Fooling Myself

I am the master of fooling myself, mostly because I am so easily fooled.  I set my clock five minutes ahead, and always forget.  The good news is that I am rarely late for anything. 

 

When I clean the house, I never even think for a moment, “I’ll clean every inch of this place today.”  Instead, I reassure myself, “I’ll just clean this one little area.  That is all.  No more.”  I know that once I clean that area, I’ll be in the mode and clean the rest, but I can’t tell myself that from the start or it will never happen.  I have to trick myself into doing it.

The same thing goes for my writing.  If I would look at how much I have to write, how far I have to go to finish a book, then I would probably never start.  Instead, I tell myself, “I’ll sit down and write for one hour.  That is all.  No more.”  Normally what happens is I’ll look at the clock and somehow two hours have passed before I even realized it, and I’m locked in writing mode for the rest of the day.

Some writers look for word count.  They plan on writing a certain number of words a day.  I’ve never really tried to do that.  I feel better finishing a chapter or a scene.  Different methods work for different people.  Find what works for you. 

I have heard it said that the most important thing you can do as a writer is plant your bottom in a chair.  That is the truth.  It doesn’t matter how much you research or read or learn, if you don’t put your bottom in a chair and write, you won’t get anywhere.  And the only way to get better as a writer is by writing, and writing, and then writing some more. 

I’m getting close to the end of the manuscript I’m working on, and it’s getting tricky.  When this happens, I use another method to fool myself.  I tell myself that I won’t plan to write anything new today.  I’ll just go back and reread the last few chapters to make sure I’m on the right track.  Ahhh.  That takes the pressure off.  It means I won’t have to think of something brilliant and new to write.  The funny thing is, as soon as I reread those chapters, I can suddenly see exactly where I want to go, and it makes me want to start writing more.  Before I know it, a new chapter is complete and my book is that much closer to being finished.

Do what you have to do to get your bottom in that chair and write.  It might be setting a time or a word count.  It might be something else.  But just thinking about writing will get you nowhere.  You have to commit yourself at least to starting, or you will never finish.  Just a few pages.  That is all.  No more. 

 

Try it.  It works.

 

And I Ran - Because I Must.

I ran this morning.  I’m not a great runner, and I’m not very fast, but I felt like I had to run, today of all days.  After what happened yesterday, after the horrific photos I saw that will be forever burned into my brain, I slipped on my running shoes and headed to the park. 

I’ve been making every excuse I could not to run lately.  My hip was sore, my knee was wonky, my back has been bad, but none of those excuses could stop me today.  After seeing the people who lost limbs and loved ones and even their lives, I felt like I had to run, because I was still able to run.

It was a chance to escape from the news, from the ceaseless loop of the same tragic images being played over and over again.  It was a chance to escape from the internet and the constant barrage of racist and hate filled conspiracy theories and panic induced lies.  It was a chance to escape from my own thoughts, from imagining how it felt to be standing and cheering one minute and broken and bloody the next.  Running gives me clarity and peace, and it was something I needed today.

Yesterday, my twelve year old was trying to comprehend the scope of the tragedy.  We were at physical therapy when we heard the news.  He is recovering from a broken ankle.  There were four TV screens mounted on the wall in front of his exercise bike, each showing things that no twelve year old should ever have to see.  I tried to point out all of the brave and wonderful people who were rushing to help the injured.  I spoke about the policemen and the firemen and the ordinary people who stepped in to do what they could for the victims.  I told him this was what was beautiful about our country. 

As my son asked questions, I tried my best to both answer him honestly and yet comfort him.  I don’t know if I succeeded.  The truth was, these were questions no child should ever have to ask, and my answers were insufficient.  There are no good answers.  Such hatred and cruelty is simply incomprehensible to anyone except for the vile sort of animal who would perpetrate such a crime.

I looked around at the faces of the other people in the gym, as they watched in stunned silence.  They were all in various stages of recovery from different sorts of injuries.  All I could think about was the people who’d been injured in Boston, and what their recoveries would be like.  After the initial euphoria they would feel at surviving, soon the reality would set in.  They would spend countless weeks and months in a place like this before they could even begin living their new “normal.”  Their lives had changed forever in a single moment.

I carried this with me as I ran this morning.  I ignored my inconsequential aches and pains and ran further and faster than I have in a long time.  It felt good, and empowering, and I was grateful for my two strong legs that could carry me anywhere.  I’d lost appreciation for them somewhere along the line, but now I had it back.    

I will run again, and I will keep running.  I’ll never run a marathon.  I’ll probably never even run a 5 K.  But every time I run, I will think about those minutes in Boston, and remember the people who can’t run anymore.  And I will run - for them.

I Always Feel Like, Somebody's Watching Me....

