monday missive

the 32 days edition

i started my literary year off by committing to 32 consecutive days of writing. it was carleen brice that reminded me that this was my third year of this practice. this new ritual of mine was inspired by this article by ann patchett.  today i am sitting down to the scary work of actually reading what i wrote at such a feverish pace (feverish for me, since my pace tends to be fairly glacial). so far, it isn’t so terrible that i can’t stand it. i used some tricks to keep me moving forward this time.

1. 90 minutes. i love macfreedom.  i’ve taken to shutting off my internet in intervals of 90 minutes. i read somewhere once this is the magic number of minutes for creativity. works for me.

2. the word count. i am always amazed at the mercurial thing a long work of fiction can be. usually my muse cools at the mention of word counts, but something called out to me to use them. i’ve been kind of battered by working on something for such a long period of time, that i decided to surrender to the whims of my novel. to release my control and just follow. so *poof* word counts suddenly started to work for me. i picked 1,000 words per day as my target.

3. daily word document. i am notorious for hating fiction the first day that i write it. when i first started writing, i combated the impulse to destroy everything i wrote by writing longhand in composition books. it had to be a composition book and not a tablet that was meant for pages to tear out. the fact that the composition book was bound and thus more book-like prevented me from tearing the pages out. i wrote in pencil, and wouldn’t take the time to erase big blocks of text, so it was easier to just move forward. this year i used a daily words file. i typed my 1,000 words into this document. at the end of the day i would transfer those words into another master document. this kept me (mostly) from the temptation to look back at what i had written so far and provided a clean slate each day. also, i think the fact that it sounds slightly biblical to me (daily words, daily bread) made it almost like a prayer.

4. shutting up. i mentioned that i had invoked a vow of silence about my work. i made a deal with myself. i could talk about process. how many days, how many words, etc. but i would not say more than a sentence about the actual story. this was difficult, but necessary for me. i think that this is helping me stay in the dream of the world that i am creating. before i felt like i was talking all of the nectar out of everything. writing is a way of thinking for me and blathering on about what it all means was sucking all of the magic out of the process.

at the end of my 32 days i have 34,262 new words (106 pages). a pretty lovely way to kick off my literary year.

fess up friday: ps

the postscript edition

as i ponder my previous fess up friday, i am reminded of the excellent advice by danielle laporte. above is the secret to success. keeping this in mind as i make some secret, sacred commitments to me. or in simple memphisese, don’t talk about it, be about it.

fess up friday

the unreasonable edition

“thing about being a writer, a novelist, is if you just do whats reasonable you will never get a novel done you have to be obsessive and driven and unreasonable about it, take it further than anybody esle would. if all you do is work reasonable you might as well forget it.” ~arthur rickydoc flowers

and this from writer, mentor, prophet of the hoodoo way arthur flowers pretty much sums it up for me.

disappearing into the ether.

*poof*

i’m gone.

fess up friday

the calenture edition

i’ve been down with a vicious flu that morphed into an allergy attack for well over a week. i’m not entirely recovered, but on the mend. lauren cerand, publicist extraordinaire used that word in a tweet, sending me directly to the dictionary. calenture is a kind of fever that sailors experience when they’ve been out at sea for long periods of time. they imagine that the sea is a green field and have an intense desire to jump in. later meanings include any kind of feverish delirium or all consuming romantic passion.

when my fever finally broke from the flu, i was beset by a new one. noveling can be such a long process that you forget the different stages. i work in big sections that i call “chunks”, groups of sections that eventually shape themselves into chapters. although i have been writing for a very long time, i feel like i’m fairly new to revision. i’ve finally done enough of it to figure out what my process feels like at this stage. i imagine my revision fever is something of a calenture. i am so deep at sea with the work that a kind of delirium sets in.  my habits change–i go from never writing at night to staying up past midnight. i don’t want anything but the work. i want to drown in it, disappear into the sea of red ink.

“I never want to see anyone, and I never want to go anywhere or do anything. I just want to write.” – P.G. Wodehouse

my friends threaten interventions and ask if i’m becoming a hermit. seasons change and i barely notice. the only cure for my calenture is to finish the chunk. to get it as done as i can in the moment. after 6 hours at the writing table, today i emerged with a cure. what kept me from going overboard was knowing what the fever was when it arrived and remembering that i’ve been here before.

*p.s. i love the fat quotation mark, but it bothers me that the style doesn’t close the quote. get on that wordpress!!

fess up friday

the ambition edition

i’m exhausted. i looked up today to find myself in an almost empty coffee shop. it was after six and even the nerds who had been speaking in formulas and calculations and dimensions had departed. fridays are like that. people who would normally study into the night leave for date night, or dinner or to watch the saints game. i wanted to stay longer, but was a deep down kind of exhausted. i surrendered and went home.

writing is work. i’m always surprised when people think that it isn’t. i

i’ve been working on my writing now for well over a decade. wrote on my own. i sought mentors. i read every book on craft i could find. when i took my writing as far as i thought i could on my own i attended conferences, workshops and later got accepted into an mfa program. i entered contests and won an award for my work and still i kept learning. i’ve been published in a few wonderful places. it is the hardest work i’ve ever done.

in the same time my dear nephew has gone to medical school and done a surgical residency and now a vascular surgery fellowship. we’re both at the beginning of our careers. we’ve both been training and learning. the difference is–nobody would ever say to him oh, i use a knife every day, i’m going to start doing surgery. they most certainly wouldn’t think that the very first surgery would be a career maker.

i am amazed by the young writers i meet who seem to be very versed in the business side of writing. they ask about agents and publishers and advances. i ask about their influences and they trot out the best of the best in writing today.

then i ask about craft.

craft? what’s craft?

plot, character development, story arc, point of view, that kind of stuff.

oh, nothing on that.

