Coming to the end…and grinding to a halt

For weeks now, my MG manuscript has been on the verge of being a finished first draft. Weeks. Seriously.

Instead of finishing it, I’ve cleaned toilets, baked gluten free experiments, set up an entire year’s worth of horse show events on Facebook for my daughter’s team, watched all of the new episodes of Castle on my iPhone, and started a new Twitter account. I’ve consumed a lot of coffee, helped assemble 725 nametags for TEDx Columbus, made a new friend, and taught numerous classes for work. Oh… and now I’m writing this instead of opening my book file.

Yes… I’m sitting on the platform at Procrastination Station ignoring every train that whistles down the tunnel.

My writing partner once heckled me about getting distracted so easily. We were in her basement trying to plot out our first novel and write something – anything – that we could call a beginning. I could focus for only so long, eventually trying to convince her to go see the new Star Trek movie. She looked at me as if I’d grown an extra ear in the middle of my forehead.

So you see… I know I get distracted. I know I tend to lose focus at the worst possible moments. But this is getting ridiculous.

I’m beginning to realize I might just be experiencing not just writer’s block, but some sort of writer’s paralysis. What will happen when the plot curve is complete? As I wrap up the climax and falling action, how will I know if it is, indeed, finished? And then what? In my head, I can only see a dark tunnel, leading to who knows where – and not a flicker of light at the end. I write the last few chapters. I go back and fix a plot hole I know exists earlier in the book. And then… Then I have to do one of two things:

1.      Put the whole thing aside for a few weeks and ignore it. (I’m pretty good at ignoring it now, for heaven’s sake. So this shouldn’t be intimidating…but knowing I have to set a date and come back to it for editing and eventually finding an agent. This is what stops me in my tracks.)

2.      Find a reader or two. Readers I trust. Readers who will give me critique, creative criticism…and who will hopefully find a way to let me down gently if they see clearly what I cannot – if they know it is just plain bad.

So which one will it be? Virtual shoebox under my bed? Or courageous leap into handing over my written baby to someone else to examine?

Maybe if I can make this decision, I can focus again. Write those last few chapters. Carry my characters home.

Getting into the groove...again

This summer, I will regain my love of writing. I will write more, more, more. I will open the dreaded manuscripts and read my old heart and soul. I will be gentle with myself. I will write to put words on paper – to open my heart to the page – to get thoughts that circle and circle inside my head to journey outward. I will allow myself to write crap. I will allow myself to read old crap I’ve written without judgment. I will edit and change and read and probably slap my own forehead in frustration – but I will write.

I will let the stories that float in my mind come to life. I will nurture characters, flesh out their worlds, build their conflicts and tear them down again. I will measure success not in finished paragraphs, but in the number of days I create the time and space to write – even if it is only a few words scribbled on an old receipt or a limerick on a restaurant napkin. I will make the time.

This summer, I will believe that I should write. I will silence the evil monkey mind – the one that sits on my shoulder and whispers in my ear the dirty secrets about how I can’t, shouldn’t, will never be able to write. I will, with a flick of my finger, send that monkey flying from my shoulder. At least I will try. I will acknowledge that the evil voice has many cousins who will continue to try to keep me so unsure and off balance. But in that acknowledgement, I will not acquiesce. I will fling all of them – the cousins, siblings, aunts and uncles of my monkey mind – all of them from my shoulders. I will believe that I should write. I will believe that I can write.

This summer, I will go back to the form of literature I love while embracing even older lovers. I will seek out new books by young adult authors and old middle grade classics. I will also let myself sink into Shakespeare or Austen or even read trashy romance novels or geeky science fiction – as long as I remind myself to learn from each and every author.  I will seek out the reasons why I love characters or hate settings. I will focus on plot curves, conflicts and resolutions, character arcs and symbols. I will think about how beautiful a well-crafted heroine appears on the page. I will recognize the warts and wrinkles and puss-filled carbuncles of poorly written prose and acknowledge that maybe…just maybe…I could write more elegantly, even though they got published and I haven’t yet. Yet. Yet….

