Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
I’ve been spying on my inner critic, shadowing him. I think he’s a him. He may be gender neutral.
Which isn’t the point. The point is, I have learned that he isn’t a night person. He’s usually asleep at night. My best writing often takes place after he falls asleep.
Unfortunately, he’s a light sleeper.
I caught myself in a neat trap. I set it, and walked myself into it. I’d been trapped in it for a few weeks before I realized what had happened.
To step back, I bought a Fitbit last January. I like it. I enjoy walking. Walking, like writing, helps me think. The Fitbit tracked my walking and gave me quantified results. That was beautiful. I had goals, and could stretch myself against those goals. Great.
Similar to playing video games, walking and measuring my progress and activities sucked me in. I play video games every day. They’re small, online games; I don’t let myself buy or enroll in more, because I know I’ll get sucked into them. It happened a long time ago with a computer game called “Empire.” The game with its attendant strategies and tactics sucked me in. Huge swaths of time and energy were lost to playing that game. It was an ugly lesson learned.
It was also an insight into myself. Like many people, I hunt validation about who I am, and my relative merits. They’re hard to come by in the modern world, especially when you’re in the military or working for a corporation. They like to give you “Atta-boys.” That’s a reward where they beam at you, and say, “Thanks. Well done!” Yes, it worked for a while, but as I realized the emptiness of those rewards, and the challenges became easier and easier, the rewards became meaningless for me. Winning video games became more rewarding in my schema, thus validating me.
Coping with myself and my tendencies, I began seeking things that can be tangibly measured to reward me. In turning to writing, I discovered, hey, I can achieve the same sort of satisfaction by writing one to two thousand words a day. That made me feel good about myself. Finishing a story made me feel better. Selling one made me feel great.
In the cascading process, I then went after another prize: writing a novel. Each step in the process was again a tangible reward, an objective achieved. From finishing a chapter to finishing a novel was a wonderful experience.
Selling it, however, was not easy. Dejected with the publishing process, I went the Amazon publishing route. The rewards fall miles short of my hopes and dreams. So….
Writing became less rewarding. Well, writing remains rewarding. I find writing novels to be akin to solving logic problems. They hold an inherent challenge and reward. But writing doesn’t provide me the validation from outside myself that I know I need. Being thin-skinned and insecure, I need huge quantities of validation.
Enter the Fitbit.
Just like that, I started increasing my goals and exceeding them. I stretched goals from ten thousand steps to fourteen thousand steps, from five miles to six, to seven, to eight.
Naturally, these goals absorbed time and energy, especially in these summer months when it’s ninety degrees or more. Reluctantly, I realized, I needed to draw back from the Fitbit and the walking goals, because they were distracting me from my writing goals and activities. Why, of course, was obvious: the Fitbit goals were tangible and reachable. Writing goals of writing novels, publishing them, and selling novels were tangible, but not easy reached. Not reaching them despite the efforts made became a depressing effort. Mad sequences of Peggy Lee singing, “Is that all there is, my friends, then let’s keep dancing,” kept streaming into my head. “Let’s break out the booze, and have a ball. If that’s all. There is.”
So, seizing myself by my metaphysical scruff, I drag myself away from Fitbit goals and re-prioritized. Whereas I had been targeting six to ten thousand steps before writing, I now write first, and then hunt the steps and miles.
Someday, I believe, or hope, that I’ll find something more, something that will finally quiet the desperation and disillusionment in me. Meanwhile, I’m going to avoid boozing, except for a few beers and wine, reduce my Fitbit goals, and keep on writing.
Differences struck me as I finished editing sequences. Diverting my thinking, I considered the differences.
The difference was external to me. I puzzled over that. The world surrounding me seemed calmer, quieter, and more relaxed than it had a short time before.
I thought about it more, trying to understand if it was quieter, or a false impression. I thought, instead, it’s spillover. The first chapter that I’d finished editing had been intense and chaotic. Reading through it and staying focused challenged me. It seemed like the surrounding coffee shop echoed with noise and activity while I worked on it, and I restlessly, almost anxiously, fidgeted while working on it.
