Making Time (For Other Things)

Posted on October 18, 2013 ·
Image from Flickr by LEOL30

Image from Flickr by LEOL30

On Tuesday afternoon I plopped down on a swivel chair at a vaguely familiar salon and smiled at my hairstylist. She smiled back and said it had been awhile. I agreed and, just so she wouldn’t think I’d been disloyal, pointed out that she’d been the last person to cut my hair.

She stared at me. “Shut. Up.”

“No, really,” I said, and then started to laugh. Because it’s just too ridiculous.

Megan last cut my hair in December. Ten months ago. Sure, I’d trimmed the dead ends a few times, and no, of course I didn’t tell her that.

She went to work, occasionally asking me to remind her how I like the layers, since they’d long grown out. We caught up on each others’ lives and on my way out I promised I’d visit more often.

The problem isn’t my commitments to family, or volunteering, or housework (believe me, it’s not the housework). The problem is I’m conditioned to covet my writing hours. I won’t give them up for anything—not appointments, not grocery shopping, not the salon.

This served me well the years I had six hours a week to write. But since my youngest started school, I typically have six hours a day. You’d think I could spare a trip to Old Navy for some new jeans.

And here’s my secret—I was more motivated to write when I had less time, and I was much more productive. With the whole day stretched before me, I meander a while trying to decide how to fill it. Blog post first? Then perhaps an essay? Or start with my workshop piece for the week and then do some research for my novel? I sure have a lot of time to think about this! And I have a whole other day tomorrow . . . maybe I’ll write my blog post then and work on a short story today.

Sigh.

A few weeks ago, after my children were home from school, my son wanted me to play a video game with him. “Okay, I’ll be there in a minute,” I said. “I just have to unload the dishwasher first, and mop the floors.”

He was disappointed, and wanted to know something. Why can’t I do those kinds of things while he’s at school, so I can play with him when he gets home?

Good question, kid. One you won’t have to ask again.

Moral of the story: Too much of anything is a bad thing. Balance is a good thing. And a nice haircut doesn’t hurt either.

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Fall Break

Posted on October 11, 2013 ·
Image from Flickr by knitsteel

Image from Flickr by knitsteel

I’m taking a vacation from blogging this week–my kids are out for Fall Break, and we’re enjoying the cooler weather (okay fine, we’re also playing a lot of Super Mario Galaxy). 🙂

I hope you’re having a good October, and that you’re getting ready for NaNoWriMo next month. I’m working on character sketches and my plot outline, so that come November 1st, I’ll be ready to go. Let me know if you’re participating so we can buddy up. Leave your username in the comments or drop me a line via my contact page.

See you next Friday!

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Just Enjoy It

Posted on October 4, 2013 ·
Image from Flickr by jronaldlee

Image from Flickr by jronaldlee

Last week I finished reading a book that left my head spinning. From the first line to the last, I was held captive by the author’s voice. Every sentence felt right. The story was unique, and the characters stayed true. You could tell this writer worked hard, probably for years, to perfect her debut novel.

The book is Zazen by Vanessa Veselka. About a year ago I read her short story “Just before Elena” in Tin House and loved it. Later, I recognized her name in an issue of Poets & Writers, and I made a note to check out her novel. I am so glad that I did. I have several titles waiting on my TBR list, but I’ll probably read Zazen again first.

It’s important to have books like this—the ones we completely fall in love with. They’re the kind we’re told to read, as in “Read the books you want to write.” They’re the kind that made us want to become writers.

But when one is this good, it can be pretty humbling. At some point, all writers must accept the fact that there will always be someone better.

If the payoff is getting to enjoy a book like Zazen, that’s fine. It’s refreshing to read as a reader and not as a writer. I don’t want to dissect the prose and figure out why it works and try to analyze the way Veselka’s character stays sympathetic while she’s terrorizing her city with bomb threats—never mind. It works, that’s all. Let it stay magic.

