Living the Dream

My first day of a big girl job apparel 

It's 7am and my alarm is going off. For the last several months, it'd be typical for me to roll out of bed around 9am or even as late as 11am. No longer. I get away with snoozing two to three times. Then. I HAVE to get up.

My hair is sticking up in all directions. The make-up I couldn't wash off my face last night attaches itself just under my sleep filled eyes. I snap my fingers twice to avoid talking for another few minutes, and Baxter and Kyla meet me at the door to go outside.

I shower, eat breakfast, debate on putting on make-up again, dress, pet the dogs, make sure I have everything: voice recorder, notebooks, pens, pictures of Baxter to put on my desk, wallet, keys, cell phone, etc, kiss the dogs goodbye, and then I'm out the door. Most mornings, I make one stop: the coffee shop, where I'll spend $2-$4 on either coffee or an iced caramel macciato. Usually by noon, I start shaking and forgetting how to make the letter "D".

My first day, I worked over ten hours. My second day was somewhere around 9. By day three, I passed out at 5pm and woke up at around 7:30pm. It's been a challenging and exhausting week, but it's been amazing to see this:

Two of these FRONT PAGE stories
are mine!

If your theory of Living the Dream is getting paid to write, I feel like I've made it. I work 40 hours a week. I get assigned articles, and get to cover ones I think are interesting. I get paid to write. Not to stock shelves, cash people out, get yelled at for ID people who look under age.

I feel like I'm on top of the world right now.

Just you know, a little tired.

The Fear of What If?

I just love books so much

I read a lot of books. It kind of comes with the writing territory. Some books are amazing (like If I Stay, Looking for Alaska, etc), and some are just okay.

But when I finish one of those great books; the ones where the characters haunt me, or the plot annoys me, or I wish I were friends with their friends, I struggle with The Fear of What If.

What if I can't ever write something this good? What if my story doesn't flow as well, if the characters never fully come to life, or if my ending doesn't conclude the way it should? What if...

my writing sucks?

Sometimes I recover quickly from these episodes. Sometimes, I hide my pen and computer for a few days saying, "Well, you should just quit while you're ahead and continue with your dead end job."

I may have a small book addiction...

But some days, I look at the books in my room. I sit among great authors like Alice Hoffman, and Kerry Cohen, and Jodi Picoult. I sit among the books I've loved, and thrown, and not cared about. Their presence brings me a sense of hope. When in doubt, I read an acknowledgement page. When I'm really, really, in doubt, ready to curl in the fetal position and cry, I look at the pictures of authors I've met.

They were like me once. They had blogs. They have tweets. They had hopes, and dreams, and they kept going. They already wrote their books. The great books that I'm jealous of are already out there. I need to write my book, with my words.

So, I open up my computer and stare at the cursor as it blinks back at me.

It's all part of the writing game. (You should keep going, too.)

The #NaNoWriMo Survival Kit

Oh, man. ARE YOU READY?

In case you're STILL not ready for National Novel Writing Month (#NaNoWriMo) here is a handy survival guide for those of you writing 50,000 words in 30 days.

The very first thing you need is:

Caffeine

It doesn't matter your source. Energy drink, frappe, coffee, tea, but I guarentee you'll need it. Why? Because when you're pulling all-nighters to meet your 2,500 words/day goal, or because you went outside and jumped in a pile of leaves and now you're behind, you'll need something to shock your system back into the OH-MAN-I'M-SO-AWAKE-I-CAN'T-SLEEP-MAY-AS-WELL-WRITE stage.


The second thing you'll need is:

Food

Gone are the days of lengthy prep, and fancy dinners with the family. These days you need food. And not just any food. For the next month, stock up on QUICK stuff; mac and cheese (if you're a cheese eater), raemen noodles, frozen pizza, those frozen meals that have noodles and stuff. Take in those preservatives, because let's face it, time is money. Become BFFs with the pizza delivery guy. That way there's no prep, and no wasted time using the microwave.

Your time should not be wasted on frivolous things like food and bathroom breaks. You've got a novel to write!

 The third thing you'll need is:

Ache relief

This one is for the hangover. Not the self induced, I had too many margaritas hangover, but rather the, I've been sitting on my ass for the last two weeks, in the same spot on the couch, and I think my tailbone may be broken from so much use, hangover.

Your eyes feel like they're bleeding yet? Is your monitor guest starring in your dreams yet? Keep these on hand. Pop as necessary.

The fourth thing you'll need is:

Distractions

You're only human. You can only stare at a blank screen for so long before you call it quits. It's okay to take some time away from writing. Go outside. Go play. Fifteen minute break.

Or, if needed 2-3 hour break so you can watch Hunger Games, and be re-inspired. I mean, this movie was based on a book! How badass!

Caution: These distractions should NOT be literary. Get away from words, and counts. Go for mindless. The Nintendo DS is excellent for this. As is Connect Four. And reality TV.

The fifth thing you'll need is:

A Plethora of Comfy Pants

Sweatpants, pajama pants, those pants that look like jeans but are actually something else. Maybe a snuggie and no pants? Choose. Maybe don a hoodie. Don't shower. Don't wash your hair. Make a cup of tea. Sit down. You'll be here for awhile.