Every year in our town there is an annual spring ritual that takes place.  We see the buckets go up on the trees while it is still cold and snowy outside, and our excitement begins to build.  We know that good weather and plates full of pancakes are just around the corner.  Maple syrup time is upon us.

The Maple Syrup Festival is held every year at Brady’s Run Park.  It is a community tradition that started when I was small, and has now turned into a major event.  People wait in line for hours and hours for a plate full of pancakes loaded with syrup from our local trees.  The pancakes are great.  The syrup is even better.  But the best thing of all is watching the people in attendance.

I recently began watching the TV show “Duck Dynasty.” It was done under duress.  My sons thought it was hilarious, I was forced into watching a few episodes, and soon I had to agree with them.  The show was very interesting, mostly because the characters seemed so foreign to me, and sort of exotic.  I am from the north, they are from the south.  My idea of an outdoor adventure is, well, probably waiting in line for pancakes at the Maple Syrup Festival.  They seem to spend most of their time in the woods.  I don’t like guns, shooting, hunting, or camo, and that is all they do.  I’m not fond of facial hair.  But I am a linguist, and I love listening to the cadence of their speech.  I enjoy hearing their views on things, which are so different from my own.  And I love waiting in anticipation for Uncle Si to say something crazy, yet profound, and completely butcher the English language in the process.

Since I began watching this program, however, I have made a rather extraordinary discovery.  There are a whole lot of people in Beaver County, PA who look like (and dress like) the people on the show.  I might seem naïve, or maybe even snobby, but I think my eyes sort of brushed over these people before.  They blended into the whole patchwork of strangeness that makes up this part of Pennsylvania (called Pennsyltucky by some of our non-native neighbors).  Recently, I’ve been noticing these people, and some of the other rather interesting characters around here.  I watch them, I remember them, and I store them away for later to be used as potential characters in a book.  This is an important skill to have as a writer, and it is also extremely entertaining hobby (for me, at least).  The Maple Syrup Festival is the perfect opportunity for this kind of people watching. 

Everyone is strange.  Everyone is a potential character.  But the strangeness I saw yesterday almost reached epic proportions.  There were the "Duck Dynasty" people, and the Goth people.  The kids with Mohawks, and lots of people with chains attached to their wallets.  There were people who looked like they belonged in motorcycle gangs and others who looked like they were preparing for some sort of zombie apocalypse.  There were little old ladies in Keds, and little old ladies dressed as frontierswomen – with bonnets, long skirts and shawls.  Someone was randomly setting off cannon blasts.  It might have been the squadron of Civil War Union soldiers I saw marching past.  There were some jugglers who looked like escapees from a RenFair, and some hybrids – a "Duck Dynasty" guy wearing camo but with silver beads woven into his beard (very Johnny Depp/"Pirates of the Caribbean"). 

We were excited when it was time to eat our pancakes, and lucky because we didn’t have to wait in line.  My youngest son was part of the entertainment, so we jumped right on his celebrity bandwagon and got to eat in a special tent.  He’s in a rock academy that performed between a group of kids doing Broadway show tunes from the local performing arts school, and a barbershop choir made of people ranging in age from ten to close to ninety. 

 

The Broadway kids wore matching t-shirt, jean, and even matching sneakers.  The barbershop guys wore perfectly pressed white shirts, black vests, black pants, and bow ties.  And right smack between these two groups was the rock academy.  Our kids were not dressed alike.  Some looked like rock princesses.  Others looked like they had found whatever they were wearing on the floor that day and had thrown it on as they ran out the door.  And, in true rocker style, I suspect (in fact I know) that some of them had even slept in their clothes the night before.  Eclectic?  Yes.  Entertaining?  Definitely.   Even better, it shows the depth of community involvement in this and every event in our town.

In the very elite “Entertainers/Crafters/Volunteers/ Misc.” tent, I sat next to a guy dressed like a forest ranger.  He might have even been a real forest ranger.  I’m not sure.  My grasp of reality was a little skewed at this point after seeing so many people dressed in costumes.  He didn’t say a word, he just sort of growled as he held up his plate repeatedly for more pancakes.  It didn’t match the demeanor of the cheerful “Smokey the Bear” patch on his jacket. 

We also sat next to two very lovely and talkative teenaged girls, a pleasant and welcome change from Ranger Reclusive.  As we were eating, one of them turned to me and said, “Did you see all the people in costume?”  I told her about the Civil War soldiers, and we shared a laugh, so I knew she understood.  I asked if she noticed how many people here looked like they could be on “Duck Dynasty,” and her eyes got huge in her face.  “I swear I just saw Uncle Si a few minutes ago,” she said.  “My friends didn’t seem to understand how funny that was.”

Hmmm. She did get it.  I guess I’m not the only one who is watching.