This summer, I will get my groove back. I will write again. I will stretch again – in body and mind. I will talk books, go to critique groups, find new writing friends and ask for advice from old partners. I will remember what it is to be a writer.

Write. Write badly. Write often.

As my friend and YA author, Linda Gerber, says on her blog this week – give yourself permission to write stuff that sucks. (Not a direct quote, but that was the gist of her message!)

Seriously. This is something I struggle with ALL THE TIME. I sit down to write – with very little, precious time available between work, kids’ sports, scrubbing toilets, feeding whatever children happen to be in my house at any given time, and cleaning up after a teenage dog and a geriatric cat – and I freeze.

I stare at my laptop. (First closed, then open but not on, then finally…booting up.) I run through an internal monolog that sounds something like this: “Time to write. TIME to WRITE. Ugh. Really? Maybe I should sweep the floor or wash something. NO! Write now! And it will be GOOD. It better be good. I don’t have time for it to suck. Who am I kidding? Of course it will suck! Why did I ever think I could/should/would be a writer anyway? IMPOSSIBLE! Even if it sucks…I need to write anyway…Good God! Why did I tell people I think I’m a writer?!? blah, blah, blah…”

Here is the cold hard truth: Writers write stuff that stinks. We all do. Some of us suck more than others…true. But all writers write that icky, flat, boring, ridiculous first draft. It isn’t the quality of the first draft that makes you a writer…it is the belief that no matter how it turns out, the act of putting words on the page, the faith that the story in your heard and your heart should be told, the certainty that you will keep writing no matter what – these are the things that make a writer.

So LET GO of that peevish inner critic who sits on your shoulder or on the arm of your favorite couch when you get out your laptop. Tell her to stuff a sock in it. Flick him off of his perch with a powerful wave of your pen. (It IS mightier than the sword, you know.)

Breathe deeply for a few minutes. Close your eyes. Sink into your story. Hear your characters’ voices and smell the road dust on their jackets. Taste the elderberry wine they drink and hear the bass line of their music. Then let your fingers do their work. Type or write…pound away or scrawl across the page.

And if it sucks…who cares? After all – you aren’t a writer until you actually WRITE something. Right?

Go on. You can do it. Believe. Carpe Keyboard, for heaven's sake.

Shoo. Go write.

The Twirling Hero, Man-Eating Unicorn, and Poetic Villain....? (Or Tools for Writer's Block)

This week, I was reading Diana Peterfreund’s Rampant. My writing partner recommended this story – based on the fact that it was about killer unicorns. Seriously. Fang-bearing, poison-oozing, carnivorous, scary unicorns.

My first reaction: “No! You’ve got to be kidding!” Upon further thought: “Pretty funny…” (picturing rainbows and sparkly unicorns with golden hooves and baby blue eyes suddenly sprouting fangs). Finally: “Why the heck not?” After all -- killer unicorns would have to be more interesting than the ones you always see lying peacefully in some maiden’s lap on those big tapestries, right?

The book, by the way, was GREAT. Yes…killer unicorns…and a fabulous heroine in training to be a reluctant warrior. Strong, smart, and fierce – all the things I want my own heroines to be when I write them. (Thanks, Ms. Peterfreund, for adding to the growing collection of girls and women to stand on their own two feet – and sometimes wield a claymore or a crossbow!)

Anyway…the story got me to thinking about turning the accepted or expected upside down. And how, as a writer, I should use that concept more often. Take an idea – mine, or even a traditionally held idea (unicorn hiding in forest with maiden) and be brave enough to mix it up… a lot. Could there be a werewolf who watches for the cold weather to arrive rather than watching for the moon? (Sounds familiar…) Could there be vampires who can’t be in the sun because they sparkle? (Oops. That one’s been done already.) What about a simple country girl who turns out to be the star of the high school football team. Oh…wait. That’s already been done, too.

OK – so this isn’t new. Writers have been using the unexpected to gather readers in and keep them following along in the story for ages. But what about using this tactic when you are stuck in your writing?

So, in the midst of these mind-meanderings, I was speaking to groups of eighth graders at a local middle school this week, and someone asked how to deal with (da da da dummmmm) writer’s block. I found myself telling them to let yourself go wild – turn your story inside out. Write the unexpected. Push the limits.