What I did take away from Veselka’s writing is that I can never let myself become lazy. You can’t imitate talent, but you can embody other qualities of great artists—hard work and high standards—and come up with something fine. After finishing Zazen, I wanted to comb through my own novel and make absolutely sure that each sentence, if it had to stand on its own, was one I could be proud of. When you have the cushion of tens of thousands of words, it’s easy to let a lazy phrase slip through. Well, Veselka didn’t. And I know, as a reader, I appreciate that.

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Why So Serious?

Posted on September 27, 2013 ·
Image from Flickr by purplemattfish

Image from Flickr by purplemattfish

I admit it—my writing usually hovers on the Dark Side. I’ve written about a lonely old man caught in an earthquake, realizing he’s prepared to die, about a destitute single mother whose vision is so clouded by guilt she imagines her daughter’s unhappiness instead of seeing the child’s joy, about a young girl mired in depression to the point she uses dreams to escape.

Geez, Elizabeth, why so serious?

In my defense, most of these stories end well. What makes a piece of writing a story—and not a vignette—is that change takes place. (It took me a long time to figure that out, so there you go. You’re welcome.) For most of my characters the change is a positive one.

I tend to favor serious subjects in my nonfiction, too. But last month I wrote something purely for fun, had a blast doing it, and the response was amazing. It’s kind of nice resisting the Dark Side—embracing a simple, light-hearted essay, making people laugh, and basking in the “likes” and “shares” and smiley faces. I want to be a happy writer!

Yet here I am, wrestling with a boy who’s on the razor’s edge of becoming dangerous, and he knows it. I feel for him, because he’s scared; he doesn’t yet know what he’s capable of. In the beginning of the story he’s discovered something pure and he’s trying to cling to it, although it doesn’t belong to him. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I want to find out. It’s hard. I’ve been working on this story for months.

And there’s this bright corner of my mind beckoning me with the memory of my daughter’s first volleyball game; it would make a great essay—uplifting, sweet . . . but no. The Dark Side prevails.

I guess I could blame my brother. I liked cheery pop music until Michael converted me to heavy metal at the tender age of eleven. As a preteen, thanks to Metallica saturation, I was concerned with issues of drug abuse (“Master of Puppets”), capital punishment (“Ride the Lightning”), and insanity (“Welcome Home [Sanitarium]”).

Then there were video stores, where Michael and I scoured the horror section looking for the most gruesome, sickening, and unholy movies available (The Gates of Hell, anyone?). I wonder what I’d be writing if I’d had an older sister instead. I probably wouldn’t even be a writer; I’d be normal.

I’ll have to remember to thank my brother.

Note: The above was written on Tuesday. On Wednesday I learned of a double tragedy at my job that became more devastating as the week went on. My brother, in an attempt to cheer me up, emailed a YouTube link, which I followed expecting something funny. He said it would be funny. It was a gory brain-eating scene from The Return of the Living Dead, which had me laughing through my tears, mostly due to the corny music and bad hair.

Thank you, Michael.

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When Writing Hurts

Posted on September 20, 2013 ·
Image from Flickr by Mjnoon.Maha

Image from Flickr by Mjnoon.Maha

It doesn’t matter if you’re writing fiction or poetry, memoir or a diary—sometimes writing hurts.

In fiction, a good writer does more than manufacture characters—he breathes life into them, he makes their hearts beat, he hears their voices when he’s falling asleep and wakes with their thoughts and dreams. When they hurt, he hurts too. Sometimes they lead him places and all he can do is watch; other times he leads them, and often it feels like a betrayal.

I’ve grieved for characters even before I’ve written their story. I don’t believe every story should have a happy ending, but if I’m writing it’s because I believe the story should be told.

Like love, the hurt is worth it.

What about nonfiction? Journaling can be therapeutic, but when it comes to publication, it’s hard to judge the worth of your own story. If it hurts too much, you’re probably not ready to write about it. If the content is going to hurt someone else, the story had better be worth it.