The sixth thing you'll need is:

Support

Surround yourself with positive messages. Things people have given you that mean something. Remember, NaNoWriMo is fun, it's hard, and you're not alone.

In my stash is a bookmark my friend Claire bought me saying, Careful or you'll end up in my novel, a coffee mug my friend Liz sent me saying, Be Brave Enough to Break Your Own Heart, and a sign my friend Amanda made me saying, Quiet Please, Memoir Writing in Progress. DO NOT Disturb!

Trust me, those days will come where you stare at your screen, your wavering word count, and think I can't do this! Make sure you have supportive things to look at to push you on.

The seventh thing you'll need is:

Someone Who Thinks You're Friggin Great

It doesn't matter who it is; co worker, spouse, significant other, twitter friends, dog, but you need someone who will be your sounding board. Someone you can call and say, "I think I just killed my main character's best friend." Someone who knows you are crazy, and they'll still love you anyway. They know you hear voices. They want to hear them, too.

I called my friend, Peter, the other day (he's a boy, so when I need a guy's perspective, I call him and ask really weird *usually obscene  questions and call it research). He actually let me read pretty darn close to the first two chapters of my UNEDITED novel.

My poor sister has been getting several phone calls a day, with me saying, "Dude, listen to this!" She's helpful because she'll bounce back with, "I don't think this is possible yet because..."

Have people to talk to, people who understand how much this project means to you.

And last, and possibly most important. Number eight on the NaNoWriMo Survival Kit:

A Writing Space

Do you work best in the library? At a coffee shop? In a basement where you've pushed two large chairs together so it somewhat resembles a boat? (If you didn't catch it, that last one is my writing space :) ).

Pick your space. Pick your drink and your food. Go to your space, and shell out 50,000 words.

This is NaNoWriMo, you only have so many days till the end.

Game on. Don't quit. Don't edit. Just write.

Also, if you'd like to buddy me, HERE I am. And if you want it, HERE are some tips for speed writing :)

Happy NaNo!

If It's Dead, Let It Die

Caution: This blog may be traumatic for some of you. This definitely has an 8/10 rating on the WTF scale.

Growing up wasn't easy in my house. Sometimes it was an adventure (like the time we went to Niagara Falls), but most times, it usually left scarring memories that would some day equate to yet another, more detailed, memoir. Or hours in therapy. Whichever.

One such instance took place at the Shepherd House. This is the only place I've ever truly called home, and we lived there from the time I was in kindergarten until the early parts of my eighth grade year. With that being said, I can't remember how old I was, I just know it had to have been before I was 14.

My mom had been gone a lot (staying at her boyfriend's house an hour away). Once, late at night, she burst into the house, frantic, throwing newspapers down on the kitchen table (where we ate dinner, mind you). Soon, she carried something grey and lifeless in, and laid it on the table.

"Oh God, oh shit!" she chanted. "Come on bunny!"

"Mom, what happened?" I asked, looking at the fluffy adorable thing sprawled sideways on the table.

Not a bunny.
But we do have a fascination with
dead things now...

"I hit the bunny with my car," she said as she proceeded to administer CPR to the lifeless rabbit. I'd like to blame my youthful ignorance, but as I stood there watching my mom pressing on the small creature, I imagined what it would be like to have a pet bunny (meanwhile, the day after this, we would discover our bird dead in its cage. Why? Oh, we forgot to feed it....for a couple of weeks).

The CPR went on for a few minutes until she dug a mirror out of her purse and held it to the bunny's pale pink nose to test if it was breathing. It wasn't.

Standing at the threshold of the kitchen and living room, I adjusted my position, and saw the underside of the bunny's face. It was streaked red, from its eye downward. Clearly it wouldn't be hopping off the table any time soon.

"Mom," I said, tears threatening to spill out at any second. "It's dead."

"What?" she said. "No, there's still hope!"

I pointed to the blood. "Look."

She flipped the bunny over and pools of blood were left on the newspaper. "Shit." At last she broke down and began crying. "I'm sorry, bunny."

I began to cry, too. The side of the face that wasn't leaking maroon was furry and adorable, and it was here, on my kitchen table, dead at my mother's hands. My sisters and I buried the bunny and the bird together in the animal graveyard to the right of the house.

So, what does this mean for writing?

Well, there's a point in a story or novel, where you just keep trying to give CPR to the dead lifeless sentence, chapter, whatever. You keep trying to breathe life into something that refuses to live. When that happens, you may need to adjust your perspective, it may already be dead and maybe, MAYBE you should bury it. If it's dead, let it die valiantly. (Though save a backup, you know, in case you can fit it in a future work.)

(I just hit 19,000 words with my WIP....In 11,000 I'll have to decide whether or not this novel, like that bunny, is already dead.)

Hangers

Over at Falling for Fiction, they're hosting round two of the Hookers and Hangers blog hop!

If you missed segment one, it was the hookers of chapters, those glamorous sentences that keep you from putting that book down and tell you you can pull through one more chapter. If you get the chance, go around to the other author blogs. They will not disappoint you!