*side-eye*

when i tell them that it is work,  when i tell them how hard it is they seem not to believe me. to think that i am holding out on some kind of wisdom. that it can’t possibly be that hard, because after all, everybody is a writer. uh, yes. and no. they seem not to realize that my answers were formed after i’ve spent hours writing. living on borrowed money. if there were a short cut, honey, i would have taken it. they want it easy. they want me to hit them with my writer’s magic wand. they want the hook-up.

there is only work, i tell them. write lots. write poorly. work. sweat. write your way through. but if you find a shortcut, let me know.

(i found this in my drafts folder from september, never sent. same sentiments apply)

fess up friday

i am so very pleased to announce that i have an essay in the 12th annual music issue of the oxford american magazine. if you squint, you’ll see my name in that little circle on the cover. the oa published my story “dream season” last year, and once again i’m so proud to be featured with so many fantastic writers. this issue turns its attention to the music of alabama and comes with a cd of fantastic music. you can read more about the issue here. the oa is available at most major bookstores, and you can also order the issue directly from the oa. in fact, a subscription to the oa makes a wonderful holiday gift.

i’ve been stalking my mailbox something terrible waiting on my copy to appear. i think i’m even more nervous since the piece is an essay. i’ve almost exclusively focused on fiction. until now. if you get a chance to check it out, let me know what you think.

fess up friday

the for colored girls edition

i am just back from seeing for colored girls, the film based on the chorepoem by ntozake shange. i was definitely  a bit terrified when i heard tyler perry was directing and adapting shange’s classic work. i’ve seen several productions of the play, and read it in printed form.  i am admittedly not a fan of mr. perry’s work, but i will say this. shange’s work shone through in this film. at over 3 decades old and her work still managed to be modern and relevant and powerful. now, there were some typical tyler perry problems, but the strong performances of shange’s work make it a definitely worth seeing.

as for the fessing up, i’m still writing, writing, writing and beginning to see a faint light at the end of the tunnel.

fess up friday

my process, my life. captured by Matt Landers

the brief edition

i started a fess up friday last night that was really two posts. one, a musing on writing and ambition and  the other about who owns a story. i couldn’t finish them. the novel has me in its clutches.  right now the novelwords are shaking me to get up! get out! they don’t care that it is raining. or it is a saturday, the weekend. everything in my head has the background chant of write, write, write. and i know that it won’t be quiet until i am at the writing table writing. so those other posts will have to wait until i have energy. when the novelwords are not so jealous.

until then.

fess up friday

staff meeting of one

wherein i give myself a talking to edition

boss: hey, i really want to commend you on the way you’ve been showing up at the writing table.

me: thanks! (contemplates what to do with bonus)

boss: yeah, you’re showing up, but mostly late. i noticed you’re playing on the internet. and this stack of research books. *points to books*

me: yeah, well i HAVE to research. i HAVE to get these details right. it’s important.

boss: of course it is, but i think you’re hiding out there.

me: hiding? i write in coffee shops! ask the barristas! i’m here almost every day!

boss: yes, but how productive are you? i think you might be hiding out in research instead of writing. what are you afraid of?

me: nothing! this is a big book and it just takes time.

boss: *silent*

me: and i need to carry all of these books around at all times because i never know what i might NEED. i NEED them!

boss: *silence*

me: *fidgets*

boss: mmm. i want you to think about this. do you really want to finish this book? if so, come up with a plan. you’re a talented lady. there are plenty of other things you can do if you don’t want to do this. you really have everything you need. sleep on it. if you do, then come up with a plan.a plan that balances out the research so you can move forward.

me: okay?

boss: good. close my door, will you?

so, i’m writing. but pretty quiet about it. i’m glad the “boss” in me stepped up to pull my collar.

onward!

fess up friday

the process edition (because it’s all process)

hello lovies. i have been chiseling away at my novel. i keep changing my mind as to whether i want to count hours or do something to keep track. page counts and word counts are pretty useless to me. i can write a huge number of words only to delete them the next day, so that accounting method is particularly demoralizing. yesterday was one of those days in the process that i hate. it usually occurs on the heels of a particularly good day. i leave the safe area of finishing up a scene, a scene that works, only to be thrust back into the depths of unedited or yet to be written muck. all of my confidence just wilts on the vine, and i wonder if i can move forward. so i fidget. i drink too much coffee. travel to the end of the internet and refresh my social networking sites a bazillion times. i read a bit of fiction until that makes me nervous. but i sit. and eventually i wait out the panic and begin again.

so enough stalling. i’m ready.

onward.