section are fifteen pages and forty-eight hundred words. According to Word and the properties section, I started it on November tenth, spent five hundred forty-eight minutes on it, and last modified it yesterday at two oh three in the afternoon. Looking at the word count, over five days, I’ve written less than a thousand words per day. Like I said, slow writing, but necessary – and satisfying.

Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

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Home On The Range

It’s been a difficult day on the range. Always is, cat-wrangling. The critters sleep a lot, but they spring up out of sleep ready for action at the smallest sound. Sometimes, the first you know of this is fightin’ yowls. Then the fur’s flyin’. Both combatants are spittin’ mad, but you don’t know why. Cats and their slights are mysterious matters. Segregation leads to peace, but not forgiveness, and that separate but equal stuff doesn’t work for cats no more than it works for anything else.

I’m out of there, though, at the coffee shop with my brew. Characters are barking at me about what they wanna do, and where they’re gonna go. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

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Lightning Strikes

Don’t you love it when you’re writing, and lightning strikes?

Yeah, me, too.

Happened yesterday. A writing lightning strike is when I assume the position to write, and dictation begins. My job is only to keep up with the typing.

I track word counts as an incidental measure of progress. These are *almost* like the miles being traveled while on a trip. In a car, I generally know exactly where I’m going and how much I have left because I travel across a well-measured and documented region. Detailed maps are available. I know how far I’ve gone, and what distance remains.

I’d love to have such a map for my novel writing. I don’t. Word counts present an idea of how far I’ve gone, but little idea of how much further I must travel in the novel. In the end, all that matters I’ve typed and written until I finally type “The End”.

Word counts help me gauge what’s normal and inject some minor reward and satisfaction. Yesterday, I ended up with twenty-six hundred more words on my novel journey. Some writers may poo-poo that amount – and I’m not pursuing N2WM – but it’s higher than my average. Best, though, I completed three chapters being concurrently developed. In essence, they were part of a sequence of events. I wrote them in order, but as details developed, I backtracked to modify and align details and the timeline. Best, number two, is that completing them left me with a starting location for today. Best, number three, is that satisfaction of bringing more to the story and moving toward the novel’s completion.

Will lightning strike twice? I offer the late Roy Sullivan as evidence it could. Roy, a park ranger, was struck by lightning and lived seven times, and is the Guinness World Records official record-holder for those categories.

Time to write like crazy, at least one…more…time.

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My Character & Me

It’s apparently spring in my novel, because I’m experiencing a revolt. No blood has yet spread across anything. I don’t think it will. We’re pretty civilized here. Civilized people don’t kill one another to get their way, except in fiction…right…?

The main character and I are wresting with what’s going on in the novel. He’s moving into this new direction. Heavily dependent on technology, he insists on exploring how the loss of personal technology influences his behavior. He has become mentally, physically, and emotionally weaker. Although he’s staying fit and slender, he’s aging, and his energy level is drooping. He does not have the level of control with which he’s accustomed to living.

But he’s not seeing that in his people. Without technology, individuality is sprouting. His people see and hear better than him. Many have higher energy levels. Some are becoming bullies. While bullying had been psychologically and socially influenced over the course of time from now until the future, and diminished through socializing, technology in their recent history, those safeguards and safeties were removed when their nanotechnologies were removed.

Other emerging trends among his force are disturbing him. Binge drinking is becoming a problem. Without their sexes and free of their technology, people are becoming sexually active. Promiscuity is flowering. That’s causing jealousies and attachments that can affect discipline, good order, and the chain of command.

These changes, and how this unit copes with it, is the story, he insists. That’s what he believes should be written. I disagree; I sought more of an adventure story. I add elements of adventure, threats, and conflicts to increase that sense of adventure, but he keeps dragging me into psycho-analysis.

I dreamed about this problem last night. In the dream I was a military member on shift again. I’d been lazy and hadn’t completed the shift checklist. Hell, I didn’t know where to find it. I hadn’t inventoried the COMSEC materials, read the log, closed out the last log for the Zulu day, nor started another one, and shift change was coming on fast.

Anxiety suffused me; WTF was I going to do? 