Today, we're focusing on the hangers, the last sentence of the chapter where you sit there and think, "OMG!" and keep reading though it's 2am and you have to be up at 5am for work.

Hangers from After Elizabeth (YA Contemporary)  in no particular order:

In the place of sorrow, I found fury. Pure, unadulterated, uncontrollable, fury.


"I run alone," she states, re-hardening, and bolts.


Even though I'm going to get expelled. 


If I don't exist to Claire Davis, maybe I'm not real.


It was the beginning of the end. We never should have gone.


But, I find myself thinking, at least she's my neighbor.


Ready for this to be over, I checked my watch. We still had four minutes left of our ten minute run.


There would be a score to settle very, very soon.


Who is this girl?

And the last one I'll put up for this:

Then there are the mother fuckers, like Chad Higgins, who recognize the rope, and push people like Elizabeth off.

This was an awesome blog hop! Thanks Falling for Fiction! I hope you guys got to scope out the other entries, too!

Also, check out Monday's post for a contest happening here at The Submission Process!

Meeting Claire

I met Claire Downs, the main character of After Elizabeth, in North Carolina, just before I went crazy (possibly while I was going crazy).

I've always been fascinated with smokers, especially because there are so many song lyrics about them. (On my iTunes, I actually have a cigarette playlist made up.) It's strange because I grew up loathing when my parents smoked, riding like a dog with my head out the window of the car, or leaving the room when they lit up in my presence. It's gotten to the point, when I visit Michigan, my mother knows better than to try to smoke with me in the car or in her house. Personally, I don't smoke...but I do have three unopened packs of cigarettes in the dashboard of my car in case I ever decide to take up the habit.

Yep, had these since North Carolina.
Smoking is gross.

Either way, one day I was sitting there, thinking about how strange it would be to see a girl in a neon pink sports bra running and smoking a cigarette. I started writing about Claire before she even had a name. Instead of being a girl as I wrote, I was a boy checking out a decently hot chick. I remember sitting on the couch and reading aloud to the people I considered friends (like I said, I went crazy), and they agreed that this girl sounded hardcore. I saved the document, and went to sleep with a massive erection. Wait, in real life I'm a girl...and I like boys. Okay, whew.

In the morning, when I checked my computer, the document was gone, and the page worth of stuff I'd written disappeared with it. But the memory of this girl never left me. I didn't care if what I'd written was saved. I just knew she existed, and I loved her, though now, she may never resurface.

Fast forward about six months. My Sister's Memories is on submission, and getting page and manuscript requests (cool! My query letter doesn't suck!). Sadly, each and every one gets rejected (sadface, my writing does). I tell myself that I'm not going to write another novel until My Sister's Memories, Character Defects, Igniting a Firestarter, and my memoir go through a hard round of editing. I only end up editing My Sister's Memories and receive more rejections, some with feedback, and for the first time, I start to hope...maybe...maybe...I have something worthwhile here.

In the meantime, I work my day job and get invited to a middle school to speak. One Wednesday morning, I drive to Fryeburg and talk to kids who ask me about cutting, depression, and coping mechanisms. I am humbled and awestruck with every single student I meet. We take pictures together, I offer candy, and I come back the next week. And the week after that.

They refuse to leave my head. The girl who smokes refuses to leave my head.

My sister and I
Her approval of my writing means a lot to me :)

On May 29, 2012, I sit down at my computer, and see a girl typing with a friend the way Kellie and I used to. I see a girl read a message that says something like, I'm sorry, I can't handle this, the same message I'd received when a good friend tried to kill himself a thousand miles away from me. And then, for the first time since I'd written about a girl smoking a cigarette and running, I saw Claire Downs emerge in the aftermath of her best friend killing herself.

And today (though I'm scheduling this post for tomorrow) on June 19, 2012, I am excited to tell you that After Elizabeth is complete. Even better? Armed with the critiques that I'd received from agents and Callie Kingston, though I wrote quickly, I wrote with showing in mind. When I read the ending to my sister, for the first time she said, "Yea, I can see everything you've just read, it was well written."

For the first time in my writing career, I'm proud of a rough draft, mainly because my sister didn't tell me that it sucked. Although she did tell me she had a beef with my ending. (Psshh, whatever.)

Now I step away for about a week, play, drink, and have fun.

Next week, the real work begins.

Show and Tell II

A million years ago, I posted about Showing vs. Telling. Consider this segment two.

In early February, Callie Kingston made a call for beta readers, and like a hungry lion, I latched on. Thus far, it has been the best writing step I've taken (aside from, you know, getting a Twitter account). When she sent me her first two chapters of critiques on My Sister's Memories, I sat there cringing. You should back down now, she's tearing your crap apart. As I looked at my computer screen, I realized that I needed to step up my game; not only with writing, but also with editing.