The next chapter being edited began with a calmer scene, and stayed calm and thoughtful. The coffee shop around me seemed more relaxed, and quieter. I, too, became stiller.
Disbelieving, I considered these differences for a while, and then walked myself back through memories. Yes, writing battle, fight, disaster, and emotional scenes consumed greater energy, demanding deeper concentration and tighter focus. I often felt more physically, mentally, and emotionally spent when writing them.
Editing them affected me in the same way. Writing and editing more reflective scenes push me to become more reflective. What I wrote and edited seemed to impact my impression of the surrounding environment. It leaves me feeling disconnected with the world. My thinking feels disjointed, like I don’t belong where I’m at.
It’s probably something all writers experience. I don’t know why it surprises me; I know I experience it when I’m reading books and stories. It shouldn’t be a surprise that I experience while editing my own. Perhaps, it’s because my experiences seem more intense, because it is personal, and comes from within me, thereby amplifying the impact.
Does this post makes sense? What of you, writers? Do you, too, experience this?
In a day of routines dribbling into a week of routines which flow into months and years of routines, I hunt variations.
Most of these come through my daily walks. I wear a Fitbit. My goal before sitting down to write each day is to achieve six thousand steps. Six thousand steps will provide me a comfortable start to the day’s walking goals. The steps, while a carrot, aren’t the day’s goal. I strive for seven miles plus.
Walking to the coffee shop where I write would help me with my walking goals. It’s two miles in either direction. I’ve walked it, and therein found why I don’t like it: it’s a boring, tedious, mundane walk. It’s literally a straight walk. To reach the coffee shop, I make two turns before walking one point nine six miles. Then I make another turn to enter the coffee shop. It’s a slight downward grade on the way into town, and an uphill walk in the other way. The monotony of this route throttles my senses.
To counter this, I drive three quarters of the way. Then I park and walk the downtown areas of Ashland. In this way, I can change routines on whim, and see variations that I’d not otherwise encounter. The variations stimulate my imagination, creativity and productivity.
That’s more critical now. I’m cop- editing a completed novel and just finished publishing a paperback edition of one of my previously published novels. These are not creative outlets. I invent stories as I walk, stories lost to the mind stream by the time I sit down and embrace the business of novel editing and publishing.
Sometimes my need and desire for routines sicken me. It seems seem unhealthy. On the other hand, the routines keep me on a sane path, pushing toward my goals.
Now, with my regular quad shot mocha in hand, sitting at the table and my documents open, it’s time to edit like crazy, at least one more time. It’ a grind, but it must be done.
Plans must be made every day. They’re compartmented by activity. They’re all based on what’s been done, and the overall goals, objectives, mission, and visions.
This is a product of my military years. Make lists, prioritize, structure and plan, hup – two – threp – four. About the only thing in my life exempt from planning is this blog. The blog is just a lark, a creative outlet, a place to vent and rant, and a channel for improving my knowledge, sparking my thinking, and making connections. Everything else is serious.
Writing is especially serious, even as it’s fun. A plan is required or an organic writer like me. The most critical part to remember about having a plan is that it’s a tool to help organize and progress. Trying to make the perfect plan is counter-productive, unless you’re murdering someone or robbing someplace. In just about everything else, it’s sufficient to have a sketchy plan.
When I’m writing the story, the story writes the plan. My novels typically begin with a concept or a setting. Ideas volunteer and find roots.
But writing is like vehicular traffic for me; everything causes a reaction. Implications, issues, conflicts, and outcomes arise. Plans are needed. Some of that planning is researching aspects to provide more depth and realism. Other planning is simply developing concepts and character background. Characters often leap into action on a page. I accept that, but to carry the story forward and keep it honest, I need to know that character. So, off I go, into a character snapshot. Some of that ends up in the novel as exposition. It depends upon the material and story. Even if I include it at that point, it can be removed later. It depends upon the arc, relevance, and pacing.