Well, I started scrambling to make it right. But I was quickly sidetracked with my environment. It was disorganized, and poorly planned. I was appalled. Although I knew I was running out of time, organizing that place developed into my primary priority. Of course, once I did that, I developed a focus. Having a focus revitalized my energy level and determination, and wiped out my anxiety.

Pondering the dream this morning, I developed understanding that it wasn’t about my life, but the novel in progress. That bifurcation I experienced was causing anxiety because I didn’t know what the character was coming up with next. And, I’d developed him as a strong individual. I didn’t like seeing him losing his way.

Ah, hah, I understood, oh, there we go. This is about writing the novel in progress. My conflict with my character  —

Let’s put this more correctly. The change of direction in the novel from my original intention bothers me. With that, I’ve lost focus and energy. Thinking about this – because I write to help me think – I think my character is correct.

I know from reading others that many writers wrestle with characters taking over. Some dismiss it; they’re the writer, they’re in control, and they decree what gets onto the pages. I live and work through my characters on the pages. We’re partners more than master and puppet. Perhaps it’s due to my organic writing style, which, on reflection, can look as complicated as layers of spider and cobwebs. And it’s not like I haven’t been down this path before. I often begin with an idea that grows into something else.

Although it makes me uncomfortable, I’ll probably write what the character wants. Then I’ll edit it down to find a compromise we can live with.

Characters; they can be the worse.

Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

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Monday’s Theme Music

Sometimes, when firmly entrenched in the writing zone, I look up and ask myself, “Holy crap, what happened to the day?” Morning has passed into lunch, and lunch is long gone. I’m hungry and need a restroom. My coffee cup is almost empty; what remains is icicle cold. Looks like I’ve come to the end. Regret drenches me as I think of the other things that must be done, instead of writing, like eating and peeing. Yeah, weird, right?

But sometimes, when I’m in the zone, theme music like The Cars, “Good Times Roll,” comes over me. “Let the good times roll. Let them knock you around.” Yeah.

Writing so often is a series of logic problems that I create that I must then solve. Why did this happen? How was it resolved? Writing is solving one big question, the story’s arc, through multiple arcs, stories, and anecdotes that twist perceptions, throws up confusion, advances the premise, reveals more of the story, and helps the characters develop.

Ah, well. Let the good times roll, when they happen. “If the illusion is real, let them give you a ride.” It’s days like these, when I’m writing, and trying to exercise intelligence, imagination, and creativity, that I’m at my happiest, because I’m enjoying what I’m writing, but I’m enjoying it as much as a reader, because I’m just so deeply into it.

Let the good times roll.

 

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The Character and Me

I often develop relationships with my characters when I’m writing a novel. It’s not surprising for them to be with me at a movie. Sometimes, as I respond to something, I always think about how they would respond, as an exercise to better understand them.

This arrangement leads the characters to be vocal about what’s going on. When I struggle through a scene, it’s not surprising to discover that the character is doing something that they believe is contrary to what the would do. It’s an odd, true north alignment. I created, or discovered them; I believe I know them best. Yet, they will reject a path that they feel is wrong for them. Their rejection is displayed through a work slowdown.

That’s not what transpired this week. I was writing, and going along fine. Yet, several things that the character did or said bothered me. The writing didn’t suffer. It flowed with no problem or stoppages.

I considered this today while I was walking. Although I was surprised, and I shouldn’t be, the character explained why he wasn’t bothered by what was happening. His explanation opened an entire rue of thinking about the situation. I’d been thinking about that situation in terms of plot, story arc, and activity. The character has been reacting to how it affected him. 

I was pretty astonished and pleased. His explanation to me opened a new paragraph and facets of him and the situation that I’d overlooked. It’s exciting and stimulating.

Here we go. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

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Dark Writing

I read, somewhere, sometime, that every book conceived comes into existence somewhere else. Our struggle, as writers, is to bring it into the conscious life that we’re leading.

That’s certainly how it feels when dark writing commencing.

Dark writing happens to me at night, in the dark. Something triggers me awake, and all the writing neurons become energetic kittens, wanting to romp and play.

And they do. They toy with strings of thought, batting and chasing ideas around like they’re balls and toy mice. Then, as they settle, the writer starts reading to me.