This is my "Oh crap, she might know more than I do face"
Worst. Picture. Ever. I hope you got a good laugh :)

While I had those You don't know what you're talking about, don't reject my writing moments (in private! Never to her e-mail face!), I took time away, came back to them, and found that most of the time, what she said was sadly correct. This gave me a profound respect for her, because she wasn't afraid of telling me what sounded weak, and it was what I needed to hear, even if I needed a shot of whiskey afterward.

One of the things she told me was the use of words like, "I saw," "I felt," "I wondered". She taught me ways to manipulate my sentences from telling you that I just saw my dog run across the street, to having my dog just run across the street. (Can you see the difference?)

Let me break it down for you a little more.

If you're writing in first person, you ARE the character. Which means (from my understanding) any time you're saying "I think, I feel, I see," it causes detachment. Try this instead:

Find the points where you use those statements. Delete them. Look at the sentence you have left. Does it still make sense? Chances are, it probably will, and now you're much closer to showing me something, rather than telling me.

I went through My Sister's Memories today and used the FIND tool to search the word "feel". Each sentence I deleted that stupid word (well, most sentences, not all), and replaced it with something better. "I feel his hand brush against my cheek," became, "His hand brushed against my cheek." It's an easy fix and you'd be amazed by how much stronger the writing sounds because you're just allowing things to flow  naturally. You're allowing the reader to be right there, getting goosebumps as his lips graze the soft spot on her shoulder...rather that just telling them what she's feeling.

Just thought I'd pass along some kick ass advice. Hope this helps.

Research II: Obtaining Sponsorship

You know that moment where you write about something really cool? Like, maybe your MC throws a disc in a game of disc golf, or takes off running in a cross country meet, or stands up in front of peers at prom to sing some karaoke? And then you realize...

Crap. I don't know what I'm talking about.

Me (black) and sister (tie-die) preparing to sing karaoke.
The dismayed, "What am I doing here?" face is why
this picture is here :)

There's a point where you can't just make something up because in fiction, things have to make sense, or at least, be plausible. For example, if you're at a soccer game, you're not going to start dribbling the ball with your hand. Some people may not know that, but a majority will.

This is the point where you have to do research and fully understand what you're writing. Sometimes it's as easy as going to a middle school/high school and chatting with some kids. Sometimes you can google, "What are tents made out of?" (Which I literally did yesterday.)

In My Sister's Memories, Allie and Mike were stellar disc golf players. I sided more with Sarah (the older sister) who ended up in the trees. I'd played a couple of times before, once at church camp when I was in like, 8th grade, and once in August when I'd evacuated for Hurricane Irene. This second time, I played with my friend Jake and his friend Greg, who were extremely good players.

An excellent place to play if you're ever in Burlington, NC

At the time I'd played, I didn't expect disc golf to appear in a novel, but in November, that's what Allie ended up playing. Because I'd taken pictures with Jake and Greg, I had a decent recollection of the day and the game, but it had still been awhile since I'd played.

Now, I lived in Maine and had no idea where disc golf courses were, and didn't own any of my own equipment. So, I contacted Innova Discs, sent a simple e-mail saying:

My name is Lynne Schmidt, and I'm an author doing researching on disc golf for my young adult novel. (I told them the premise of the story), and then said, I was wondering if you'd be willing to donate some discs for my research?

Sure enough, less than a week later, I had an Innova Disc box waiting for me on the kitchen table. It was April before I really got to play, but when I did, I took note of the surroundings, the way I threw (and still managed to end up in the trees). But I got to play, I got to do sponsored research, and it was fun. PLUS! I got to keep the discs for future playing!

So, what's my point? Sometimes we don't have money to fully research our projects (after all, we are writers). But sometimes, we can contact companies, and they'll be willing to help us out in exchange for a blog post. If they're not willing, trust me, the lack of response doesn't hurt nearly as much as getting rejected from agents :)

Here's to research and here's to sponsorship!

Research

Sometimes, research is fun. Like that time Innova Discs sent me a starter kit to research Disc Golf for My Sister's Memories. Or, harassing companies to see if they'll sponsor me for other research, or bugging friends, or even just hanging out and people watching.

The fun kind of research: sibling dynamics :)
*I'm on the right*

But, sometimes, researching your story...it's gut wrenching work.

I started a new project, potentially called After Elizabeth, a couple of days ago (which is why I've been MIA), and in three days managed to write 13,000 words (Woot! Victory dance!). And then I hit a point where I had to do something I've never done before. Write an obituary. For a girl who committed suicide.

This was hard for a couple of reasons:
1) Senior year of college, a friend killed herself. Her body was never found (to my knowledge, but that knowledge may be outdated now). I'd moved in 8th grade, and she and I had stopped talking. But, I like to live in this world where my friends stay alive forever, and are happy all the time, whether I'm near or far. It's not too much to ask, right? So Laura told me that she'd committed suicide, and I went to the porch and chain smoked until I stopped shaking.
2) I have a million other friends who died of things like; cancer, drunk driving accidents, bad driving accidents, etc
3) I've only read obituaries....Never actually written one
4) This obituary was almost written for me in October

Swallowing all of this, I tried to write around the obituary, but in the end, the story prevailed, and needed this written. I googled Suicide Obituaries, and found THIS website. From there, I literally took the step by step instructions and wrote. I called my mom, read the first couple of versions until she told me I needed to have life-accomplishments. This, then, is my first obituary:

Elizabeth Alexandra Travis, 16 years old, passed away unexpectedly on October 1, 2012. Born in Portland, Maine on April 8^th, 1996, she is survived by her mother, Natalie Wright of Portland, her father, Marc Travis of Gilead, and her best friend, Claire Downs of Portland. The bright junior is remembered as a gifted and accomplished cross country runner, a smart student, a loving daughter, caring teammate, and amazing friend. She is preceded in death by her beloved dog, Baxter. Friends and family wishing to donate are asked to send the proceeds to Hope Hotline, or any other suicide prevention foundation.