Writing and walking work well together. My mind can pick up where I left off writing the story on the last session and resume that thread preparatory to beginning a new day of writing like crazy. Reading and writing works well for me, too. Reading fuels my creativity, invigorates my desires, and reinforces my will, all good things while on a novel-writing journey.
All of this is less so with editing and revising.
In editing and revising, I already have the raw material that writing provided. The characters are established; so is the plot. The research has been completed, for the most part, and the results are embedded in the story.
I can say that research is completed for the most part. Sometimes while writing, I’ll put in some shorthand about something require greater detail, clarification, or verification that I’m not completely wrong about what I think and have based my novel decision upon. I use the shorthand because I’m in the writing rhythm and don’t want to divert myself from that path. I mark these places with <TK> and some explanation about what I wanted for there, and why. These might need research at that point. Sometimes, though, I find the research has been completed and used elsewhere. Sometimes I find that what I thought was needed there is no longer required. I go with the flow as I see it.
An editing and revising plan then evolves more into finishing the novel as a coherent and entertaining story that others can read and enjoy. I sit down to edit and revise with a goal of completing thirty pages each day. It’s just like running miles for me, or walking; having a specific objective keeps me focused on the overall course. That objective, though, isn’t the goal, and I don’t confuse the two. Editing and revising the book remains the goal for this phase of the vision. The vision is a completed, published novel.
Thirty pages is a somewhat arbitrary distinction. I often exceed that. Once in a while, I’ll fall short.
Reaching thirty pages a day is neither easy, nor difficult. It depends upon the work presented. Some of it’s already been significantly revised, edited and polished, because part of my process as an organic writer is to edit and revise as I write the novel. These sort of passages are a pleasure to edit and revise because they’re so easy. The biggest problems I encounter are writing butt and becoming complacent. Writing butt is, of course, when you’ve been sitting for so long, your ass has gone numb. Since I often have my head up my ass, this can have serious health ramifications for breathing and thinking. Complacency is when I stop thinking critically about what I’m reading.
Beyond this basic plan and structure for editing, sometimes, in the course of reading what’s been written, I’ll draw up short. Something does not align with what was previously read, or what I recall writing later in the novel. At that point, I have options.
My options depend on how big I view this mis-alignment, i.e., how disturbing or surprising I find it, and it’s influence on the rest of the plot and novel. Sometimes, it appears to me to be so large that it becomes a plan to resolve this difference. Other times, it’s smaller and I simply make a note to review and resolve. A few times, the flawed connection has arrived because I just read that part. Then, I’ll flip back to it quickly, confirm my facts, and continue. A few times, it’ll be something like a planet, ship, or secondary character’s name. When that happens, I’ll verify, and then completed a global search and replace.
With all plans, as learned in the military, it’s about mission accomplishment. What is my vision, and how does completing my mission support it? In writing a novel, it’s pretty damn simple and clear.
Now, excuse me. I have a plan to go edit and revise, at least one more time.
What about you? Do you have a plan du jour?
I love doing sudoku puzzles, completing at least two a day. Naturally, I like more challenging ones, because solving them is more satisfying.
After years of doing them on specific websites and in the newspaper, I’ve recently discovered a new site for doing them. Their logic seems different than what I’ve previously encountered, which makes them more difficult, which translates to more challenging and fun.
It also reinforced the need to not take shortcuts or jump ahead. I’ve found the best way to solve these is to maintain discipline and process the different logical devises employed in a step-by-step process.
I’ve also learned that sometimes the complexity will overwhelm me, and I become frustrated. When that happens, I stop the clock, save the work, close the page, and walk away. Returning to it in a short while with fresh eyes and mind then lets me see obvious clues that were missed earlier.
This reinforces my writing processes and approach. I’m often a sucker for clickbait about how-to articles regarding writing and publishing. I’m not necessarily seeking easier, but that elusive realm known as better. I often find that they’re packaging the same writing advice I’ve seen everywhere else, but with new words and more interesting headlines. There’s very little that offers sage advice about writing better.
That makes sense.