Again, that’s how it feels.

It feels like the writer within takes up the book I’m writing in that other existence, and reads it to me. Scenes are read. Dialogue. Reveals. Page after page is turned. I can’t put the book down.

Two hours later, the book is finally closed. The dark writing subsides. I’ve been enriched with writing material. The challenge now goes back to that ongoing struggle, to remember all these words that were read to me, and bring this book into the conscious life that I’m leading.

There is coherency to this writing process, but there’s also chaos. The reveals and scenes thrill me. But then I ask, where does this go? The question prompts the dark writer to transport me a bunch of chapters ahead. Landing there leads to more bewildered questions about all those chapters he jumped over, all the material already written and ordered, and how these reveals fit into the greater cosmos of this novel.

I wish I could more easily capture this dark writing. I suspect each writer has their own version of dark writing, the process of finding the book in their minds, hunting the details, and getting it a form where it can be read. It’s an exciting, but also frustrating, and yet, hopeful, process. I see where I’m at in the novel, and I see what can be. I just need to bridge those two visions. Easy, right?

It’ll be an interesting day of writing like crazy.

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Slow Progress

I’m having fun with this novel. It’s grown into an epic. I’m trying to divide it into tasty volumes.

“Incomplete States” is science fiction. It features time travel, galactic alliances, others sentient life forms, and advanced Human cultures and technology. There’s lots of space travel on ships that sometimes carry several million people. New planets have been terra-formed. (It’s terraformed in the future; they’ve dropped the hyphen.)

Many diseases have been mastered. They’re not a threat. Aging isn’t a threat. Choose your age. Keep it as long as desired. Change it when you desire.

Death is not much of a threat. Resuscitation, regeneration, and resurrection (depending on the marketing and technology involved) have made it a side topic. One side-effect is that Humanity is dropping toward zero population growth. Children who are born are often incubated in artificial wombs. Nanosystems help the mother and child stay connected and develop that special bond.

Communication nets are introduced into their bodies at young ages. Phones are internal bio-devices; they’re constantly in touch with others, listening, filtering information, and contributing.

As noted, I have fun writing this, but I’m easily side-tracked, and my progress is slow. I barely write one thousand words a day. Editing and reviews for accuracy are extensive — and intensive. A large quantity of moving parts must be synchronized. For example, against this showcase of technology, Humans are faced with going to a planet where their technology not only fails, but is actively attacked. They don’t know why, but are going to live there without technology. Their mission is to track down four people who are believed to be on this planet.

That’s required a lot of brainstorming. What do you do, and how do you live, without technology, when technology is deeply embedded in all aspects of society? Aside from a few small fundamentalist sects, nobody knows what they’re doing or how to do it. They’re researching how to cook on stoves, burn wood, grow food, and process it. Their energy weapons won’t work; what about gunpowder? They’re learning to ride horses, exist without their augmented memories, and fight with swords, bows and arrows, and other more primitive weapons and methods.

This is where I become side-tracked: I research and write about much of their process of coping with these changes and their new needs. I put it all in the novel. I enjoy writing and reading about these things, but I suspect I’ll lose a lot of readers who don’t enjoy these sort of details. I’ve been thinking about it, though, debating whether it’s too much in that vein before concluding, screw those readers. I rationalize the easy way out: I’m writing for me, and for those who enjoy books like these.

Had to write this out, to think it out. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

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Kick-ass Writing

I’ve been writing well. When I say that, I mean that word counts are okay, and I’m satisfied with the general flow and output.

But I’ve been feeling my way through the dark. I’m at a pivot point. Exciting stuff has happened. Tension has been created. Now I’m pivoting to a new part of the arc to bridge what has happened with what’s going to happen. I was forced to pause to come up with minor characters’ names, define them, and address a few plot issues. So it was slow writing, like traffic out of L.A. on Labor Day weekend slow.

Then there is today. Walking along, thinking about where I’d stopped writing, and where I wanted to resume, the writing issues I’ve been working on all broke free. My writing exploded with a geyser of words that would make Old Faithful proud. I had to rush into the coffee shop, set up and get going with mind-blowing intensity. As always, my typing speed and thinking speed struggled to keep up with my writing speed. I end up typing as fast as I can, and then pausing, fixing some matters, reviewing what’s been written, and then jumping back onto the word train.