I think I'm okay with how it turned out. I especially liked that the best friend was added on there (I definitely feel like the parents would have written that given the girl's relationship). Also, I feel like a dick for killing her dog, but that, too, needed to be done.

So, for you writers. What are some of the hard parts of research for you?

Sitting The Bench

This is my excited face

So there I was.

Until my friend, Swaney, convinced me to try out for the soccer team, I figured my life was complete without soccer. Then one day after gym class, she came up to me, and suggested trying out. When I told her I've never played before, she told me it didn't matter, I could run. Sure enough, I went to try outs, and was on the JV team.

The only picture I could find
of Swaney (black) and me (salmon)

It was my freshmen year of high school, my very first game. That glorious spring day, I was sitting on the bench, when the ref blew the whistle and the girls on both teams launched into motion. They ran around on the field, people around me hollered things I didn't understand. I only knew to kick the ball    --> that way, down the field.

"Schmidt," my coach yelled after about five minutes.

"Yea?"

"You're in, sub (enter some player's name, here)."

This was it, the moment I'd waited for, my moment to shine. I jogged to the half-field line like my shin guards didn't stink, totally ready to pull a teammate out and take her spot.  I get to play, I get to play! I was like a puppy with a tennis ball being waved in front of its face.

And then I stood there.

And watched all the girls run, and move, and run and move. The ball bounced back and forth, between players, teams. Girls took hits in the chest, head, thigh, with amazing control. I...was still working on that aspect of the game.

One of our players passed the ball back to another girl on our team. Wait, we're supposed to have strategy here? Not just kick the ball? Suddenly everything I'd been trained to do for the last month or so, was wrong.

I left the mid-field line before the refs could sub me in. "Hey coach?" I asked.

She looked at me, surprised that I was still standing there, "What's up?"

"So...I've never actually played soccer before, and this is my first game. Is it okay if I sit for a little bit longer until I'm ready to go in?" I asked.

She chuckled, "Yea, I'll ask you again in a bit."

I reclaimed my seat on the bench with my other teammates giving me questioning looks. "I'm not ready," I told them.

A few minutes passed, I watched the girls, the way they moved with the ball, they way they played off of one another like an actual team. The game seeped into my veins and ignited something like passion.

"Schmidt?" my coach called. "You ready yet?"

"Yes!"

I ran again to the line, subbed out a player, and entered my first game. The puppy and tennis ball feeling never left me. I ran fast, and I ran hard, and I stole the ball...more than once.

I'm pretty sure we lost that first game, but I didn't care because I was ready to play. After that day, I started every game. I was no longer a bench warmer, and all because I waited until I actually was ready to play.

So, what does this have to do with writing?

It's simple.

Those of us who are unpublished, and un-repped, we are the bench warmers. We're watching the game go back and forth Hey did you see so-and-so just got a deal? They're being published in May 2014, Omg, Omg, Omg.

We're also the coaches who send our star player (our novel) out to play when it's its first time in the game. The agents are the voice in the backs of our heads saying, "You're not quite ready yet," instead of saying, "No, you're not good enough." And so after several moments of panic, and mild depression, we resume editing.

We get scared, we sit down, we keep the bench warm.

But when we're ready, when our star player is ready, maybe we won't rock that first game, but hey, at least we'll know how to play.

Moral: Keep editing, keep pushing. Don't give up. You're not getting rejected, you're being told to sit down for a few more minutes.

Also, stop by tomorrow for more high school stories thanks to the blog hop :)

Writing Prompt

Since I just spent all of the night working on submissions for PNWA, I'm exhausted, written and edited out, and cranky. I feel like with the aftermath of Valentine's Day, some of you may be feeling the way I am, too. So with that, don't lose heart. I've come up with a writing prompt to try out. And, it's a choose your own adventure. How fun!

Option 1:
*Go somewhere. McDonald's. The mall. A park. The beach. Anywhere where there will be people around you.
*Bring a notebook.
*Now sit for five to ten minutes observing the interactions around you.
*Find some people that you find terribly interesting.
*Fall in love with them for some reason.
*Now write the scene:
           How are they interacting with each other?
           What does their body language say?
           What perspective are you writing in?
           What is happening?
           What is the tension in the scene?

Or


Option 2:
*Stay home.
*Grab a notebook.
*Put on your favorite movie or TV show.
*Pick a scene you really, really, really like.
*Write it:
           What is happening?
           What perspective are you writing in?
           Who are the characters?
            What is the tension in the scene?