If you’re stuck on a chapter or a plot point – and can’t seem to get your groove back, make your story stand on its head. You don’t have to keep it there…and what you write might not even make the final cut for a “finished” story, but I bet it will get you out of your rut and get your juices flowing again. Have your villain speak in iambic pentameter. Make your hero twirl everywhere they go. Let your setting morph into a Martian landscape. Not forever…just for a few paragraphs. Just until your characters tell you they are ready to go back to their real purpose. When your characters are ready to resume the story you really want to tell.

I have no way of knowing if Ms. Peterfreund came up with the idea of killer unicorns because she was stuck on some other story. But I do know that when I’m feeling that (da da da dummmmm) block coming on, or if my characters are suddenly stuck in a rut with nothing interesting to do or say, I might just throw a killer unicorn into their path to see what happens.

How do you deal with (da da da dummmmm) you-know-what?

(Oh…PS: Keep an eye out here on Carpe Keyboard for an upcoming interview with Rampant author Diana Peterfreund!)

Believing in Beginnings…and what Follows

I’m having a very writerly problem. I can’t seem to get going on my YA novel manuscript. See – I put it on the back burner to attend to some edits on a middle grade project for my agent. You’d think once the edits were done and the manuscript turned over, I’d just pick up where I left off, right? Ha. No so much.

With the finished manuscript in capable hands – and lots of waiting and nail-biting to do – I started this blog. And as some of you know, blogging is addictive. So it is easy to keep putting off working on RLR (my code name for The YA Novel That Is Languishing On My Laptop).

Confession: Even thinking about opening the file makes me a little queasy lately. I get a bit of a sour taste in my mouth and my mind jack rabbits to about 32 other things I should/could/ought to be doing. Folding laundry. Walking the dog. Hounding a kid about homework. Washing my hair. Planting geraniums in neat little rows in someone else’s back yard.

The good news: I think I’ve managed to identify part of the problem. I read like a maniac – sometimes as many as 3 or 4 novels in a week in addition to all other necessary activities (see above) – oh, and a full time job. And lately, I don’t think I’ve read a book I haven’t liked. And even if I didn’t LOVE it, I still found things to learn from the author about craft. Each time I put down a novel I’ve really enjoyed, I think RLR will never be that gripping. Or funny. Or beautiful.

I know…I bet most writers have these evil, self-defeating thoughts. I’m not unique in this problem. I need to get the heck over it.

And I’m not going to let READING become the reason I’m not WRITING. (Shaking my head and rolling my eyes at myself.)

So here’s what I’m doing tonight. I grabbed a stack of random MG and YA books that were sitting around my kitchen. And I’m going to read the first sentence – just the first – and write it down here. I’m going to prove to myself that beginnings are possible. That even if the first sentence I have in my manuscript right now isn’t perfect (truly – it pretty much sucks) that I can overcome and write a beginning equal to these random authors. And what follows beginnings? Well, the rest of the story, of course.

Wish me luck!

I remember the day the Aluet ship came to our island. Island of the Blue Dolphins, Scott O'Dell, 1960.

Once when I was in ninth grade, I had to write a paper on a poem. (first line of the prologue) Blood Promise, Richelle Mead, 2009

Until the age of twelve, I led what most people would consider an unexceptional life. Kiki Strike Inside the Shadow City, Kirsten Miller, 2006

“You don’t look much like your sister,” Chip said, bouncing the basketball low against the driveway. Found, Margaret Peterson Haddix, 2008

Zach Freeman woke out of a deep sleep to see his butt perched on the ledge of his bedroom window. The Day My Butt Went Psycho, Andy Griffiths, 2001

It’s a perfect night to run away, thought Fadi, casting a brooding look at the bright sheen of the moon through the cracked backseat window. Shooting Kabul, N. H. Senzai, 2010

So – there are a couple I really like, and a few that aren't gripping or funny or beautiful. Which means – I should suck it up and just write. And quit fussing. And …um…believe in my writing. Yeah. Believe. It’s a beginning.

PS -- There are no psycho butts in my book. Just sayin'.