Snowstorms and Suspense

Last night we had a big spring snowstorm, something unusual but not unheard of in Western Pennsylvania.  Before the storm even started, we heard about it for days.  We watched the news trying to figure out exactly when it would hit.  We gassed up the snow blower and made sure we had salt.  And we waited, taking little glances out the window all evening, for the storm to hit.

I love the day before a big storm.  It is all about the anticipation, knowing that it is going to come and waiting for it to happen.  I like freak storms, too, those unexpected mornings when you wake up to a winter wonderland, but I enjoy the anticipation more.

Remember that feeling of waiting and watching as you write your novel.  Remember the excitement mixed with just a bit of fear.  Keep your reader interested the way a weather man keeps our eyes glued on the evening news.  Make them care about what is about to happen.  Make them feel they have a vested interest in your plot.  Build the suspense slowly and get your reader to the point where they cannot put your book down.  They know something is going to happen, and must read on to get to the conclusion, to finally see the snow start to fall.

 

Secrets of the Ladies' Locker Room

The ladies’ locker room might not be the first place you think of when looking for inspiration for your writing.  In fact, it might be the last place.  But it is important to keep your eyes and ears open wherever you go, because you just don’t know where you’ll find that magic combination of character and plot that will fill out your story and make it great.

Yesterday, after I ran on the treadmill at the local YMCA, I walked into the locker room to change.  Right away I noticed a girl there who didn’t quite fit in with the usual crowd.  She had on a long sleeved blouse and skirt.  Her hair was braided and wrapped around her head in a complicated halo that reminded me of the way old Europeans used to wear their hair.  I had an elderly neighbor growing up, Mrs. Demeduk, who had flowing white hair that she always braided in the same style.  I was thinking about Mrs. Demeduk, and admiring the girl’s crown of braids, when she slipped out of her clothes.  I could not have been more surprised.  Underneath her conservative blouse and skirt she wore a black string bikini and had a tattoo of a dragon climbing up her back.  The tail of that dragon was located somewhere under her bikini, and its fire breathing snout hit just above her waist.

I am fairly certain Mrs. Demeduk never wore a string bikini or had a dragon tattoo, but can we ever be completely sure of anything?  It is when our characters surprise us with their inconsistencies that things really get interesting.  Look around you.  Be nosy.  Ask questions.  When you are in line at the post office, try to imagine what the other people are sending and why.  If you are sitting at the airport waiting for a flight, use that time to people watch.  Is the man sitting next to you really a salesman, or is he an international spy?

This kind of activity can get you into trouble sometimes.  I once almost had my husband convinced we were living next door to a ring of tobacco smugglers in rural Kentucky.  I was wrong.  But when I suspected the rice cracker company I worked for was a front for the Japanese mob, it turned out I was right.  That experience is definitely a topic for another day, but the point is, pay attention. You might be wrong, or you might be right, but either way you need to do it.

Writers are observers of human nature.  Good writers can take these observations and use them to create great characters.  Find your girl with the dragon tattoo.  Notice the humor in the most ordinary, mundane things.  Look around you and really see what is going on.  Discover the secrets of your characters and know what is hidden under their clothing.  There is magic in everyday things, and it is up to you to find it.

It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood...

Mr. Rogers would have been 85 years old today.  He was a kind, gentle soul who created television programming for children that was thoughtful and educational.  He was also a local boy, born and raised in the Pittsburgh area.  After becoming an ordained minister, he got his start as a television personality on WQED.  He wanted to change the way television treated children, and he succeeded.

I have to say, as a child I was never a huge fan of “Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood.”  Even from an early age, I need more excitement, thrills, and action.  I watched “Zoom” and “The Electric Company,” but preferred “Lost in Space” or “Buck Rogers in the 25^th Century.”  I was a hopeless sci-fi fan even from an early age, and Mr. Rogers didn’t offer laser guns or robots.  What he did create, however, was still magical.

I remember waiting and watching as the trolley disappeared into his wall.  For me, that was the best part of the show.  The track ran through his living room, and the little hole in his wall was a doorway to possibilities.  As soon as I would hear the sound of the trolley’s bell, I would sit up in anticipation.  We had no idea what would happen next; we could only imagine.

Unfortunately, the Neighborhood of Make-Believe never quite lived up to what I imagined.  Lady Elaine Fairchild was creepy.  Henrietta Pussycat annoyed me with her constant meowing.  Daniel Tiger was a wimp.  Even as a small child, I can remember thinking, “I got excited for that?” 

But I still came back for it, for that trolley and that moment of wonder, and that is Mr. Roger’s true gift.  He taught us to create our own Neighborhood of Make-Believe.  Mine was a little different from his, since it was inhabited entirely by aliens, time travelers, and magical beings, but it was the perfect place for me to stretch my imagination as a child. 