For both of these, if you feel super ambitious, write the scene a few different ways; 1st person. 3rd person. His perspective. Her perspective. The table's perspective. You pick. It's amazing what you can do with writing, play with it. Remember, it's supposed to be fun!

Let me know what you come up with :)

Wait to Write

Ever have an idea pop into your head and you think it's the most brilliant thing in the entire world? Jot it down, but wait to write the story. Personally, I don't even jot the idea down (and in the morning I'm super angry because that was pure gold, man. Pure gold!). I wait.

If it's something that sticks with me, something that won't get out of my head, the characters start to dance in front of me. I can see the guy on the lacrosse team who broke the heart of the girl who...(you get the idea). But it's not enough.

So I keep waiting.

At long last my narrator steps up to the plate, "We don’t know anything yet. I’ve been hearing this lie for the last six hours." (First line of My Sister's Memories). Sarah started talking to me when I ignored her for WEEKS. I'd started thinking about my NaNoWriMo project in October, but life got in the way, swallowed me, pushed me through a meat grinder...and writing took a back seat. But Sarah wasn't going away. 


(On an ADD moment, I appologize that formatting has gotten messed up, I'm not quite sure how to fix it...)


Anyways, so Sarah. I went under a bridge during the move to Maine, and started thinking of what it would be like to not remember all of my favorite bridges, or how hard it would be for my sister to see me go through that. How did this happen?
Since I was driving, why not cause a car accident. 


By the time I arrived in Maine, I had to find a place to live, get aquainted with the area, put in job applications. I still ignored Sarah until she started screaming in my ear. Until I knew Allie had survived the accident, but was in a coma. I knew her parents were dead. 


And then I started writing.


So..my advice for this lovely day is to wait to write your masterpiece. Sometimes the longer you're able to ignore them, the louder they get.

Stealing From Other Writers

Note: Plagiarism is bad!! Don't steal crap...sort of...

Note II: It's my sister's birthday, so Happy Birthday, Laura!!

On with the blog!

For the record, I do (yep, I do) endorse stealing from other writers. I'm not telling you to go to the store, grab a Nick Sparks book and steal whole sentences to put into your work and claim it as your brilliant writing.

So sneaky...

I mean, if you contact him, ask permission, go through all the legal loops and get permission, good for you, that's awesome.

But, what I'm talking about is ideas. Steal ideas. This right here, is why we read so much, why we decide what we like in other author's writing, and why we implement it in our own.

In a simple example, I like blogs with pictures. It breaks up all the writing, it makes it more personal, so I also started putting pictures in my blog.

In a slightly more complex example, Sharon Creech writes middle grade novels. (Favorites: Walk Two Moons, Bloomability, Chasing Redbird.) In said novels, characters from other novels will drop into the one you're currently reading. It's brief but they're there; maybe they're friends, maybe they went to the same school.

Either way, I really like this idea. It's like writing a sequel without having to write a sequel. My good friend G. K. Byrne did a couple of rounds of beta editing for me, and it was awesome because she went through both Character Defects, and My Sister's Memories. As I wrote My Sister's Memories, I was thinking a lot about Ms. Creech and the characters popping up later in novels.

So what'd I do? I wrote a scene in where you'd see Destroyer and Sarah together (but I won't tell you where, in case they get published, you know :) ). The best part? Ms. Byrne recognized the scene and in her notes wrote, "Hiya, Destroyer!" and I got that warm fuzzy feeling we get as writers when someone pats us on the back and says, "Well done!"

So what about you guys? Which writers influenced you?

Train Your Brain

There's a quote somewhere that says something like, "If you want to be a writer, treat writing like a job." I can't remember where I found this quote, otherwise I'd give it more props, but either way, here is my writerly advice for the day...

In one of the books I've read, or one of the quotes, or blogs, or...some source of entertainment that is wiser than I am, I found something about writing. Yes, we all know that we should write every day to keep our skills sharp (one of those use it or lose it types of things), but did you know that you should also try to schedule a time, and keep to that time every day?

Why?

Because you can call it your "Creative Hour" or "Creative Time". In example, if you do it between 9am-10am, your brain eventually will start to expect that, 'Oh, this is my time to be creative, I must make something up'. It's a way to keep your muse in check when he or she tries to run away.

But here's the truth; most of us have real lives, outside of keeping up our blogs, our writing, our jobs, our twitter/facebook/goodreads...It's hard to schedule a time. It's hard to be able to stick to that time.

If you're able, rock it. If not, then you're with the other 95% of the population.

:)

Trusting Yourself

I've gone through two days of hell. After day one, I woke up with what felt like a broken rib and realized that it was because I hadn't used those muscles in over a year. On day two, I panicked in front of my group. I had some votes of confidence, and I allowed myself to learn. The entire time I kept telling myself; I was made for this job, I was born to do this...because well, I am, I was.

This is actually a bad picture to use...I was really hurt in this picture...