I struggled with the choice to publish an essay about my emotionally difficult second pregnancy, knowing one day it could hurt my son. But when I compared that slim chance to the great possibility my essay could help other women, I chose to have it published. Factored into that decision was the lack of writing I found on my topic; it was a problem seldom discussed. It needed to be discussed. My son is strong and he knows how much I love him—he’ll understand. Maybe he’ll even think I was brave.

It was worth it.

Writing nearly always costs us something. With nonfiction, I consider that cost carefully; with fiction, I don’t consider it at all.

What about you?

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800 Reasons to Submit Your Writing

Posted on September 13, 2013 ·
Image from Flickr by Guerrilla Futures

Image from Flickr by Guerrilla Futures

The writing part is hard enough. By the time you’ve crafted your essay, poem, or short story, you’ve been through countless revisions. Triumph and frustration. You’re exhausted, but ecstatic—because you’re done. Yay!

Only, if your goal is to publish, you’re nowhere close to done.

The daunting task of researching markets has kept many fine stories buried in desk drawers and computers. Don’t let this happen to your story. There’s a good chance it can find a home in one of over 800 publications seeking work in Poets & Writers’ literary database.

No, I didn’t type an extra zero. That number is 800. Don’t believe me? Here’s the link:

http://www.pw.org/literary_magazines

Poets & Writers not only lists these publications for you but includes

  • whether they take simultaneous submissions.
  • whether they take electronic submissions.
  • what their reading periods are.
  • whether they pay.
  • which genres and subgenres they’re looking for.

Most also have a website for further information, and sometimes you can view content to see if your writing is a good fit.

I’m a big fan of P&W. I subscribe to the magazine, and of all my writerly pieces of mail, this one’s my favorite (okay, except for acceptance letters). This may be partly sentimental; the first publication to send me a “Congratulations!” letter was SLAB Literary Magazine, and guess how I discovered them? In the classifieds at the back of Poets & Writers. I still have the copy with that advert highlighted in yellow.

Another publication I highlighted was Hospital Drive, and months later I would submit a story to them called “The Distance Ratio” which they went on to publish. The bottom line is that Poets & Writers is a great resource for finding markets.

It’s also a great resource for in-depth articles and interviews, so I recommend subscribing, but you don’t have to be a subscriber to gain access to the literary database. You can follow the link above or visit the website at www.pw.org, click “Tools for Writers” and then “Lit Mags.”

As a writer, what’s more motivating than viewing a list of nearly 1,000 publications seeking your work? Go, scroll through, pick one you feel good about, and submit something. Yes, right now.

Keep hanging out with me. Type your email address in the box below (mobile) or to your right, and hit the subscribe button. 🙂

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Seeing Red? How to Respond to Your Editor

Posted on September 6, 2013 ·

First, breathe.

It’s not easy being edited. When you first view your work with an editor’s changes/comments/criticisms, there will be a moment when your heart freezes, and then it will start to burn. This is normal. Do not respond.

Throughout the day, you will compose imaginary emails and engage in silent conversations where you defend your art against the insult of Track Changes. Because obviously this editor just doesn’t get you. You meant to be evasive in paragraph two; you wanted to sound ironic in your closing phrase.

Go ahead and rant silently. Your children may stare in confusion as you mutter and burst into occasional mirthless laughter, your spouse may disappear into the bathroom. They know you’re a writer, that you’re a little strange sometimes. They’ll forgive you.

As the evening goes on, you’ll whittle down your editor’s suggestions to the ones that bothered you most; they’ll play over and over again and the thought of implementing them will make you feel like crying. Pay attention. These are the changes you have to make.

The others, the ones that don’t hurt or merely sting, will categorize themselves:

  • Confirmed—I knew that sentence didn’t feel right.
  • Enlightened—I didn’t realize this wasn’t clear, but I see the problem.
  • Embarrassed—Did I actually write that?
  • Opposed—I see what she’s saying, but this phrase is important.