I’m sure his program meant different things to different children.  For some his was a soothing voice in a harsh world, for others he was the only father figure they had, and for many his neighborhood may have seemed like a safe haven when reality was very different.  But for me, it's still all about that little red trolley and the door to anywhere.  Thank you, Fred Rogers.

 

 

How Not to Start Your Book: Seven Things to Avoid

It was a dark and stormy night….

That sounds like a great, scary opening for a book, doesn’t it?  Or maybe not.  There are certain things that are so cliché, they are almost guaranteed to send your work straight to the slush pile. 

The first few sentences of your book can sometimes make or break your chances of getting it published.  That is a lot of pressure on a few short sentences.  My first bit of advice is to ignore what I just said.  Don’t get stuck writing and rewriting your first sentence, or paragraph or page.  Move forward, and then move forward some more, and by this I mean to keep writing.  Editing is the time when you can go back and fix everything that is wrong with your manuscript.  If you don’t write forward, you won’t have a manuscript to fix.

Once you have completed your manuscript, go back to the beginning and look at that first page with fresh eyes.  Some people like to let the manuscript sit and stew for a week before they go back to edit it.  Other people can jump right in.  Do what works for you.

When editing the beginning of your novel, here are some things I have learned along the way:

1.  Start in the middle of the action.  You want to hook the reader into your story.  Find a place that is exciting, and begin there.  The first book I ever wrote will probably never be published or ever read by another human being.  It was bad, but it was a learning experience.  It taught me that starting in the middle of the action can often mean deleting the first few completely unnecessary pages (or in my case, chapters) in order to get to the point where your book really should start.  Look at your manuscript with objective eyes, and find the true beginning.

2.  Don’t start with piles of backstory.  Let your reader get to know your protagonist slowly.  Seduce and entice them with little snippets of information that make them want more.  Backstory is important, but it doesn’t always need to be shared.  I find it very helpful to answer a long list of questions about each of my characters before I write my books.  I want them to be firmly established in my mind before a word goes on paper.  That doesn’t mean I need to share that entire backstory in my book.  Some of that information has nothing at all to do with my plot.  And some of it is personal – between my character and me.  Not everything has to be shared, and not everything has to be shared at the very beginning.  Keep your audience guessing a little.

3.  Don’t start with a dream, or your character waking up from a dream.  This is an easy way to slip in backstory or foreshadowing, but it is also an easy way to get your manuscript sent straight to the slush pile.  It’s been overdone, so don’t use it.  Also, don’t go through a long, exciting sequence of events, and then later make your character find out that it was just a dream.  Not cool.

4.  Watch for mistakes.  One of my friends in college was trying to get an internship in a very competitive field.  She wrote a wonderful essay, and asked me to look at it after she had already sent it in.  That was a horrible thing to do to me.  I had edited many things for her in the past, and I wished she’d come to me sooner rather than later.  The essay was beautifully written and very well researched, but she had a major grammatical error and a misspelled word in the very first sentence.  She didn’t get the internship, even though she was extremely well qualified.  If you try to send in a manuscript with mistakes in the first sentence, the same thing will happen to you.  You won’t get published.  Typos and small mistakes can be forgiven, but not if they are in your first paragraph (or even your first page).  Be diligent.

5.  Looking in a mirror.  This is kind of the cheater’s way to describe your character physically.  Find a better way to let your reader know she has flowing blonde hair, or he has rock hard abs.  Ducking under the crime scene tape was easier for me than it was for Jack. He was more than a foot taller than me, and I was wearing my highest heels.  I pulled my blonde hair into a pony tail, slipped into a blue hazmat suit that matched my eyes, and pulled on some latex gloves.  “I’m ready to go.”  See?  I just made that up.  It took exactly two minutes and no mirror was required. 

6.  Let them speak.  Make sure you allow your characters to talk.  Dialogue is important.  If you don’t see a lot of white space as you scroll through your manuscript, that might indicate there is too much narrative.  This holds true from the beginning, although be careful about starting your story with dialogue.  This can be tricky.  If your reader doesn’t know your character yet, they might not care about what they have to say.

7.  Introduce your characters, but not formally.  Can you remember some of the writing you did as a child?  My name is Joe.  I have two brothers and one sister.  I have a dog.  My best friend is Tommy.  He is nice.  When you are introducing your characters to your readers, don’t slip into third grade writing mode.  You will not get a gold star. 

I’ll stop at seven, since that is a lucky number, and today is the day after St. Patrick’s Day.  And a little luck wouldn’t hurt, especially if it was a dark and stormy morning, with an icy rain so thick it covered the windows with a frosty glaze….

That is a much better beginning than “a dark and stormy night,” and it also happens to be true (from where I sit in Pennsylvania, at least).  Good luck and happy writing!