Guidelines are well-established for proper structures or how to describe characters and settings, write action scenes and pacing. But each of our works, hopefully, are unique and fresh to us as writers. Nothing is as clearly delineated as it is in hindsight of published works. We’re making multiple decisions about pacing and info-dumps, trying to decide how much of what we know becomes too much for the reader, or spoils the story.
In the end, I learned again lessons found in solving sudoku puzzles. Stay true to the my course. Don’t take shortcuts, remain patient, and use anxiety to feed determination to finish.
And, if it’s necessary, take a damn break and return to it with fresh eyes and mind.
I endure a lot of angst about who I am, who I think I pretend to be, and being unmasked as a pretender.
I’m not unusual. Many in western society seem besieged by angst. Writers, from what I read, endure high levels of angst that erodes our self-confidence. We’re always worried about being discovered as a pretender. I think it’s because we’re working alone so often, but also, subconsciously, we compare our works in progress with other published materials and writers. Right or wrongly, we can come out feeling like a loser because we see elements in others’ work that we don’t see in our work.
In retrospect, I believe I suffered an angst spell the other day, when editing fatigue overwhelmed me. There’s no doubt that editing fatigue afflicted me. That isn’t uncommon. I’m usually able to push through. Each of us have limits to how much we can push through. I’d hit mine.
And I believe that my angst contributed. Writing alone, with no one to talk to about my progress, doubts, victories and hopes, leaves me mentally, intellectually and emotionally diminished.
Writing about it was a successful gambit. Just opening up and spilling my concerns was a release. Also helpful is how other writers jumped in with their stories and suggestions. These were enormously helpful to lifting the shroud of doubt and weariness encumbering me. By the next day, I’d resumed editing and revising.
In the aftermath, I considered taking regular breaks from writing, editing and revising to keep me fresh and sharp. Multiple decisions are being made while editing and revising. Some require more thought about the impact on the novel’s overall arcs. It is taxing. Maybe taking breaks would be beneficial.
In classic personal faction, I decided, yes, taking breaks is acceptable, but…scheduling breaks is more troubling for me, so I’ll approach it organically. If I feel a break will help, I’ll do as some comments suggest, and listen to myself.
Now, I have my mocha and I’m at the table. It’s time to edit and revise again, at least one more time.
I dreamed I was at a conference and on a panel with John Scalzi and one other writer. The discussion was about the future. The panel ended as the dream began.
Next, with my wife beside me, I was playing a giant video game. There were three huge screens, the size of something in a stadium, but they were the old “green screens.” People wanted to see me play this game because I was reputed to be very good at it. I wanted to play because I could win prizes. But, it quickly became apparent that the controller was malfunctioning. As I realized that, I laughed at the situation, surrendering to the inevitable, and the disappointed spectators drifted away.
It was time to go home, and we were at an enormous airport. I suspect it may have been LAX. I was talking with the third writer on the panel when Scalzi came by. We engaged in a conversation about what to eat. Scalzi wanted ham with raisin sauce. Then he had to catch his flight and said his good-byes. Next, my wife had to catch her flight, so we said good-byes, and she headed for her flight. The other writer and I began walking to our terminal. He made some excuse about going off and doing something. I responded that I’d wait for him.
He told me that he’d rather I didn’t. “No offense,” he said, “but the visions you and Scalzi are just too dark for me. I want to believe in something more hopeful and positive.” Then he waved and walked away, leaving me stunned, and reflecting on what he said.
As I read, I edit.
As I edit, I check on the pauses and look at notes to confirm continuity.
As I read and edit, I’m surprised and delighted by how well the novel comes together.
As I’m delighted and surprised, I’m nervous and anxious. Will the enjoyment I find be sustained, and will others enjoy it as well?
Then, as I read, I forget.
Until there’s another pause and I edit again.
Thinking, drinking, reading, writing,
Head down, butt asleep,
Busy, intent, intense,
He goes on until he picks up the cup and finds it empty, except for dredges.
This signals the end.
With some sighs and clear reluctance, he packs up and moves back into the normal world.