It may take a few days to get to this point. Wait until you’re there. If you have to, send your editor a polite email explaining that you’re reviewing her comments and working through them. She’ll understand.

When you can think of her with gratitude (she did save you from using the word “just” three times in one page) and remember that she wants your work to be its absolute best (it is also a reflection of her, after all), then you’re ready to respond.

While you’re drafting your reply, don’t be surprised to realize that out of the dozen changes you thought you couldn’t live with, there are now only two.

And when she answers you, don’t be surprised if she says, “I can live with that.”

What’s your experience working with editors? How long do you wait to respond?

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Let’s (Not) Talk About Sex

Posted on August 30, 2013 ·
Image from Flickr by cheerfulmonk

Image from Flickr by cheerfulmonk

Last month, a magazine called Bartleby Snopes published my short story “The Dinosaur Graveyard.” It’s a partly fictional story about first love and the fleeting quality of memory, and there’s plenty of sex. So which parts are fictional?

I’m not telling.

We’re all grown ups here. Honestly, I’m not embarrassed writing about sex, because when I write I’m not thinking about publication. I’m thinking about the story, and how to stay true to it. For nonfiction, that means staying tethered to memory even as you drift far enough away to examine it from the outside. For fiction, it simply means staying true to your characters.

The moment a story is accepted for publication is when I start picturing my family reading it. And that’s not a pretty picture if the story is a sexy one. There’s my dad to think about (cringe), and my brother (thank God he’s not on Facebook).

It’s ridiculous, of course. They both know perfectly well how children are made, and that I have two. They both know the definition of fiction, and that not everything I write is based on—ahem—experience.

Still, it’s awkward, and no one addresses this in a more funny or eloquent way than Barbara Kingsolver. In a March 2000 essay for The New York Times, the famous novelist confessed that unlike her previous books, her upcoming Prodigal Summer (HarperCollins 2000) had lots of sex, and she worried how she’d be judged:

I’ve begun to think about the people who will soon be sitting in their homes, on airplanes and in subways with their hands on this book. Many people. My mother, for instance.

. . . I’ve written about every awful thing from the death of a child to the morality of political assassination, and I’ve never felt fainthearted before. What is it about describing acts of love that makes me go pale?

It’s comforting to know I’m not alone. What I’m reminded of is me as a little girl having sneezing fits in the car when George Michael came on the radio:

George Michael: I want your—
Me: Achoo! ACHOO!
My mother: Goodness! Are you okay?

I’m not a little girl anymore, but some things never change. So when I published the link on Facebook to my story, I added a warning for my family’s benefit: “Rated R for sexual content.”

I felt kind of silly doing it, but I’m only following Kingsolver’s advice. Among her suggestions on how to make peace with coition in writing is, “We must warn our mothers before the book comes out.”

Do you ever feel nervous about your family reading your work, even when it’s fiction? Share your story with me, and don’t forget to subscribe. 🙂

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How to Trick Yourself into Writing

Posted on August 23, 2013 ·

Once, when I was about five, my mother tried convincing me to color a picture so she could get some housework done. She laid out a coloring book and a handful of bright crayons sure to tempt any little girl into 30 minutes of quiet, non-disruptive activity.

But I wasn’t tempted.

Eventually, my mother gave up on her work and sat at the table. “Hmmmm,” she murmured. She slid the coloring book closer. She paged through it, fascinated, and exclaimed over something I couldn’t see. I crept closer, wondering what could be so interesting, but she shifted in her chair, blocking my view. Then she chose a crayon and began to color.

I rounded the table and sat beside her. Her hand swished across the paper as she meticulously shaded her picture with long light strokes. My pictures never looked like that. I wanted to try too. I reached for a crayon. “I’m using those,” she said without looking up. “Just go ahead and do what you were doing, honey.”

I was crushed; how badly I wanted to color! Coloring was the only thing in the world that would make me happy! I sat in anguish until she finished her picture. Then she turned to me, smiled and said, “Do you want to color one for me?”