After that, I took a day off so that my body could recover. I drank tea, I stayed in sweatpants all day, and I didn't shower. (I also finished my entire thing of mint Oreos, thanks for not judging :) .)

Today, I went back to the mountain, by myself, and snowboarded for two straight hours. And I did it hard. (And started singing some Ke$ha because of the line, "Tonight we're going hard...") While on the chair lift, I started thinking a lot about life, and the applications of snowboarding. I'm constantly terrified because I just had surgery. If I fall wrong, I'm not going to get back up...I'm afraid of turning wrong, of leaning too far...of everything.

The conclusion I came to then, is that writing is a lot like snowboarding. (For those of you who don't know, I've recently been employed as a snowboarding instructor, hence all of this mountain talk. If you're friends with me on facebook, it pretty much says that I like to snowboard and write. So...all of this is rather perfect.)

 There's a point where you stop being scared; where you turn your board out, and barrel down the hill.

After a point, you learn to trust your equipment, your legs (even if they still feel weak, even if you've just had surgery)...yourself. You trust that you know you well enough to know what you're doing. You trust that your board or your bindings won't just come apart. You trust the weather conditions, the mountains...the sport. And you go, because you're at the top of the mountain, and you need to get to the bottom.

But

No matter how good you are, how experienced you are, you never want to throw your body down a mountain. You learn what you're capable of doing and you do it. And you do it until you get bored, until you're ready to learn something new.

Yea, that's right, I work here. Be jealous :)

Writing is no different, my friends. 

You learn to write, and you do it until you realize something just isn't working, something isn't enough. Then you branch off; you start researching your art, you start calling it your art. You admit to being a writer, you're prideful of this fact. You make friends, establish yourself. You don't expect to be a rockstar, you stumble you fall, you get rejected. You don't throw yourself down the mountain (instead, you edit). You ease into it until you know what the hell you're doing.

And when everything falls together, until you can stand on any mountain and say "I own this," you continue along.

Writing isn't a race. Snowboarding isn't a race. Find your pace, and rock it. Maybe sing some Ke$ha if you're up to it. :)

Fear Journal

My sister last year got me Journalation, a book that has tips and things like that to keeping a journal. I still haven't gotten very far into it, but one of the things I picked up was when journaling to write a few things at the top of the page:

Date (I always write the date. If I don't, there's usually some significance why. I'm probably hiding something)
Location (Where are you? What are you doing? Are you with anyone? Why are you here? Music on?)
Time
End writing time

And so, I kept my regular journal for a couple of months, daily lists of random crap I did through the day. Usually things of non-importance but I did like keeping track of who I interacted with through the day. (I have a really bad memory and these things would be lost otherwise.)

Then something happened and I started falling a little off kilter. I found a composition notebook that Laura had given me before I'd started college. I'd been saving it and bringing it along everywhere because I knew someday I'd need it. So, I started a Fear Journal. When I would start worrying about something, I'd write about it and specifically track what I was afraid of, possible outcomes, then probable outcomes. Entries are far between, usually once a month, maybe less. (I lost the journal in my trunk for a long while.)

Just recently, I've been writing just about every day. Today, I asked Laura if I could read her my entry from yesterday though it was a million pages long. She sat on the phone with me while I read. There's something nice about reading out loud, it allows you to detach if you just focus on the words and not the fact that something horrific has just happened to you. There was one point during the reading I almost cried, but I kept it together. Her response?

"That....was intense. I know someday you're going to write about this...."

Which I found funny, because hadn't I just written about it?

This is kind of my point. As a writer, we channel a lot of energy through our writing. I keep journals and write when things become too much because it's like releasing it. It can't eat me from the inside out if it's on paper. I try to write when wounds are fresh because it's much more honest and someday when I come back to it, I can face it again and turn it into a story of some sort. I don't have a lot of coping mechanisms, but writing is by far one of the strongest ones I have.

And so....when you're scared or overwhelmed, what do you do?

Bottom Line?
Fear. Nothing.

Celebrations!

I believe in half-birthdays. What is a half birthday, you may ask? A half birthday is 6 months from your real birthday. In example, my birthday is in April. My half birthday is in October. Those who know me well, will usually take me out to dinner or buy me some small trinket (lip gloss, shampoo once...etc). It's a reason to celebrate being alive, to get together with people. It's one extra day to be happy about an otherwise average day. 


I believe in real birthdays. My sisters and I are pretty big on birthdays. We try to decorate, we try to surprise. The day you were born is pretty spectacular, no? Shouldn't the day you turn 10, 32, 86 be spectacular as well? We try to make it so people have good birthdays, memorable birthdays. My old roommate told me a year or so after we'd parted ways, "I wish I still lived with you. It was my birthday, and there were no decorations." Oh--this was also a boy calling to tell me this.


Outside of birthdays, what else to we have to celebrate? Holidays, family reunions (if you're into that kind of thing), births...The list isn't very long (feel free to chime in if you can think of anything else for this generic list). 
During PNWA, someone said something that stuck with me ever since (I'm putting it in my own words because I have a terrible memory):


Writing is hard work. We get rejected, a lot. We get told our work isn't good enough for someone. Then...people say things like "I don't like this line" or some other disheartening thing. Mean friends and family members tell us to give up. Not only that, but we have to deal with the stresses of real life; finances, kids (if you have them), pets (if you have them), relationships....etc. 