I’ve been doing small chores around the home, like repairing and painting posts, and repairing crawl space vents. I believe this manual labor freed and stimulated my creative side. I’ve always noticed that when I need to think more deeply to resolve something, I achieve more success by working on things that don’t take much thinking.

Done writing like crazy for today. What a session. It’s days like these that make writing so addictive. What a drug. The rest of the world seems so mundane as I come down from my high.

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The Resentful Writer

I’ve been warring with myself. Fortunately, I’ve been winning.

The war is about priorities, routines, and discipline. I’ve worked hard to establish a daily writing routine. Discipline, so many writers counsel. If you want to write, write. Set up a schedule, and do it every day. So I’ve faithfully done. Friends, coffee shop employees, and family members all know my routine.

Several aspects have evolved on the quest for writing discipline and publication. First, I’ve learned that I’m happiest writing from mid- to late-morning to mid afternoon. Second, walking before writing helps me shift thoughts from daily life to plots and characters. Third, I write better outside of the house.

Writing outside of my home took some time for me to understand. My wife and I bought a home with a room that could be my office. We specifically set it up for that purpose. Yet, writing in there feels uncomfortable to me. Being an introspective person who self-obsesses, I’ve thought about why and came up with reasons.

First, cats. We have four. They seem drawn to my typing sounds. I suspect it sounds like scurrying little critters to them. Hearing my typing, the cats enter to investigate. Oh, it’s just you, they realize. Then, they say, give me some loving. Let me sleep on the keyboard. Let me on your lap. Let me mark this computer as mine. Permit me to play with your hand.

Yes, it’s precious, but it’s a frustrating divergence from the focus my scurrying brain cells need to type a coherent sentence. Closing the door on them doesn’t work. A close door is a challenge to get it open. They work on that challenge with scratching and mournful wails of deprivation.

The walks, too, are part of the whole thing with being out of the house. I leave, I walk, I shift into the writing mode, and go write somewhere. I think returning to the house pushes me out of the writing mode.

Socializing, chores, and errands all work against maintaining the schedule. Events come up that my wife wants to do, like go places, and have fun. I don’t know where she gets these ideas. I blame it on a bad element that she works out with.

She comes up with things to do. They’re enticing. I often want to do them, too. Well, I can say, “No,” to her. It sounds good, but it doesn’t work well. And I want to say, “Yes.” I want to have fun, and I want her happy, and I’ve heard that experiencing life can be a pleasant, entertaining experience, and help me develop as a writer by introducing me to other elements. So I say yes.

But I’m often resentful. My writing time gets whittled down to a third of my desired period. I’m forced to rush, and move the writing session to another time to accommodate the socializing.

Balance was needed. Balance is needed. Yet, the balance isn’t between socializing and writing; the balance is needed in me to accept that I don’t need to adhere to these hard-wired set of practices I created.

The shallow and insecure part of me fears that if I don’t write every day, I’ll lose the plot. The story will meander. My output will dry up. I’ll stop learning and improving as a writer. My meager stores of talent will oxidize, turn to dust, and get blown away. So, after working hard to establish my routines, I’m loathe to forfeit them, for anything, and anyone. The challenge, then, became, banish the fears. Accept variations.

Relaxing, I did. Yes, I write that like, la-di-da, I’m relaxed. It’s basically taken the year to date to get to the point where I’ve relaxed about it. I realized that my resentment was counter-productive. Negative energy often is. After I relaxed and dismissed my resentment – again, expressed as though I faced the sun and shouted, “Resentment, I dismiss thee,” three times, and it was all good, when it was really a constant wrestling match – I found I could enjoy socializing and varying my routines, and still be a productive writer who was having fun, learning, and improving.

It’s been a difficult lesson to learn. Once learned, I struggle to remember it, and keep the lessons learned in play. Sometimes, I feel like a child learning my ABCs.

It’s coming together, though. Check in with me again after twenty years. I believe I’ll have it down by then.

Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

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