Of course I did.

Perspective is everything. Remember Mary Poppins’ “Spoonful of Sugar”? When writing begins to feel like a chore and you’ve lost your inspiration, try turning your perspective on its head. Here are a few tricks to get you started:

Limit your writing time. If you have six hours a day to write, block off three hours. If you have four hours, block off two. Force yourself to use the rest of the time doing laundry, running errands, paying bills, etc. You’ll spend that time wishing you were writing, and realize it’s not such a chore after all.

Change your space. If you write in your home office, move your laptop to the dining room. If you write at a coffee shop, try the library. Instead of playing classical music, switch to rock and roll. Different lighting, sounds, smells—these elicit a different response and turn what was routine into something new and interesting.

Picture your favorite writer at work. My mother infused mystery and longing into the act of coloring a picture because she was doing it instead of me. I was five; anything she did was worthy and important.

Now picture a writer you admire and imagine him at his desk, typing away or scrawling outlines for his next brilliant manuscript. He has the same tools you do: a keyboard, a pencil, a stack of paper. Imagination and the need to tell stories. Embody that spirit, and start writing.

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The Secret to Social Media

Posted on August 16, 2013 ·

Writers love to rant about the (undignified! soul-sucking!) task of social media promotion. I’m sure at some point I’ve used those very words (blush).

But here’s the thing: when you stop thinking about it as promotion, and give yourself permission to have fun, it’s kind of, well, fun.

Of course, I just started; my Facebook account is four years old, but my Twitter, Goodreads, and Pinterest accounts (not to mention this blog) are babies.

It’s funny—now that I’ve figured out how to format a blog, scan Flickr for Creative Commons photos and attribute them correctly, and quell the anxiety of hitting “publish” without the validation of an editor, I find that blogging doesn’t take much time. What takes time is researching topics like

  • should fiction writers blog?
  • what should fiction writers blog about?
  • aren’t writers just blogging to other writers?
  • how do I keep my chocolate chip cookies from getting all crunchy around the edges?

Whoops, never mind that last one.

Anyway, if I’d applied those hours toward blogging, I could have started a year ago. And this article from The Write Life by Chuck Sambuchino silences the question of whether fiction authors need a web presence.

You’re supposed to ease into social media, but that’s what they say about gardening, too. And my family was so excited about our first, we bought an abundant, crazy mix of seeds and scattered them wherever we felt like it. That was our most fruitful garden; since then, we’re lucky to grow zucchini (and anyone can grow zucchini).

So I plunged in, and here’s my take so far:

Pinterest

Ah, I get it now. As a writer, I’d forgotten the pure joy of expressing emotions solely through visual imagery. I remember doing it as a child—with stickers on my school binders, magazine pages lining my bedroom walls and dreamy abstracts floating on my computer screen. With Pinterest, you can create boards that reflect the things you care about, and you never have to say a word.

Goodreads

What I love most about this site, so far, is I have one place to list my “to be read” books. Now I can collect all the scraps of paper, sticky notes, and electronic lists buried in my phone, and shelve those titles in Goodreads. Voila! A book lover’s dream.

Twitter

This was supposed to be my favorite, because that’s what everybody says. I do like Twitter—there’s something about the immediacy of it that’s freeing—but it’s confusing. I tried learning it before tweeting, but on Twitter it’s easier to learn by doing. There’s no real fear of judgment; people are just cool. And it moves so fast, no one’s going to hold it against you if you, like I did at first, respond instead of retweet, or whatever. It’s all good.

Facebook

After being on Twitter, Facebook feels like watching life in slow motion. But that has its moments.

Blogging

My personal favorite. This has been a shock—I worried about the time it would take to blog (see above), I worried no one would read my blog . . . now I know it’s about perspective. If you enjoy doing it, the rest is just icing. And since I enjoy writing (and am used to doing it for free), blogging doesn’t feel like wasting time at all.

Still, comments are nice 😉 Got one to share?

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