Life is hard. Tack on something where you're constantly told no, and our brains may explode.


So what do we do to counteract this negativity?

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!CELEBRATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is actually a picture from my birthday this year :)

Find some friends, find someone, anyone to celebrate with. If you don't have anyone, treat yourself to dinner, even if it's a fast food chain (which is what I did yesterday :) ). Go to a movie, a concert, something you wouldn't typically do, because you deserve it.


You just finished your first draft? Sweet, get a drink. Don't drink? Get a soda, puppy, toy. Get something to commemorate what you've done. Get a partial request? Sure, it may get rejected in a few days, but live in the moment. You just got a REQUEST! Get excited, it's okay! Wrote ten pages? Give yourself a friggin pat on the back. Be proud of yourself for those little steps you take along the way.


It's the small things that keep you, keep us, going. 


Go out, celebrate. This is your mission as a writer. And who knows? Maybe you'll find something else to write about during your adventure :)


(Also--sorry I haven't been updating too much this week. I slipped and fell on my porch last week and hurt my knee pretty badly. Haven't had a lot of time to think. Don't worry, I'm going to a specialist Monday! Wish me luck!)

Advice And Empowerment

A few years ago, I found myself in bed with Nicholas Sparks' Three Weeks With My Brother. At the time in my life, I was a sophomore in college at my aunt's house for Thanksgiving or Christmas break. I hadn't actively finished a novel, I'd had a poem or two published in my university's literary magazine...but I didn't consider myself a writer and at the time, I wasn't trying to write as my university didn't offer any creative writing courses...I just wrote when the bug hit me.

There are a couple of things I learned from his book, and I'd actually recommend reading it if you haven't. As a writer, though, the biggest thing I learned was to:

FINISH YOUR NOVEL

Sparks wrote about his first experience writing a novel, and how it was grueling, and hard, and at some point you want to just quit because what's the point?...He admitted that when he finished it was complete shit. He, NICHOLAS FRIGGIN SPARKS, knew it was shit.

But that's not what mattered.

What mattered was the fact he was able to write a friggin novel. And if you're able to sit there, shell out a novel, even a crappy one...maybe you can shell out another, and another, and eventually find an agent, find a publisher, and start getting yourself out there. Or, even if you're taking the self publishing route, you still need a FINISHED product to be able to put out in the world.

After I read his book, I finished Confessions of an Immortal Heart...crappily. To this day it still needs editing and it's been solidly done for a few years now. I finished a novel that ended up being about 76,000 words. On days when I need a good laugh, I go back to the very first draft, because it's so poorly written there's nothing else to do. On days when I doubt my ability as a writer, I pull it up, and look at the page count because I did this, I accomplished this. If that's not enough, I pull up Igniting a Firestarter, or Character Defects, because I've written three novels. I have a very high word count...and if I start reading what I've written, I'll find lines that I really like, or the editor in me will come out and strengthen what is on the page. And then I know...I'm a writer.

I've written three novels because I finished one. If I hadn't finished one...I'd be living on a beach...with nothing to show for it...(Don't get me wrong, I'm still living on a beach :) )

Moral of the story is: Push through, work hard, and finish. Especially if this is your first novel, finish it. Once you have the confidence that you can finish.....

(I'm gonna be corny here, are you ready?)

...YOU CAN DO ANYTHING.

I Love James Frey

This is another one about James Frey because today, June 29th, 2011, I received My Friend Leonard back after about two months of waiting. If you don't know what I'm talking about click HERE or HERE.

And inside the novel was written:

Stephanie--
If I can write a book and get it published, you can do it. Keep working keep writing keep thinking keep trying keep going, keep going, keep going.
Your friend--
James Frey

(PS....I typed this exactly the way he wrote it. No commas. I like him :) )

Just saying, spectacular days exist.

Today was an amazing.

I hope yours was awesome as well.

"Just Because You Are A Writing Maniac"

My good friend Tammy Henry wrote me a very nice e-mail the other day, that completely made me smile. She's given me permission to post it here:

Steph,
I am SO PROUD OF YOU!!!!
This e-mail made me smile and I even made Lora and Aimee listen to it while I read it a loud for them because it made me so happy! I am so glad to hear that you finished the edits and that you are happy with the finished product! :) I will now be reading it again, when it is printed, bound, and in book content when I see it on the bookshelves at the local bookstore, which when I purchase it I will say to the local bookstore worker, "and THAT author......to this VERY BOOK I AM HOLDING..... just so happens to be my sister.......just sayin......she is bad ass!" I cannot WAIT for that day!
Good luck with all the submissions and good luck with all those future readers who will be reading it.....I am sure they will all love it as much as I do!
I know there is someone out there who will be proud to publish all 220 PAGES 72,624 FUCKING WORDS OF IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
YOU RULE MAN!
I LOVE YOU STEPH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tammy Tam